THE INDIAN WASHERMAN
The _dhobi_, or washerman. The Christian _dhobi_.
Laundry-work for mission boys; failure of the enterprise.
How the _dhobi_ does his work; beating the clothes on a
stone. Relaxations of the _dhobi_; his difficulties in the
rains; his standard of honesty; he learns his trade in
childhood; his bullock. Bells on cattle, useful at night;
melody of the bells. An obstinate bullock a perplexity.
Motor-cars and bullocks.
India is a country in which the washing of clothes is carried out to
perfection, so far as the cleansing and bleaching of the garments is
concerned. But it must be confessed that this desirable result is
attained at much cost to the garments themselves. The profession of
washerman, or _dhobi_ as he is called, like most other occupations in
India, is chiefly an hereditary one. It is very difficult for anyone
outside the _dhobi_ caste to get a footing in the profession. Washing
is done in the open air in a stream or river, or on the edge of a
tank, or _howd_. These washing-places are so jealously guarded by the
_dhobis_ that an intruder on their sacred preserves has no chance. At
one time it was hoped that _dhobi_ work might prove a useful
occupation for those boys of the Mission who do not shape into
carpenters. All the Mission washing would provide a good means of
livelihood for several lads. And in India it is men who run the
laundry. Their womenkind help, but in almost every case it is the man
who is the responsible person.
There was at one time a Christian _dhobi_ in the Mission. He was a
convert from Hinduism, and some people were uncharitable enough to
suggest that the secret of his conversion was to be found in his hope
that it would secure to him the Mission washing in perpetuity. But,
however this may have been, he managed to retain his rights as a
_dhobi_ after his baptism, and took his station at the usual
washing-place without difficulty. Increasing age and his need of
assistance first suggested the idea that he might teach his craft to
some of the Mission boys. The attempt was beset with many
difficulties. The members of the _dhobi_ caste had tolerated the old
convert, but when they found that he was taking Christian boys as his
pupils they were up in arms, and put every possible difficulty in
their way. A Hindu _dhobi_, who was already doing some of the Mission
washing, professed to be independent of the prejudices of his fellows,
and volunteered to protect the boys, and to instruct them in the
mysteries of his trade. He persevered gallantly for a while, but the
resentment of his fellows was eventually too much for him. They even
put him out of caste, and that is a punishment which no Hindu can
endure.
So, rather apologetically, because he had been bold in his
protestations of his disregard of public opinion, he told us that he
would not be able to continue to instruct our boys. They tried to
carry on the work on their own account, and though exposed to a good
deal of petty persecution from the Hindu _dhobis_, they managed to
assert their right to wash clothes in the stream. But they had not
been under instruction long enough to really learn the art, and
without any competent person to take the lead, their efforts soon
became so unsatisfactory that the industry had to be unwillingly
abandoned.
The Indian _dhobi_ always, by preference, washes clothes in a stream
of running water where such is to be had. Some municipalities, where
there is an adequate water-supply at their disposal, have made
artificial arrangements of this nature, with water running from taps
into small tanks where the _dhobis_ stand and wash. But they much
prefer the river. Many of the Indian rivers for a large part of the
year provide just the conditions which the _dhobi_ loves. The water is
generally reduced to a modest stream, running amongst rocks and
stones, with deep pools here and there, and long stretches of dry sand
or gravel, or even green grass, on which the clothes can be spread to
bleach. The _dhobi_ stands in the stream and rinses the linen in the
running water, sometimes using a little soap. But his real agent for
cleansing consists of large smooth stones belonging to the river-bed,
which lie handy or which he has fished out, and on these he dashes the
wet garments.
As I write [at Khandala] I hear the _dhobi_ in the stream just below,
busy with repeated flagellations which resound loudly. As I saw him
take up a pair of pyjamas I watched the whole process carefully. He
rinsed them for a short time in the stream. He then kneaded them
slightly on the stone and rinsed them again. Then doubling the
garments into a long roll which he held by one end, he raised it high
above his head and dashed it with all his strength on the stone about
eighteen times. When the water had been beaten out he again dipped the
roll into the stream and resumed his flagellations. He repeated this
process six times, so that by the time he had finished and the pyjamas
were added to the pile of washed clothes, they had been beaten on the
stone more than a hundred times. The process effectually expels all
the dirt, but the amount of literal wear and tear to which the garment
is exposed can easily be imagined. Mother-of-pearl shirt-buttons fare
badly under this treatment, and for this reason are not much used in
India.
The scorching sun is another purifying element. Under its bleaching
influence the well-washed garments become white as snow, and have that
refreshing fragrance of complete cleanliness which an Indian resident
misses when at home and he has to receive his washing from an English
laundry.
The ordinary Indian _dhobis_ only iron the clothes by smoothing them
over with their hands, but the more accomplished artists use large and
heavy box-irons, which are heated by filling the box with hot ashes.
The _dhobis_ who are experienced in getting up linen for English
residents do so with great skill, and accomplish successfully the most
elaborate tasks. Washing is very cheap, like most things in India
which depend on labour. The usual custom is to pay so much a month,
for which sum you may send to the wash as many articles as you like.
In Poona City Rs. 2 is the usual monthly payment--that is to say, 2s.
8d. in English money,--but Indians who employ a _dhobi_ pay much less.
It will be seen that laundry work done in Indian fashion is very
laborious; but the _dhobis_ are a cheerful race, and many of them make
a good deal of money. Their chief relaxation seems to be an occasional
social evening, which extends till the next morning. Liquor flows
freely on these occasions, and as the evening progresses the uproar
increases, and before the party finally breaks up a war of many words
generally ends in some, or all of the guests, having a free fight,
which, however, is generally without bloodshed and does not apparently
hinder the resumption of friendly relationships the next day.
The _dhobi's_ time of trial is the rainy season, when he pursues his
trade under great difficulties. The modest stream of clear water, so
well suited to his purpose, has developed into a rolling river of
muddy water. His smooth stones, his gravelly shoals, the banks of
green grass, are now buried deep in a foaming torrent. The air is
laden with moisture, and violent rain falls repeatedly. He lives in a
miserable hut, with none of the appliances which we are accustomed to
see in laundries. His artificial means for drying clothes are of the
most primitive character, and his customers are clamouring for their
garments, and abusing him because he is behindhand.
In a country where integrity in matters of trade is rare, it is not to
be expected that the _dhobi's_ standard of honesty will be higher than
that of other people, and the nature of his employment gives
facilities for petty dishonesty: such as exchanging old handkerchiefs
for new, or not bringing back the same number of garments as he took
away. But even when his intentions are good, it makes it the more
difficult to return the washing correctly that the English markings on
the clothes are to him only so many cabalistic signs, merely to be
recognised by their general appearance. And as the _dhobi_ often finds
himself misled in his attempt to follow this uncertain guide, he
adopts signs of his own for his regular customers, and with coloured
thread, or even ink, makes marks on the clothes intelligible to
himself, and not always conducive to the appearance of the garment.
From a merely utilitarian point of view there are some advantages in
the fact that certain trades are practically confined to the members
of certain castes. A _dhobi_, for instance, does not expect or aspire
to be anything different. Hence he begins to learn his craft almost
from infancy. Again, as I write, I can see in the stream below a busy
family of three generations of _dhobis_. The grandfather is
grey-haired, and though taking a good share of the work is obviously
getting into old age, although probably not much over fifty. But for
most Indians that means old age. His son is a hale man in the prime of
life. Two or three women, the wives of one or other, or of each, are
assisting. But there is a little grandson about three or four years
old. He still walks rather unsteadily on bowed legs. He is already
absorbed in learning the mysteries of his ancestral trade. He is given
a pair of stockings to wash, and, small as he is, he copies exactly
the actions of his parents. He rinses the stocking in the water, beats
it on the stone so far as his limited supply of strength will allow,
rinses it again, beats it again, and finally casts it on one side when
the process is complete, as he sees his father do. He is almost a
full-fledged _dhobi_ as soon as he has learned to talk and walk. Not
being very great at the latter accomplishment, he rides home on the
bullock, which is a necessary part of the stock and trade of every
prosperous _dhobi_. The bullock carries the clothes, which are formed
into a sort of huge bolster, which, when put on the back of the
bullock, nearly touches the ground on either side.
Bullocks almost invariably have a bell hung round their necks. When
cattle are out grazing the bell is useful, because it serves to
indicate their whereabouts when they have strayed. They also follow
more or less the sound of one anothers' bells, so that they tend to
keep a flock or herd together. The bells on the bullocks which are
employed in road traffic have a practical use, because, when
travelling by night, the proximity of a bullock-cart is often first
indicated in the dark by the tinkling of the bells. These are often
two or three inches in diameter, and in the comparative stillness of
night can be heard at some distance. When a string of a dozen or more
bullock-carts follow each other in close succession the jingling of
the bells rings out cheerfully. In fact, an additional reason why
people like to have bells on their bullocks is that the Hindu is
mostly timid at night, and the sound of the bells is a kind of
companionship, and may do something towards warning off evil spirits.
When a number of bells are tinkling at the same time they are
naturally not always in tune with one another, and discordant
combinations may result, especially when the bells of two bullocks
yoked together are much out of tune. But if you listen critically to
each bell, when a row of carts is passing, you will every now and then
hear one of a peculiarly rich and mellow sound. I once tried to
persuade a man to sell a melodious bell which I heard by chance as he
drove by, but he would not entertain the idea for a moment. Perhaps he
thought that it would be unlucky to part with it.
That the bullocks themselves get to look upon the bell as a necessary
accompaniment to work, has been often noticed. An Englishman
travelling by night in a bullock-cart found that the ceaseless
jingling of the bells kept him awake, and he ordered them to be
removed. But when the sound ceased the beasts took it as an indication
that work was over, and promptly lay down, and no further progress was
made till the bells had been restored. An Indian bullock is for the
most part a docile and long-suffering creature. But he makes up for
his usual good behaviour when he happens to get annoyed. He is not
unlike his Indian master in this respect. If a bullock lies down and
refuses to do his work, no amount of persuasion will induce him to
change his mind. Natives even go so far as to light straw under him
when all other efforts to make him budge fail. More often, when blows
and energetic tail-twistings have no effect on him, the beast has to
be humoured in some way. His mind is often restored to its normal
equilibrium by inducing him to change places with his yoke-fellow, or
with a bullock in another cart.
The eventualities of road traffic do not usually disturb the placidity
of the bullock, but if he once gets frightened and loses his head, he
gives way to unmitigated panic. The first appearance of the motor-car,
which is now almost as common in parts of India as it is in England,
reduced many bullocks to a state of abject terror. Fortunately most
mishaps with bullock-carts are not very serious in their results. The
cart is not easily broken, and is quickly righted. But having occasion
to travel in a public motor-car through a country district where the
car was then a novelty, it was alarming to see the state of chaos
which we were constantly leaving in our rear. The theory of the driver
of the car was that, if bullocks are frightened, the best course is to
dash past quickly and get it over. The result was not altogether a
success. The fact that a horrible monster had sped by was sufficient
to produce panic, and the first impulse of the bullock was to rush off
the road to some place of safety. In India it is easy to go off the
track at any point, because there is often neither wall nor hedge, and
the surrounding country may be uneven and intersected with beds of
streams and deep hollows.
In the course of our journey I saw a bullock-cart swerve off the road
and fall bottom upwards into a field on a much lower level. Anyone
unfamiliar with bullock-cart accidents would expect much more
disastrous results from such a mishap than was probably actually the
case; but I saw the tragedy when we were already far ahead, and our
driver of course never saw it at all. Consternation was excited in the
traffic ahead of us by the hoot of the car. Drivers, who had already
experienced the effect of a motor-car on their beasts, leapt from
their cart, and hastily urging the bullocks to the side of the road,
stood in front of them and blind-folded their eyes with their garments
so that they might not see the apparition tearing by. After a little
familiarity with motors, the philosophic Indian bullock soon gets to
regard them with supreme indifference.