MAGH, JANUARY.
THE MORNING BATH.--SHORESH-SOTEE, OR MUSE.
This month, though third in order, is the first of the three which
are held sacred by the Hindoos. On the first day of Magh, at five in
the morning, the whole country is up to bathe. The excitement thus
created is beyond comparison. Sacred songs, jubilees, exhortations are
heard from every quarter. The school-teachers form concerts of their
pupils, who sing the praise of the sacred river Ganges, through the
streets and before the temple. Men, women, and children crowd in the
Ghats,--bathing-places. As they go in they throw some fruits, such as
mangoes, bananas, cocoa-nuts, into the water as an offering to the
sacred river. Some continue their morning bath through the whole month,
others only three days, while a few religious persons continue it
through the year.
The Hindoos have no preaching like the Christians, but there is
something in that shape which occurs in this month. The religious
Hindoo engages a Brahmun to read and expound the sacred books in his
house, which is free and open to all hearers. This Brahmun is always
well trained, has full knowledge of the Scriptures, a fine, sonorous
voice, and is full of fun. In short, he must be learned, a good reader,
singer, and actor. An altar is made for him, on which he sits on a
cushion. He wears some flower-wreaths round his neck and head, like the
Grecian orators with laurels.
In the middle of the month the image of Shoresh-sotee is worshipped.
She is the giver of learning, poetical genius, and efficiency in music.
Hence the poets, orators, singers, pay her homage and worship. Every
family is not required to buy her idol, for the worship of books,
writing-desks, inkstand, pen, musical instruments, do just as well.
Even at the foot of the image these things are set in order. The
schoolmasters make a grand idol of the goddess, and tax their pupils
to meet the expense incurred thereby. There is one thing singular and
unpleasant to the children. They are forbidden to eat _Kool_, a
kind of plum, until it has been offered to the goddess; and if they do,
her wrath will doom them to a life of ignorance. As the _Kools_
grow earlier than the time of the worship of the goddess, they feel
very badly seeing the trees smile with red and yellow fruits, while
they are not able to touch them. The temptation on the one hand,
and the fear of becoming dunces on the other, trouble them. Under
such circumstances the cunning boys come to an understanding with
the goddess, and promise to present her double or triple the number
of _kools_ which they eat before the time. Thus, with care and
caution they keep the accurate account of the _kools_ they eat,
and produce the same before the image, agreeably to the contract made
before. The worship occupies one day only, which is spent with music
and other amusements.
Besides being the daughter of Doorga, the great goddess, Shoresh-sotee
has a legendary tale attached to her person, which is regarded by
the Hindoos as a genuine fact. Much as I do doubt its genuineness,
I think it is a beautiful story, contrived to show the mercy of the
goddess to her children. It is as follows. There was a young princess
in India whose youth, personal charms, and mental accomplishments had
made her the admiration of the time. Among other things that brought
her notoriety, there was an oath she had taken, to the effect that
she would give her hand to a man who would surpass her in power of
reasoning, and conquer her in intellectual warfare.[24] The learned
young princes and nobles of literary renown crowded her palace, but
success did not smile upon any of them. One after the other they
took the field of controversy with the maiden, and were vanquished.
Disappointment and shame became their reward. Next to the kings and
nobles, the Brahmun sages--whom we might call Depositories of Indian
literature--made their appearance, but had to wear crowns of shame.
Whether some superhuman intelligence shaped her arguments so as to
render them impregnable, or her personal charms, her “lightning-like
smiles,” or her “voice sweeter than Cuckoo’s,” threw a net of
confusion over her opponents, I cannot say. While the vanquished party
of the Brahmuns was returning home, they determined to know if anything
could be done to punish the proud princess. Finding their own literary
merits quite inadequate to the purpose, they did not hesitate to resort
to stratagem. As the troubled company moved slowly homeward, contriving
some way to ruin the learned maiden, it happened that a young man,
singular in every way, came before their eyes. He was tall in stature,
dark in complexion, unintelligent yet mild in his countenance. To
describe his ignorance, which was proverbially great, the story says
that the Brahmuns found him sitting on the branch of a lofty tree, and
severing the same with an axe from the main trunk, not knowing that
his own weight will facilitate the work, and that great will be his
fall on the ground below! This ridiculous, yet pitiable scene attracted
the attention of the sages, and they halted. This philosopher on the
tree would make a good match for the princess, they said, if he could
be saved from the ruin which his own hands were bringing upon him.
They beckoned him down the tree, hinting that they have something very
important to communicate to him, and so he came. In answer to their
inquiries he told them his name was Kalidass, a Brahmun by caste, and
that he had had no education. They informed him that they knew the
latter while he had been on the tree. They asked him to follow them
if he wished to marry a rich, noble woman in the country. He begged
them not to make fun of him, as he was too unworthy of the bride they
spoke of. However, they let him understand that they would do what is
necessary, argue with the princess, and arrange the matter prudently,
provided he would go with them as their Master, keep himself seated in
a dignified look, which they would show him how to assume, and now and
then make some gesture during the discussion. He consented to their
words, and leaving his axe and anything he had behind him, followed the
cunning Brahmuns to catch a woman. The unfortunate damsel fell a victim
to the united subtility of the Brahmuns, acknowledged her failure, and,
faithful to her vows, married Kalidass, their supposed Master.
At the usual hour a maid-servant showed him his room, and he entered
in, tired and excited. Illiterate as he was, he was able to reflect
upon the contrasts between his position then and a few hours
previous,--a boor in the country, and a master of the sages,--a
poor Brahmun in the morning, and the husband of a princess in the
evening,--accustomed to lie down on the cottage-floor, now the silvery
bosom of a bedstead in the palace is to receive him. There was a
mosquito-net round the bed, and he did not know how to get in. The
story says, he climbed the bed-post that held the net, to see if there
was any opening on the top, and finding none he jumped in, tearing
the costly net to pieces. Late in the evening the princess came in,
and first of all, wishing to exchange some words, began to look for
a topic. In the mean time a camel in the king’s stable roared. “The
Oostros roar very loud, do they not?” she said. No response came from
Kalidass. “Am I wrong? Is it not Oostro which I heard roar just now?”
“Yes, you are right,” he said; “certainly it is ‘_Oo’tro_,’” not
knowing the true pronunciation of the word. The princess felt quite
alarmed at the word “Oo’tro,” for a scholar, a man of delicacy would
hardly use it. She thought perhaps it was owing to a “_slip_ of
the tongue,” that he said _Oo’tro_, or it might be that he was
tired or was making fun.
Venturing again, so as to find out the truth, she begged him to tell
her what it was that roared a little while ago. At which he, in his
full ignorance of the case, replied, “It was _Ottro_,” making
it a new term altogether. The literary princess was shocked at it,
knowing that the Brahmuns had ruined her; and indignantly striking her
husband with her foot, she left the room. I do not believe this part
of the story; it is contrary to the Hindoo custom; no insult is so
great as to touch a man with the foot. Women, especially delicate and
learned ones like the princess, could not do such a deed,--it is not
only a great insult to a husband, but a real sin. It may be she had
left the room disrespectfully, which, too, was not polite. Whatever was
the case, poor Kalidass felt very much mortified, rose from his seat,
looked towards heaven, and with tears said, “Mother Shoresh-sotee! the
man is a mere animal who does not possess thy blessing in his soul.
A woman insulted me! And why? Because of my ignorance of science and
literature! To whom shall I go for redress but to thee, O Goddess of
Learning? I am too old to begin to study. What shall I do then? I do
not wish to live an insulted life without learning, without worth, any
longer.” He then left the palace and his learned bride, and entered
into a desert with a view to put an end to his life there. Finding a
lake before him, he went in to drown himself in its water. While on
the point of merging into eternity he heard a voice saying, “Do not
die, child! here I am, thy Mother, come from heaven; thy tears have
fallen at my feet, and thy prayer hath sunk deep into my heart, so I
descended on earth to redress thy grief. I am Bak Dabie! Sink thy head
into the water of this lake, and when thou hast lifted it up a clearer
atmosphere will spread over thy head.” At the direction of the goddess,
Kalidass immersed his whole body in the water, and lifting up his head,
saw the goddess standing in the air. Inspired with a miraculous gift of
knowledge, he immediately offered a prayer to the goddess, describing
her beauty from head to foot, in language which the Hindoos think very
chaste and high. In fact it is a fine specimen of Sanscrith poetry. The
Hindoos are taught to repeat it in their schools. Unfortunately the
goddess found fault with his description of her face first, and said,
“He will be killed by the hands of a vile woman.” The sentence has been
fulfilled in the life of Kalidass.[25]
Thus the insulted Brahmun miraculously became the greatest of all the
poets whom India ever produced. His writings, still extant, are real
treasures, both in regard to their poetical splendor, their sublime
depth, and their moral bearings. Such is the legendary manifestation
of the goddess to Kalidass, which, although a mere story, has much
influence upon pure Hindoo minds.