AGRICULTURE IN INDIA
Agricultural colleges. Indian soil exhausted; need of
chemical manures. Signs of progress among farmers. The city
sweepings. Sugar cane; hospitalities connected with it; we
are invited; our reception; the juice from the cane; its
produce in other forms. Potatoes. The Indian evening; its
rapid approach. Return of the cattle.
The Government of India are spending large sums on agricultural
research. They have a College of Agriculture on an extensive scale at
Pusa, in Bengal, and another big college near Poona has just been
completed. These handsome buildings, with their chemical laboratories,
lecture rooms, and English professors, seem at the first glance
strangely remote from the homely farmer in his native village, and the
first inclination is to suggest that these colleges will only produce
a crop of ornamental figure-heads, who will graduate in agriculture,
but who will make no practical use of the knowledge which they have
acquired.
But the aim of these colleges is not quite so visionary as one might
think. The Government realises that it will be long before the
influence of the college reaches the small farmer in his village. The
real point is that the soil of India is worn out through continued
cropping without manuring, and it now only yields a small percentage
of what it might produce, if properly treated. Farmyard manure, such
as the English farmer so largely depends upon for the enrichment of
his land, does not exist in India. This is partly because the cattle
are roaming about all day, and as a rule are only gathered into sheds
at night; partly because the coarse stalks of the native kinds of
grain are not suitable for stable litter like English straw; but
chiefly because the droppings from the cattle are made up into flat
cakes and dried in the sun, which are then used as fuel in conjunction
with a certain amount of wood. This custom is so rooted that it would
be hopeless to try and modify it. Nor indeed is there any other fuel
available. It is long before coal will find its way into common use
for cooking purposes.
The moral of this is, that the only solution of the problem is to be
found in the introduction of chemical manure. But this can only be
done effectually after prolonged experiments. In a country so vast and
so varied as India the varieties of soil are great, and the climatic
conditions manifold. All sorts of different crops are grown. Hence the
experiments necessary to find out how this variety is to be
successfully treated must be spread over a long period of time, and
results can only be arrived at gradually. Even in the process of
irrigation, which at one time appeared to be such a simple matter,
because where an ample supply of water could be secured the genial sun
seemed to do all the rest, the lapse of years is revealing the fact
that repeated irrigation produces certain deleterious chemical changes
in the soil, which might ultimately become disastrous to the
production of the crop. Hence experiments have to be made to determine
to what extent irrigation must be restricted, and how the adverse
chemical conditions can be counteracted.
When facts have been ascertained, their dissemination and acceptance
is another problem. To accomplish this a good deal of the pioneer
work, as with most progressive steps in India, must be done by
Englishmen. Indians, however well instructed, would not be listened to
in the first instance with confidence by their fellow-countrymen. They
would suspect that self-interest was at the back of their advice, and
the chemical manure which they recommended would, on that account, be
distrusted. Hence, at present, a good many of the lecturers, and even
some of the inspectors who are to travel in the districts to advise
and assist the farmers in agricultural matters, have to be Englishmen.
But it is hoped that their places will gradually be taken by those
Indians whom they are now instructing.
Although farmers all the world over are conservative and opposed to
novelties, they generally end by adopting improvements when they have
realised that they are remunerative. Yerandawana village being close
to Poona City, the farmers can procure for their land the street
sweepings, which are sold by the municipality at so much a load. The
farmers see the difference between land which has been manured and
that which has not. They spend, what is to them, large sums of money
on this litter, and they do so readily because they find that they are
abundantly repaid by the increase in their crops. Street sweepings and
city litter can, of course, only be procured in the immediate vicinity
of large towns, and it is limited in quantity, so that this kind of
manure does not go far in enriching the impoverished Indian soil. If
farmers are able to see that chemical manure produces the same result
as the litter, it is reasonable to suppose that in process of time
they would be equally ready to buy the new agent.
Sugar cane is undoubtedly the most beautiful in appearance of all
Indian crops; and when the cane is being converted into raw sugar,
this is one of the most animated rural sights. The process takes place
in the open air in a corner of the field itself, or else close by.
Although it involves plenty of work and all is stir and bustle, it is
a time which the workers enjoy. They encamp on the spot, and it is a
sort of prolonged picnic.[3]
[Footnote 3: The process has been fully described in _Indian
Jottings_, p. 253.]
It is a pleasant custom amongst the sugar-cane growers to invite
little parties of friends to come to the plantation to drink the
fresh juice, and other uninvited guests are apt to stroll round in the
hope of getting something. The code of hospitality amongst Indians
being such a liberal one, even the palpable cadgers are not sent away
empty. Apparently every visitor to any garden must be made to take
away some tangible memento of his visit, if it be only a single
flower.
One of the leading farmers in Yerandawana was, from the first, very
adverse to the intrusion of the Mission into the village. He did not
openly oppose, but when at intervals the villagers got suspicious and
cooled off in their friendly advances, it was known that it was
largely due to the influence of this Hindu. But time gradually does
its beneficent work of pacification, and there came indications of
friendly advances on the part of Bulwantrao himself. Finally his
eldest son called one afternoon and asked two of us to go that evening
to his sugar-cane plantation, so that he might entertain us, and he
said that eight of the Mission boys might come with us.
We gladly accepted the invitation, and went to the appointed place at
sunset. The pleasant scent as we drew near was reminiscent of
jam-making in old days at home, and the process was somewhat similar.
Bulwantrao's son, Rama, a coarse-featured lad with a raucous voice,
welcomed us heartily. The Indian father usually drops into the
background if his all-important eldest son is present, and lets him do
the honours even when he is quite a boy. This is a pleasing feature
of Indian family life, and the father evidently feels great pleasure
in seeing his son and heir exercising the privileges of his position.
A brown country blanket was spread for us to sit upon, and Rama gave
orders concerning us. One of his men brought some of the raw sugar in
a brass bowl, just after it had cooled and consolidated. Presumably
this bowl was dedicated to the use of unclean persons like ourselves,
otherwise our touching it would have made it useless for their own
purposes; except that there are now so many exceptions to the old
rules of greater strictness, that perhaps the usual polish with earth
might be considered a sufficient purification. It was a pleasure to
eat sugar which one knew for certain was free from all taint of
adulteration. Meanwhile several lads and boys had harnessed themselves
to the mill which presses out the juice of the sugar cane, in place of
the bullocks who had gone off duty, and with great energy and much fun
and laughter, made it revolve until enough juice had been pressed out
for our refreshment. The sugar cane, looking and feeling like a thick
bamboo walking-stick, does not suggest itself as an object from which
juice could be extracted, but it pours out in streams as soon as the
stalk comes between the rollers of the mill.
A lemon was squeezed into the bowl of juice, which we were told
greatly improves its flavour, and then we had a most refreshing
drink. It was sweet and cool, but not sickly. There are places in
Poona City where this drink can be obtained in its season for a
farthing a glass, special crushing-mills being erected for the
purpose. It is essential that the juice should be freshly procured,
because if left to stand it quickly ferments, and it is then very
intoxicating. We were next given some of the syrup out of the big pan
which had just been taken off the fire. When poured into the moulds
prepared for the purpose it consolidates as it cools. But it was
rather like toffee at the stage when they put a lump of it into the
palms of our hands, and as it was extremely sticky, it was a difficult
matter getting rid of the after-effects; those who habitually use
their fingers for all purposes appear to acquire the knack of doing so
without getting their fingers into a mess.
Finally we were all provided with long sticks of the cane to take home
with us, and this was the part of the entertainment which the boys
valued most. But as teeth have to do the work of the crushing-mill, it
was only the younger members of the party who were able to make
personal use of the parting gift. We were also invited to look at
Bulwantrao's gardens, and though the tidiness which distinguishes a
cared-for English garden was missing, they were highly cultivated and
contained a varied assortment. People of one country do not take
readily to the natural productions of another country, especially
their vegetables, but potatoes have become popular in India, in spite
of their being small and tasteless. They are sold in all the native
bazaars, and the poorer people buy them largely. Bulwantrao's garden
was an illustration of what may be accomplished by intelligent
cultivation under the influence of the heat of the tropics, combined
with irrigation and manure. We were of course given specimens of such
fruit and vegetables as were in season.
Darkness was rapidly taking the place of sunshine as we returned from
this pleasant visit. There is a special charm about evening-tide in
all parts of the world, and India is no exception; although evening in
that country is peculiar and distinctive, and has the drawback that
the twilight of the tropics is so brief. You are reading a book with
ease, and ten minutes afterwards you can scarcely distinguish a
letter. The sudden fall of night resembles the gloom produced by the
rapid gathering of clouds before a thunderstorm in England, and gives
for the moment a certain sense of sadness. In the last half-hour
before sunset you see people hurrying along the roads and the many
footpaths which intersect each other all over India, in order to get
home before dark. The cattle which have been feeding all day on the
hills and jungle lands come straggling home, and they respond slowly
to the call for hurry, urged upon them forcibly by their young
attendants. If you happen to be in one of the narrow gullies of a
village just at the time when the cattle are coming home, the position
is an embarrassing one. There is scarcely room for them to pass, and
they eye a stranger with suspicion. They turn in at their respective
doorways as if they were the owners, and there is not much distinction
between the quarters allotted to them and the dwelling-place of the
family.