The wrestlers advanced, performing a sort of war-dance; they disposed of their daggers by putting them in their topknots; they then salââmed before the audience and began the contest. Each slapped violently the inside of his arms and thighs; then, at a given signal, each seized his opponent by the waist. One placed his forehead against the other's breast; they then struggled, twisted, and tossed each other about, showing great skill and adroitness in keeping their feet and warding off blows. Suddenly, with a peculiar jerk, one of the wrestlers almost at the same moment dashed his opponent to the ground, and drawing forth his dagger stood flourishing it over the fallen victim. At this juncture a strain of music wild but tender swept from the farther end of the pavilion, seemingly given forth to arrest the premeditated thrust of the exultant victor. They listen with heads slightly turned to one side; presently their grim, bloodthirsty expressions give place to looks of delight and wonder. All at once their faces break into smiles; simultaneously they drop their uplifted daggers, release their knees from the breasts of their prostrate foes, stoop, and, taking a little earth from the gravelled walk, scatter it over their heads as a sign that the victor himself is vanquished, salââam to the spectators, and retire amid deafening shouts of applause. After this the musicians struck up some lively Hindoo airs, and at length the heavy curtains from one side of the pavilion curled up like a lotus-flower at sunset, and there appeared a long line of girls advancing in a measured step and keeping time to the music. They stood on a platform almost facing us. Some of them were extraordinarily beautiful, one girl in particular. The face was of the purest oval, the features regular, the eyes large, dark, and almond-shaped, the complexion pale olive, with a slight blush of the most delicate pink on the cheeks, and the mouth was half pouting and almost infantile in its round curves, but with an expression of dejection and sorrow lingering about the corners which told better than words of weariness of the life to which she was doomed. For my part, it was difficult for me to remove my eyes from that pensive and beautiful face. Every now and then I found myself trying to picture her strange life, wondering who she was and how her parents could ever have had the heart to doom her to such a profession.