The entries are now all made, places and pairs are arranged, and to the ear-splitting thunder of two or three tom-toms, two pair of strapping youngsters step into the ring; they carefully scan each other, advance, shake hands, or salaam, leisurely tie up their back hair, slap their muscles, rub a little earth over their shoulders and arms, so that their adversary may have a fair grip, then step by step slowly and gradually they near each other.  A few quick passages are now interchanged; the lithe supple fingers twist and intertwine, grips are formed on arm and neck.  The postures change each moment, and are a study for an anatomist or sculptor.  As they warm to their work they get more reckless; they are only the raw material, the untrained lads.  There is a quick scuffle, heaving, swaying, rocking, and struggling, and the two victors, leaping into the air, and slapping their chests, bound back into the gratified circle of their comrades, while the two discomfited athletes, forcing a rueful smile, retire and ’take a back seat.’  Two couple of more experienced hands now face each other.  There is pretty play this time, as the varying changes of the contest bring forth ever varying displays of skill and science.  The crowd shout as an advantage is gained, or cry out ‘Hi, hi’ in a doubtful manner, as their favourite seems to be getting the worst of it.  The result however is much the same; after a longer or shorter time, two get fairly thrown and retire.  If there is any dispute, it is at once referred to the judges, who sit grimly watching the struggle, and comparing the paenches displayed, with those they themselves have practised in many a well-won fight.  On a reference being made, both combatants retain their exact hold and position, only cease straining.  As soon as the matter is settled, they go at it again till victory determine in favour of the lucky man.  In no similar contest in England I am convinced would there be so much fairness, quietness, and order.  The only stimulants in the crowd are betel nut and tobacco.  All is orderly and calm, and at any moment a word from the sahib will quell any rising turbulence.  It is now time for a still more scientific exhibition.

Pat has a man, a tall, wiry, handsome Brahmin, who has never yet been beaten.  Young K. has long been jealous of his uniform success, and on several occasions has brought an antagonist to battle with Pat’s champion.  To-day he has got a sturdy young blacksmith, whom rumour hath much vaunted, and although he is not so tall as Pat’s wrestler, his square, deep chest and stalwart limbs, give promise of great strength and endurance.

As the two men strip and bound into the ring, there is the usual hush of anticipation.  Keen eyes scan the appearance of the antagonists.  They are both models of manly beauty.  The blacksmith, though more awkward in his motions, has a cool, determined look about him.  The Brahmin, conscious of his reputation, walks quickly up, with a smile of rather ostentatious condescension on his finely cut features, and offers his hand to the blacksmith.  The little man is evidently suspicious.  He thinks this may be a deeply laid trap to get a grip upon him.  Nor does he like the bland patronising manner of ‘Roopuarain,’ so he surlily draws back, at which there is a roar of laughter from the. crowd, in which we cannot help joining.