BOOKS IN INDIA
India in fiction. Vernacular prayer books. Indian letters.
Indian advertisements. Mistaken method of education. Slang
expressions. Swearing. Indians possess few books. Want of
respect for books. Cheapness of Christian books. Indian
printing and binding.
There are a few writers of fiction who depict Indian native life and
talk faithfully. But many readers get an entirely false idea of India
and its people from certain popular novels, which are supposed to
paint a true picture, but in which the description even of cities, and
villages, and scenery are often as unlike the reality as the
circumstances and conversations. Indian people talk much in the same
way as ordinary folk in other parts of the world, except that unseemly
allusions are freely admitted into general conversation in a way which
would not be tolerated in a Christian country. The absurd, high-flown
conversational rhapsodies in the average Anglo-Indian novel are purely
imaginary. "Kim's" talk fairly represents the ordinary talk of the
Indian, although he was not one himself.
A missionary, newly arrived in the country, asked whether the Prayer
Book, translated into the vernacular, suited the Indian people, or
whether its sober language failed to satisfy the Easterns' desire for
rhapsody. But the high flights such as he had in mind are only to be
found in novels. People often speak of the Prayer Book as if it was a
modern compilation of purely Western origin, and they seem to forget
that it is teeming with ancient Eastern thought. It is an instance of
its Catholicity that it supplies the needs of all nations. When
carefully translated, many of the people of the East make more use of
it than some good Christians do in England. Even rustic Indians use it
intelligently and with great appreciation, and it forms their chief
manual of private devotion. Indian children soon learn to follow the
various services which it contains with happiness and profit. Many of
them have made themselves quite familiar with the whole book from
often studying it.
Innumerable examples have been published of the astonishing letters
addressed by Indians to Government officials and others. They are
astonishing, both in the nature of the requests made and the English
in which their wants are expressed. Some people suppose that the
examples published cannot be really authentic, or are greatly
exaggerated. Those who are familiar with some of the originals know
that exaggeration is impossible, because no feigned composition could
beat the reality. Here is a letter, copied word for word, which a
Hindu wrote and brought to me, asking me to correct it:--"To
Colonel,----. Sir, my eldest son has been suffering since last year
from Morbid heat of skin that is bone fever for which he had Quinine
Arsenic and chiretta, but without effect of recovery, he is gradually
getting day by day weaker, and we have had 'chit chat' at your
quarters for granting to my son an appointment as clerk in your
office, please try your best and grant him one, for which act of
kindness I shall ever pray for your long life and prosperity. Most
probably I shall see you during the Christmas Holidays. An early reply
will be greatly oblige, I remain Sir yours faithful and most
respectful servant Bulwant."
Indian tradesmen in their advertisements often promise to pray for
those who become their customers. Here is a quotation from an English
leaflet, put out by a bookbinder in our neighbourhood:--"Rates and
charges for different sorts of binding and gold work will be settled
by the undersigned and the party and the undersigned will ever pray
for him, who will call him up by a Post Card." The comicalities to be
found in shop signboards in the English language are endless.
But though comical examples of the misapplication of language have
been published to weariness, and the bombastic compositions of
educated Indian students held up to ridicule, the fault does not lie
with the pupil but with ourselves, who are ultimately responsible for
the subjects which are set him to learn. So long as he is made to read
books in antiquated English, he will naturally suppose that the
flowery and bombastic language of Addison in the _Spectator_, or of
Dr. Johnson, is the style which he ought to imitate when he writes a
letter. Nor is it possible for him to discriminate, in what is to him
a foreign language, between what is antiquated and out of date, and
what is mere modern slang, and so he sometimes combines the two styles
in his compositions with startling effect.
It would seem to be more rational to give him the best modern authors
to study while he is still a learner, and to leave it to him to dive
into the recesses of English literature, if he is so inclined, after
he has ceased to be a pupil. Students bring their books of selections
from English authors to the missionary, and ask him to clear up their
difficulties. But a long and involved paragraph, with several obsolete
words and obscure satire, is a tangle which it is almost hopeless to
unravel satisfactorily, when you are dealing with a language so unlike
in construction and modes of expression to that of the learner. Nor
are some of the allusions in the selected passages particularly
edifying to the Hindu mind, ready to scent evil even where it does not
exist. And they tempt him to buy cheap reprints of the literature of
the past, in the hope that he will find matter congenial to a mind
easily attracted to that which is pernicious.
Indian students are sometimes asked in their examinations to explain
out-of-the-way or obsolete expressions which are little better than
slang. As a result of this, students when speaking English will
introduce some of these expressions into their talk, thinking that by
so doing they show their familiarity with the language. When they try
to embellish serious sentences in this way the result is sometimes
remarkable. They will also repeat words, never heard in polite
society, under the idea that they are in common use. Now and then
students swear freely, supposing that all Englishmen do so. When
taking shelter from the midday sun at a roadside police station--only
a little hut a few feet square--I listened to the Mohammedan policeman
as he talked to a beggar, who was exhibiting the contents of his
bundle in order to show that he had not got any stolen goods. The
policeman was talking in Marathi, but presently I noticed that at
intervals a short word occurred, which sounded like what is popularly
regarded as being essentially the Englishman's oath. I soon discovered
that such was really the case, and that the policeman was adorning his
talk with the word which he had heard Englishmen use when they wanted
to give force to their orders. He was, of course, quite ignorant of
its meaning, but it was unfortunate that the only English word which
he knew, and which he evidently used constantly, should be of such a
nature.
Few Indians possess any number of books, either in their own language
or in English. The lesson books they may have used at school or
college gradually get dispersed. Even in the houses of educated people
little provision in the shape of bookcases is to be found. A recess in
the wall may contain a shelf or two on which a few books are placed in
disorderly array, but they are seldom read. Even those who read books
take little pleasure in their outward appearance, and the binding is
to them nothing more than a necessary protection to the book inside
it. Some wealthy Indian, following to some extent Western fashions in
his house, may have in his reception-room the _Encyclopaedia
Britannica_, and a library edition of Dickens, elaborately bound. But
they are rarely opened and only form part of the decorative furniture
of the room, and stand a poor chance of notice in competition with the
big gramophone which, nowadays, is to be found in many well-to-do
Eastern households.
Indians have yet to learn to treat books with the respect which is
instinctive amongst people of refinement in most European countries.
To see a book rudely treated, or knocked about, is almost as
distressing to many people as if it was an object sensitive to pain.
But a book in the hands of even a cultivated Indian is almost sure to
suffer. If it is a new book, he will open it vigorously, and bend it
back as far as it will go, in order to make it open properly. Its
broken back is the permanent memento of the treatment it has
received. Even Christian Indians are slow to learn the outward respect
due to their religious books. Their prayer books and hymn books, more
often than not, soon go to pieces for want of reasonable care,
although women are much more careful than men. Want of appreciation of
the value of a book may partly arise from the fact that nearly all the
books which Christians use have been sold to them under cost price,
through the help of societies. Bible societies issue copies of the
Scriptures at extraordinarily cheap rates, so that they may come
within the reach of everybody, however poor. Vernacular prayer books
are generally sold at a cost much below that of their production. This
was inevitable in early days when Christians were few in number, and
often poor. But it has left the impression that a book is a thing of
little value, easily replaced.
A Brahmin seeing a book on India on my table which he thought he would
like to have, asked the price. On hearing that it was seven or eight
shillings, he lifted up his hands in dismay and said, "The price is
prohibitive. Write and tell Messrs Murray & Co."
At one time it was almost impossible to get good printing done in
India, although many people professed to be printers. Of late years
there has been a great change in this respect, and some of the presses
produce beautiful vernacular work, and soon their English printing
will leave little to be desired. Bookbinding also shows sufficient
promise to indicate that first-rate results would be forthcoming if
there was more demand for it. Some of the more enterprising newspaper
proprietors are issuing festal numbers of their publication in
imitation of our Christmas numbers, and though they are in substance
rather a sad parody of even our own publications in which the true
meaning of Christmas often has so little place, the manner of their
production is sufficiently artistic to show that India will be quite
capable of producing her own real Christmas number when the happy day
dawns when she is found demanding it.