The Adventures of Kathlyn

A slave mart is a rare thing these days, but at the time these scenes

were being enacted there existed many of them here and there across the

face of the globe. Men buy and sell men and women these

times--enlightened, so they say--but they do it by legal contract or

from vile hiding places.

Allaha had been a famous mart in its prime. It had drawn the agents of

princes from all over India. Persia, Beloochistan, Afghanistan, and

even southern Russia had been rifled of their beauties to adorn the

zenanas of the slothful Hindu princes.

The slave mart in the capital town of Allaha stood in the center of the

bazaars, a great square platform with a roof, but open on all four

sides. Here the slaves were exhibited, the poor things intended for

dalliance and those who were to struggle and sweat and die under the

overseer's lash.

Every fortnight a day was set aside for the business of the mart.

Owners and prospective buyers met, chewed betel-nut, smoked their

hookas, sipped coffee and tea, and exchanged the tattle of the hour.

It was as much an amusement as a business; indeed, it was the oriental

idea of a club, and much the same things were discussed. Thus, Appaji

bought a beautiful girl at the last barter and Roya found a male who

was a good juggler, and only night before last they had traded. The

bazaars were not what they used to be. Dewan Ali had sold his wife to

a Punjab opium merchant. Aunut Singh's daughter had run away with the

son of a bheestee. All white people ate pig. And no one read the

slokas, or moral, stanzas, any more. Yes, the English would come some

day, when there would be enough money to warrant it.

All about there were barkers, and fruit sellers, and bangle wallas (for

slave girls should have rings of rupee silver about their ankles and

wrists), and solemn Brahmins, and men who painted red and ocher caste

marks on one's forehead, and ash covered fakirs with withered hands,

Nautch girls, girls from the bazaars, peripatetic jewelers, kites, and

red-headed vultures--this being a proper place for them.

The chief mahout purchased for Kathlyn a beautiful saree, or veil,

which partially concealed her face and hair.

"Chalu!" he said, touching Kathlyn's shoulder, whenever she lagged, for

they had dispensed with the litter, "Go on!"

She understood. Outwardly she appeared passive enough, but her soul

was on fire and her eyes as brilliant as those of the circling,

whooping kites, watching that moment which was to offer some loophole.

On through the noisy bazaars, the object of many a curious remark,

sometimes insulted by the painted women at the windows, sometimes

jested at by the idlers around the merchants' booths. Vaguely she

wondered if some one of her ancestors had not been terribly wicked and

that she was paying the penalty.