Not long ago, people would go to a circus brought in by some visiting performers set up at the original exhibition hall (later, the Tollinton Market) or at the open space in Old Anarkali where the Customs House was built.

A huge tent was pitched to allow a large number of spectators. Accompanied by domesticated tigers and elephants, the daredevil acrobatic performers would climb the high swings and swap their positions as their ropes neared each other. Ladies wrapped in two-piece bikinis were the main attraction for the fun-starved audience. It was really an achievement to bring in all that heavy paraphernalia, especially from abroad.

The last time such a show was held in Lawrence Gardens was in 1966. It was a team from Bavaria (West Germany in those days). They included no animals; only men and women performed over steel ropes. The plying of a motorcycle over a steel rope was daring indeed.

There were some skits too that were thoroughly enjoyed by the audience despite the language barrier.

The troupe from Turkey that came over in late 1972 performed what was more of a stage show, on the fine teak floor inside the Plaza cinema (sadly demolished by the greedy new owners who bought the disputed property for a pittance). This included scantily clad Turkish girls. (This has been discussed in a previous column.)

Some circuses form a regular item in the melas held generally at the shrines of patron saints of various cities. Lucky Irani Circus was most famous of these. It also used lions. At Data Darbar, Mian Mir and Mela Chiraghan, these also included maut ka kuan (well of death) and maut ka gola, in which a motorcycle rider with their hands off the vehicle would take rounds of the well while a local girl attired in red pants was the centre of attention.

The circus, managed by Zafar Sando, was very popular. Apart from his several unbelievable feats, he would lie down with a concrete slab placed on top of his chest. The onlookers would be dumb-founded. They would heave a sigh of relief as the man emerged safe.

The news about Sando being killed after being crushed under the weight of the stone in some remote part of the city saddened his many fans. But, as they say, the show must go on. Sando’s large tent was again pitched in Mian Mir, while the audience gloomily looked on at the large circular disc, as a man appeared from behind the screen. No one could believe their eyes when they saw Sando. It transpired that the news of his death was a publicity stunt.

There used to be a human head with the body of a large serpent. A man would squat, concealed under a table, with a circular hole through which his head appeared severed and connected to a concocted python. On being questioned about his plight, he would say that it was Bengal ka jadoo (the magic of Bengal) that had transformed his body.

In the side shows, some would belch out fire from their mouths. Actually, it was kerosene oil that was poured over the candle which gave the illusion of flames.

Some would also swallow a sword. They had been trained to lower the metal into the food pipe while the epiglottis covered the wind pipe (this physiological term was provided to this scribe by Dr M Nasrullah). Still others could bend a spear against their sternum.

These performers required great dedication and physical strength. When they aged, some roamed around in various locations performing to limited spectators for a pittance. One such acrobat is known to have ended up frequenting The Mall and McLeod Road. His voice used to be so loud that he could be heard from a mile away. Now he carried only an iron ring through which a man could barely slip though. He would perform different acrobatic tricks on the ring.

One day someone stole his ring. The people wouldn’t stop asking him if he had caught the thief, but he’d remain calm. He told them that whenever the thief attempted to pass through the ring he would certainly get caught because people would summon him to disentangle the thief from the stranglehold of the ring.

There were freelancers, such as the snake charmers with large pythons, cobras and small, venomous snakes dancing to the tune of the bean while the reptile continuously writhed and flashed its two-pronged tongue. Trained monkeys would arrive and the acrobat would mark a circle with a stick along which the children sat. With one hand he would strike his dugdugi and with the other he’d play on his brass flute, while his monkey displayed its sharp teeth and keep the children outside the peripheral circle.

The children would laugh out loud and mimic the monkey. A bachha jhamura too was part of the team. Thus, a mock fight between the monkey and a dog would start. The man with a goat used to be a very special event. The goat had been trained to climb a small, carved piece of wood while it would be perched precariously with its feet, another piece of wood was slipped tactfully under its feet to maintain the balance. Finally, with as many as 10 storied pieces of wood under its feet, the obedient, expert goat was able to maintain its equilibrium. Perhaps, this was because of the goats’ inherent ability to maintain their balance on steep cliffs.

After that the man with parrots and pigeons would take the stage. A parakeet would be perched on a stick. The show was called Toata Top Chalaye. A toy cannon was stuffed with some gunpowder and the parrot would hold a flame at its other end triggering a loud sound and the target falling down.

Yet another show involved a pack of cards that was spread, while a parrot was put in a cage and covered with a cloth. Someone from the audience was asked to pinpoint a card. Then the parrot was released to find the card. As it picked card after card, showing each to its master, I saw that the man had given a faint nod at a certain card which the bird then grabbed hold of, amid much applause. I also noticed that the parrot after accomplishing the feat went back to its handler who quietly slipped some food into its beak.

Perched again on its seat, the parrot was given a dumbbell to exercise which it continuously rotated while the audience begged it not to strain its neck too much. At the end, the parakeet rode a small wagon harnessed by a pigeon. Once back, the pigeon refused to halt and carried his passenger right into the cage. The children dispersed, chanting, “khel tamasha khatam, paisa hazam!”

The street performances are increasingly becoming a thing of the past. Ajoka and Nautanki are another history to be discussed later. Mercifully, the black and brown bears have been banned — many sent to their shelters and natural habitats.

(This dispatch is dedicated to Madeeha Gauhar)

The writer is a painter, a founding member of Lahore Conservation Society and Punjab Artists Association, and a former director of NCA Art Gallery. He can be reached at ajazart@brain.net.pk