THE ENGLISH IN INDIA
Bishop Heber's sentiments still apply. Misunderstandings
about India. Hindu character. Action of dissenters. Rashness
of the early settlers. Early rising. Cold baths. The
Bishop's dress. River excursions. Conservatism in India. The
Englishman's bungalow. Arrangements for bathing; their
primitive nature.
It is curious to note, in letters written nearly a hundred years ago,
that many of the things now said about India were said then, and hopes
and fears and perplexities concerning the progress of Christianity
were couched in much the same terms as at the present day.
Bishop Heber writes: "I have seen enough to find that the customs, the
habits, and prejudices of the people of this country are much
misunderstood in England." These words of the Bishop are still true,
in spite of the multitude of books which have been written about India
since his day, and the increasing number of people who visit the
country.
Even the same misunderstandings linger. "We have all heard," writes
the Bishop, "of the humanity of the Hindus towards brute creatures,
their horror of animal food, etc.; and you may be, perhaps, as much
surprised as I was, to find that those who can afford it are hardly
less carnivorous than ourselves. And though they consider it a
grievous crime to kill a cow or bullock for the purpose of eating, yet
they treat their draft oxen, no less than their horses, with a degree
of barbarous severity which would turn an English hackney-coachman
sick. Nor have their religious prejudices and the unchangeableness of
their habits been less exaggerated. At present there is an obvious and
increasing disposition to imitate the English in everything, which has
already led to very remarkable changes, and will, probably, to still
more important." The same sentiments might be written with equal truth
to-day, and would be news to many.
The Bishop also describes the Hindu character with a good deal of
accuracy, but he adds truly: "I do not by any means assent to the
pictures of depravity and general worthlessness which some have drawn
of the Hindus." But when speaking of their religion as a "demoralising
and absurd religion," he is much nearer the truth than those modern
writers who try to idealise it.
Speaking of dissenters, Bishop Heber writes that they are "very civil,
and affect to rejoice at our success; but they, somehow or other,
cannot help interfering and setting up rival schools close to ours;
and they apparently find it easier to draw off our pupils, than to
look out for fresh and more distant fields of enterprise." This
description would apply to the mission field in many places now,
especially to the action of Roman Catholics and the Salvation Army.
The amazing rashness of the earlier settlers and missionaries comes
out in some of their books and journals, and it is no wonder that the
mortality amongst them was great, so that going to India was regarded
as an heroic act, and the chances of return dubious. The chief
precaution against the sun that they indulged in was to get up
extraordinarily early, so as to get their exercise while it was still
cool, and they took a long sleep in the middle of the day. Bishop
Heber in one of his letters from Calcutta says: "I held my first
visitation this morning at 6 o'clock (!), to avoid the heat of the
day." In another letter, when on tour, he writes: "I rise by three in
the morning and am on horseback by four." Again, speaking of his life
in Calcutta, he says: "Our way of life is simple, and suited to the
climate. The general custom is to rise at six in the cool season, and
at half-past four in the morning during the hot weather, and to take
exercise on horseback till the sun is hot; then follow a cold bath,
prayers, and breakfast." The plunge into the "cold bath" should be
noted, as being the ultimate cause of the Bishop's sudden death. Few
people take a cold bath in India now, and certainly not in the early
morning. Nor is the chill air in the early hours of the Indian day in
the cold weather a particularly healthy time, and nowadays the few
people who come to India with the intention of conforming to the
ancient custom of early morning exercise soon drop it. It is to be
regretted that the tendency now is to go to the opposite extreme, and
late hours at night, and comparatively late getting up, grows
increasingly common. Few people, however, now look upon the midday
_siesta_ as a necessity.
There are authentic sketches of Bishop Heber and others out for a
ride, dressed in frock coat and tall hat, as if they were in Rotten
Row. The Bishop, nevertheless, seems to have accommodated his dress to
the necessities of the climate more than most of the clergy, at any
rate when on tour. There is an amusing paragraph, bearing on this
point, in the journal of the Archdeacon of Bombay in 1825. When Bishop
Heber was drawing near to Bombay, after a long and arduous tour, he
was joined by the Archdeacon, who says in the course of his notes that
"there are some points, such as his wearing white trousers and a white
hat, which I could wish were altered with more regard to his station,
and which, perhaps strike me the more after being accustomed to the
particular attention of Bishop Middleton in such points." But he goes
on to say that he felt compelled to forgive him, on the score of all
his other excellent qualities. In a note the editor explains that "on
his journeys the Bishop wore a white solar hat, with a very broad brim
(lined with green silk), made from the pith of the bamboo. As it
afforded more protection from glare and heat he preferred it to the
episcopal hat, his usual dress when residing at any of the
presidencies. The white trousers he adopted soon after his arrival in
India, from their greater coolness; and he recommended them to his
clergy on all ordinary occasions." It might be added that coolness is
not the only thing to be considered for residents in India. A chill of
some sort is the cause of many Indian ailments, and shirt and trousers
of flannel, however thin, should be the invariable dress, by day and
by night.
One of the ways of trying to regain health amongst those early workers
in the East, was to go for an excursion of some weeks' duration on a
river. Possibly they had in mind the beneficial results of a boat
excursion on the Thames. But slow progress in a native boat, alongside
the mud-banks and reedy swamps of many Indian rivers, was about as
sure a way of getting, or increasing, malaria as they could have
devised.
There is a strong spirit of conservatism amongst most Englishmen when
they live in India. They appear to catch the traditional spirit of the
country, and "what has been must always be." Hence arrangements
adopted by the earlier settlers are continued to the present day, even
though in some respects they are particularly inconvenient. The
old-fashioned bungalow, which is always a one-storied building nearly
all roof, is simplicity itself as regards plan. But it is certainly
not beautiful to look at, and has nothing specially to commend itself
from a practical point of view. Yet it is only very gradually that
houses more attractive in appearance, and more adapted to the ways of
civilisation, are taking its place. Even in modern bungalows, the
extremely primitive arrangements for bathing, which formerly had to
suffice because there was nothing better, are still perpetuated. The
bathroom is often a dingy, lean-to shed, opening out of your sleeping
room. It has another door leading to the outer world for the use of
the water-carrier, as well as for the mysterious being who glides in
and out as he attends to the sanitary needs of the bathroom in a
country where there is no drainage.
The actual area for bathing is something like the sink in an English
scullery, but level with the floor and on an enlarged scale. The hole
in the wall, as an exit for the water, is unpleasantly suggestive of a
possible inlet for snakes. Nor is this fear without foundation. The
hole in the wall leading into the cool, damp, dark bathroom is a
distinct invitation to snakes to enter in, which they sometimes
accept. The wire guard is often absent, or broken. The water for
bathing is stored in utensils, varying in type according to the part
of India in which you may happen to be. Sometimes it is kept in tall
black earthenware pots, suggestive of those in which the Forty Thieves
of the Arabian Nights concealed themselves. Sometimes it is found in a
gigantic sort of round pie-dish, such as a giant might use for his
supper. Sometimes a modern galvanised iron tub indicates the fusion of
Eastern and Western habits.
A servant-boy will bring you a pailful of hot water from the
kitchen--that remote apartment, in some far-away corner of the
compound, to which no one ventures to penetrate, unless he is prepared
to eat his dinner ever afterwards with misgivings. A certain suspicion
of greasiness on the surface of the water is suggestive of cooking and
of vessels imperfectly cleansed. It is always rather a problem to know
how one is meant to use the water in the pail, which is usually
scalding hot. A visitor emptying it into the big tub of cold water,
and having a luxurious tepid bath, found that in so doing he had
unwittingly used up a store of cold water which was meant to last for
several days. There are many parts of India where clean fresh water is
scarce, and has to be fetched from a distance and used with economy.
The remaining apparatus provided for your comfort in the bathroom is a
wooden board, or rack, on which you squat, while you pour water over
yourself with a tin pint-pot. It is well to see that no scorpion, or
other stinging insect, has hid up in any of the crevices of the board.
A very refreshing bath can be secured in this primitive way, and
suggestions for improved methods are scarcely welcomed by those who
have got accustomed to, and now prefer, the old-fashioned plan.