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Nanofluids and Mass
Transfer
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Nanofluids and Mass
Transfer
Edited by
Mohammad Reza Rahimpour
Department of Chemical Engineering,
Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
v
vi Contents
Abbreviations.......................................................................................................... 184
References............................................................................................................... 184
Meisam Ansarpour
Department of Chemical Engineering, Faculty of Petroleum, Gas and Petrochemical
Engineering, Persian Gulf University, Bushehr, Iran
Ali Bakhtyari
Chemical Engineering Department, Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
Asmaa F. Elelamy
Department of Mathematics, Faculty of Education, Ain Shams University, Cairo, Egypt
Yasaman Enjavi
Department of Chemical Engineering, Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
Morteze Esfandyari
Department of Chemical Engineering, University of Bojnord, Bojnord, Iran
Fateme Etebari
Department of Chemical Engineering, Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
Nayef Ghasem
Department of Chemical and Petroleum Engineering, UAE University, Alain, UAE
Kamran Ghasemzadeh
Urmia University of Technology, Urmia, Iran
Ali Hafizi
Department of Chemical Engineering, Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
Mohammad Hatami
Department of Mechanical Engineering, Esfarayen University of Technology, Esfarayen, Iran;
International Research Center for Renewable Energy, Xi’an Jiaotong University, Xi’an, P.R. China
Zohreh-Sadat Hosseini
Department of Chemical Engineering, Shiraz University, Shiraz, Iran
Angel Huminic
Transilvania University of Brasov, Brasov, Romania
Gabriela Huminic
Transilvania University of Brasov, Brasov, Romania
Adolfo Iulianelli
Institute on Membrane Technology of the Italian National research Council (CNR-ITM), Rende,
Italy
Dengwei Jing
International Research Center for Renewable Energy, Xi’an Jiaotong University, Xi’an, P.R. China
Baishali Kanjilal
Department of Bioengineering, University of California, Riverside, Riverside, CA, United States
xv
xvi List of contributors
xvii
xviii About the editors
The present susunhan of Solo is not the son of the last emperor,
but a collateral descendant of the old emperors, who claims descent
from both Mohammedan and Hindu rulers, the monkey flag of Arjuna
and the double-bladed sword of the Arab conquerors alike his
heirlooms and insignia. His portraits show a gentle, refined face of
the best Javanese type, and he wears a European military coat, with
the native sarong and Arab fez, a court sword at the front of his belt,
and a Solo kris at the back. Despite his trappings and his sovereign
title, he is as much a puppet and a prisoner as any of the lesser
princes, sultans, and regents whom the Dutch, having deposed and
pensioned, allow to masquerade in sham authority. He maintains all
the state and splendor of the old imperialism within his kraton, which
is confronted and overlooked by a Dutch fort, whose guns, always
trained upon the kraton, could sweep and level the whole imperial
establishment at a moment’s notice. The susunhan may have ten
thousand people living within his kraton walls; he may have nine
hundred and ninety-nine wives and one hundred and fifty carriages,
as reported; but he may not drive beyond his own gates without
informing the Dutch resident where he is going or has been, with his
guard of honor of Dutch soldiers, and he has hardly the liberty of a
tourist with a toelatings-kaart. He may amuse himself with a little
body-guard of Javanese soldiers; but there is a petty sultan of Solo,
an ancient vassal, whose military ambitions are encouraged by the
Dutch to the extent of allowing him to drill and command a private
army of a thousand men that the Dutch believe would never by any
chance take arms against them, as allies of the susunhan’s fancy
guard. Wherever they have allowed any empty show of sovereignty
to a native ruler, the Dutch have taken care to equip a military rival,
with the lasting grudge of an inherited family feud, and establish him
in the same town. But little diplomacy is required to keep such
jealousies alive and aflame, and the Dutch are always an apparent
check, and pacific mediators between such rivals as the susunhan
and the sultan at Solo, and the sultan and Prince Pakoe Alam at
Djokja.
The young susunhan maintains his empty honors with great
dignity and serenity, observing all the European forms and etiquette
at his entertainments, and delighting Solo’s august society with
frequent court balls and fêtes. Town gossip dilates on his marble-
floored ball-room, the fantastic devices in electric lights employed in
illuminating the palace and its maze of gardens on such occasions,
and on the blaze of heirloom jewels worn by the imperial ladies and
princesses at such functions. The susunhan sometimes grants
audiences to distinguished strangers, and one French visitor has told
of some magnificent Japanese bronzes and Chinese porcelains in
the kraton, which were gifts from the Dutch in the early time when
the Japanese and Javanese trade were both Holland monopolies.
No prostrations or Oriental salaams are required of European visitors
at court, although the old susunhans obliged even the crown prince
and prime minister to assume the dodok, and sidle about like any
cup-bearer in his presence. The princes and petty chiefs were so
precisely graded in rank in those days that, while the highest might
kiss the sovereign’s hand, and those of a lower rank the imperial
knee, there were those of lesser pretensions who adoringly kissed
the instep, and, last of all, those who might only presume to kiss the
sole, of the susunhan’s foot. The susunhan is always accompanied
on his walks in the palace grounds, and on drives abroad, by a
bearer with a gold pajong, or state umbrella, spreading from a
jeweled golden staff. The array of pajongs carried behind the
members of his family and court officials present all the colors of the
rainbow, and all the variegations a fancy umbrella is capable of
showing—each striped, banded, bordered, and vandyked in a
different way, that would puzzle the brain of any but a Solo courtier,
to whom they speak as plainly as a door-plate.
Solo has the same broad streets and magnificent shade-trees as
the other towns of Java, and some of the streets have deep ditches
or moats on either side of the drive, with separate little bridges
crossing to each house-front, which give those thoroughfares a
certain feudal quaintness and character of their own. At the late
afternoon hour of our arrival we only stopped for a moment to
deposit the luggage at the enormously porticoed Hotel Sleier, and
then drove on through and about the imperial city. The streets were
full of other carriages,—enormous barouches, “milords,” and family
carryalls, drawn by big Walers,—with which we finally drew up in line
around the park, where a military band was playing. We had seen
bewildering lines of palace and fort and barrack walls, marching
troops, and soldiers lounging about off duty, until it was easy to see
that Solo was a vast garrison, more camp than court. Later, when we
had returned to the hotel portico, to swing at ease in great broad-
armed rocking-chairs,—exactly the Shaker piazza-chairs of
American summer life,—there was still sound of military music off
beyond the dense waringen shade, and the fanfare of bugles to right
and to left.
Solo’s hotel, with its comforts, offered more material inducements
for us to make a long stay, than any hotel we had yet encountered in
Java; and the clear-headed, courteous landlady was a hostess in the
most kindly sense. The usual colonial table d’hôte assembled at nine
o’clock in the vast inner hall or pavilion, looking on a garden; and in
this small world, where every one knows every one, his habitat and
all his affairs, the new-comers were given a silent, earnest attention
that would have checked any appetites save those engendered by
our archæological afternoon at Brambanam. When beefsteak was
served with a sauce of pineapple mashed with potato, and the
succeeding beet salad was followed by fried fish, and that by a
sweet pudding flooded with a mixture of melted chocolate and
freshly ground cocoanut, we were oblivious to all stares and
whispers and open comments in Dutch, which these colonials take it
for granted no alien understands or can even have clue to through its
likeness to German. While we rocked on the great white portico we
could see and hear that Solo’s lizards were as gruesome and
plentiful as those of other towns. While tiny fragilities flashed across
white columns and walls, and arrested themselves as instantaneous
traceries and ornaments, a legion of toads came up from the garden,
and hopped over the floor in a silence that made us realize how
much pleasanter companions were the croaking and bemoaning
geckos, who keep their ugliness out of sight.
THE DODOK.
The stir of camp and court, the state and pomp and pageantry of
three such grandees as emperor, sultan, and resident in the one city,
made such street-scenes in Solo as tempted the kodaker to constant
play while the sun was high. Bands and marching troops were
always to be seen in the street, and the native officials of so many
different kinds made pictures of bewildering variety. The resident,
returning from an official call, dashed past in a coach and four, with
pajong-bearers hanging perilously on behind, and a mounted escort
clattering after. Members of the imperial household staff were
distinguished by stiff sugar-loaf caps or fezzes of white leather; and
such privileged ones stalked along slowly, magnificently, each with a
kris at the back of his belt, and always followed by one or two lesser
minions. Those of superior rank went accompanied by a pajong-
bearer balancing the great flat umbrella of rank above the
distinguished one’s head; and the precision with which the grandee
kept his head within the halo of shadow, or the bearer managed to
keep such a true angle on the sun, were something admirable, and
only to be accomplished by generations of the two classes practising
their respective feats. The emperor’s mounted troops were objects of
greater interest, these dragoons wearing huge lacquered vizors or
crownless caps over their turbaned heads, the regulation jackets,
sarongs, and heavy krises, and bestriding fiery little Timor ponies.
The native stirrup is a single upright bar of iron, which a rider holds
between the great toe and its neighbor; and these troopers seemed
to derive as much support from this firm toe-grip as booted riders do
from resting the whole ball of the foot on our stirrups.
There is a labyrinthine passer at Solo, where open sheds and
rustic booths have grown upon one another around several open
court spaces, which are dotted with the huge mushrooms of palm-
leaf umbrellas, and whose picturesqueness one cannot nearly
exhaust in a single morning’s round. The pepper- and fruit- and
flower-markets are, of course, the regions of greatest attraction and
richest feasts of color. The horn of plenty overflowed royally there,
and the masses of bananas and pineapples, durians, nankos,
mangosteens, jamboas, salaks, dukus, and rambutans seemed
richer in color than we had ever seen before; and the brass-, the
basket-, the bird-, the spice-, and the gum-markets had greater
attractions too. The buyers were as interesting as the venders, and a
frequent figure in these market groups that tempted the kodaker to
many an instantaneous shot, regardless of the light,—better any
muddy impression of that than none at all,—was the Dutch
housewife on her morning rounds. I braved sunstroke and apoplexy
in the hot sunshine, and trailed my saronged subjects down crowded
aisles to open spots, to fix on film the image of these sockless
matrons in their very informal morning dress. I lurked in booths and
sat for endless minutes in opposite shops, with focus set and button
at touch, to get a good study of Dutch ankles, when certain typical
Solo hausfraus should return to and mount their carriage steps—only
to have some loiterer’s back obscure the whole range of the lens at
the critical second.
JAVA, BALI, AND MADURA KRISES.