THE CULTIVATION OF RICE.
The natives of Siam depend absolutely on rice for their very
existence. It is the only necessary article of food. Should the supply
fail, there is nothing to take its place. All other forms of food
are, comparatively speaking, luxuries. Abundance of rice means life;
scarcity of rice brings famine and death. The failure of the crops in
Siam would produce a famine as far-reaching and as disastrous in its
results as those of India, which have at different times evoked to
such a large degree, the practical sympathies of the English people.
And yet, despite the terrible nature of the disaster which would
attend any sensible diminution in the supply of this all-necessary
and all-sufficient article of food, the methods of cultivation are
primitive to the last degree, and are carried on with agricultural
implements of the rudest possible character.
[Illustration: THE SWINGING FESTIVAL.
_Page 212._]
When a farmer increases the area of the land under cultivation, by
buying or stealing a new piece of wooded ground or jungle for the
purpose of cultivating rice, he commences his farming operations by
burning down the whole of the timber in order to save himself the
trouble of cutting it. In this way, with the maximum of waste and
the minimum of labour, the ground is cleared.
[Illustration: COLLECTING RIPE GRAIN.]
It is next ploughed with an instrument the total cost of which is
about three shillings. Roughly speaking, the plough is merely a
crooked stick with one handle. If a piece of wood or cane be bent
into two portions, one longer than the other, and if the shorter
portion of the cane be fastened into a heavy block of wood pointed
at one end, while the longer arm is held in the hand, a rough model
of a Siamese plough will be obtained. Occasionally, but by no means
always, a triangular piece of iron is fitted on to the wooden foot.
This, however, is never permanently fastened to the block. The plough
cuts a shallow furrow about two inches deep and five or six inches
wide. It is usually drawn by buffaloes, which are the chief beasts of
burden in this country. The "táme" buffalo, as it is called, seems
very docile with its native owners, and little children are often
seen driving them about, running behind them, belabouring them with
sticks, or sitting on their broad hard backs, guiding them in the
desired direction by whacking them over the nose. They have, however,
a strong dislike to Europeans, and will attack a white man without any
provocation whatever. The natives give as the reason for his dislike,
that the "smell" of the white man is offensive to the beasts. They
are yoked to the plough in a manner as simple as it is inexpensive. A
slightly curved wooden yoke is laid across their powerful necks. On
either side of the neck a straight piece of wood passes through a hole
in the yoke, hangs downwards, and so keeps the heads of the animals
in the right position. From the yoke to the shorter portion of the
plough, there passes a long heavy wooden beam. This is fastened into
a socket in the plough, just below the handle. It is tied to the yoke
with a thong of hide, or a long strip of rattan cane, and ends in a
graceful curve a foot or two above the heads of the animals. The free
end of the beam is often decorated with flowers, feathers, or brightly
coloured ribbons. Pieces of rope passed through holes in the nostrils
are the native substitute for the European bridle, harness, and
reins. Thus the whole weight of the plough, the beam, and the yoke
rests upon the necks of the animals. With one hand on the plough, and
the other loosely grasping the reins, the field labourer toils through
the broiling heat of the day, guiding the great clumsy-looking animals
by an occasional tug at the reins, or urging them to greater speed
with long low groan-like exclamations.
The harrow is square in shape, is made of bamboo, and bears a number
of straight wooden teeth. It is drawn by buffaloes, yoked and
harnessed as in the case of the plough.
As rice only grows where there is an excess of moisture, an abundant
supply of water must be produced either by natural or artificial
means. There is scarcely any artificial irrigation in Siam, for the
peasants depend upon the chance rise of the rivers to flood the fields
after the heavy rains are over. These floods not only inundate the
low-lying plains, and so save the peasant the trouble of watering his
fields himself, but when they subside they leave behind a deposit of
mud so rich and fertile that manuring is rendered unnecessary. And as
these floods are of annual occurrence, any system of rotation of crops
has never been considered. Occasionally some farmer deems it advisable
to adopt some artificial method of inundating his fields, and various
methods of doing this are in use. In none of them, however, are pumps
ever used, though considering the number of canals that thread the
country from end to end, one would think that the easiest and most
natural way of getting the water from the canal into the fields would
be by means of pumps connected to a series of troughs that would carry
the water to any point where it was required. Instead of a pump,
various arrangements of baskets and buckets are employed. The baskets,
which are made of cane and pitched inside and out to prevent leakage,
will hold about seven or eight gallons. They are so suspended by a
system of ropes, that a couple of children can easily scoop up water
from the canal and pour it on to the adjacent rice-patch. When the
fields in the immediate neighbourhood of the water-supply have been
deluged, the water is passed over into the fields further away by
means of a large wooden scoop, which takes up a few gallons at a time.
This process is repeated for each successive field, and eventually the
whole of the farm receives the requisite amount of water.
When buckets are used, the system of irrigation is called "watering
with the foot." The buckets are small, and are linked together about
twelve inches apart. They revolve on a rude wooden windlass, which
is worked by two men, who place their feet on treadles fastened to
the shaft round which the buckets revolve, at the same time grasping
a horizontal bar for support. They run from the canal or pool, up an
inclined trough, fall over the shaft, and tilt their contents into the
field, pass back again under the shaft, and so return to the canal
again.
[Illustration: A SIAMESE RICE-PLOUGH.
_Page 199._]
Of the forty different kinds of rice known to agriculturists, about
six varieties are grown in Siam. The natives divide these roughly into
two classes, which they name respectively "Garden rice," and
"Field rice." The latter kind is inferior in quality, and is scattered
broadcast in the fields, where it is left to grow without any further
care or attention being bestowed upon its cultivation. "Garden rice,"
on the other hand, is carefully sown and tended. The seeds are first
sown as thickly as they can grow, in well-watered patches. They
soon sprout, and the beautiful green blades grow rapidly in the hot
sunshine. When they are a few inches high, they are pulled up by the
roots, and bound into small bundles. These bundles are taken to the
fields by men, women, and children, to be there transplanted in long
straight rows. The fields have by this time been covered with water,
and trampled into a thick black mud under the hoofs of the buffaloes.
Everyone, to use a native expression, now "dives into the field." They
push the roots of the young shoots deep down into the soft mud, with
their nimble hands and feet, with amazing rapidity. A good worker will
not take more than three days to plant an acre. Planting lasts from
about June to October, and during that time the farm hands receive in
wages from eight to twelve shillings a month.
The way in which the rice is reaped when the time for harvest has
arrived, depends largely on the state of the fields. If the waters
have subsided, it is reaped with the sickle, and bound into sheaves,
which are first allowed to dry in the sun, and are then removed by
buffalo carts or bullock waggons. But if the fields are still under
water, this method is obviously impossible, and besides, there
is always a sufficiently large number of leeches, land-crabs and
water-snakes moving about in the slimy mud to make the labourer
cautious as to where he treads. In this case the people go to the
fields in their long narrow canoes. They cut off the ripe heads with a
sickle, and drop them into small baskets placed in the bottom of the
boat. Great carelessness is often shown by the laughing, gossiping
reapers, who drop handful after handful of ripe grain into the water.
[Illustration: PLANTING OUT YOUNG RICE--FOOT OF KORAT HILLS.]
When the threshing commences, the services of the ever useful buffalo
are once more demanded. A threshing floor is first prepared. A piece
of ground is cleared, and then covered with a plaster made of soil,
cow-dung, and water. After a few days this pasty mixture sets into a
hard, firm coating. A tall, straight bamboo is erected in the centre
of the floor, and a few good heads of rice are fastened at the top
for the birds to eat. A roughly carved figure of a man, jokingly
christened "the grandfather," is added by way of decoration. Two
buffaloes are used, which are yoked side by side. The inner one is
loosely fastened on the inside to the central pole, and on the outside
to his fellow-worker, while both are guided by a half-naked man or
boy, who runs round and round behind the animals, holding on to the
tail of the outer one. The threshing takes place on moonlight nights,
and rarely does the moon shine on a more interesting or curious
scene. The buffaloes pace on in their monotonous round, regardless of
their screaming driver or of his vigorous jerking of their hindmost
appendages. In the heaps of straw tumble all the merry, laughing
urchins of the neighbourhood. The air resounds with the sounds of
music, fiddles and tom-toms, dulcimers and drums. Joke and song pass
from mouth to mouth. Here glows the red end of a cigarette; there a
shiny brown back glistens in the moonlight. The large meek eyes of
the animals stare through the gloom. Cocoa-nut oil lanterns vie with
the ruddy flames of the fitful bonfires in lending more light to the
scene, but rarely do more than tinge their own dark smoke a tawny hue.
Fire-flies light up the deep shadows under the long drooping leaves of
the palms, or mirror their own pale light in the bits of shiny straw
that flutter in the evening breeze. Through all these varied shades
of semi-darkness come laughter and song, the cry of the driver, the
creaking of the pole, the firm, steady footfall of the patient beasts,
the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, and a million other
sounds that tell of life and motion in the late hours of a tropical
night.
[Illustration: PLOUGHING A RICE-FIELD.]
The rice is winnowed by the wind as it is poured from one wide shallow
basket to another, and as the chaff flies about in the sunlight its
gilded hues mingle with the vivid green of the surrounding landscape,
to form behind the well-proportioned forms of the girls and women,
a background which is unique in its brilliant combinations of light
and colour. The grain is stored in large baskets made of cane and
plastered outside with mud. These stand on a raised platform, and
are covered by a roof made of leaves. The eye of the farmer grows
bright as he regards his well-filled rice-bins, for by their number
and contents does he measure his wealth. The farmers live together
in small villages for mutual protection; but in spite of all their
precautions, those who inhabit the more remote portions of the country
suffer severely from the depredations of bands of dacoits. During the
night, too, the herds of cattle often break out and wander over the
fields, doing irreparable damage as they wander from one plantation
to another, the absence of all hedges or fences rendering their
wanderings merely a matter of choice to themselves.
The rice-mills of Bangkok are constructed after European models, and
contain modern machinery; but outside the capital, the primitive
mill of earlier days still survives. This is simply a short, broad
stump of a tree with a conical hollow inside, the apex of the cone
being near the ground. A long lever carries at one end a heavy wooden
hammer-head, which falls into the hollow of the stem. It is raised by
placing the foot on the other end of the lever, and then jumping up
so as to press upon the lever with the whole weight of the body. The
women are generally employed in this work, and in any small village
you can hear the steady thump, thump of the hammers from morning to
night, and see the girls and young women jumping on and off the short
end of the lever, with an almost painful regularity and precision.
A great deal of the rice grown in some of the northern provinces is
sent to Luang Prabang, the local supply there being insufficient for
the wants of the inhabitants. It is sent down the River Mekong on huge
rice-rafts made of bamboo. It takes a fairly large crew to manage one
of these rafts, and as several members of the party are sure to have
a wife or child with them, the whole structure somewhat resembles a
floating village. The most usual measurements of these rafts are one
hundred and twenty feet long and about thirty feet beam. They are very
difficult to manage, but so skilful are the native boatmen, that by
means of a number of oars rigged fore and aft, they generally succeed
in taking their cumbersome craft through the numerous rapids and
eddies, with only occasional or trifling loss of their valuable cargo.
Two curious ceremonies take place each year in connection with
the agricultural operations. One is held in connection with the
opening of the field season, while the other is an Oriental form
of "harvest-thanksgiving." The first ceremony is known as "Raakna"
and is generally held about the middle of May. Until the "Ploughing
Festival" is over, no one is supposed to plough or sow. On a certain
day foretold by the Brahmin astrologers of the court, the Minister
for Agriculture, who is always a prince, or a nobleman of high rank,
goes in procession to a piece of ground some distance from the city
walls. He is for the time being the King's proxy, and on that day
many shopkeepers, and holders of stalls in the markets, pay their
taxes to him as the representative of their sovereign. Formerly his
followers were in the habit of seizing the goods of any shopkeeper
which were exposed for sale along the route of the procession, but
this arbitrary manner of collecting dues has, like many other harmful
customs, completely disappeared during the reign of the present
enlightened monarch.
On reaching the scene of the festival ceremonies, the Minister finds
there a new plough with a pair of exceptionally fine buffaloes yoked
to it. Both plough and buffaloes are gaily decorated with flowers
and leaves. The Minister takes the plough, and for about an hour he
guides it over the field, closely watched by the assembled spectators.
They do not, however, concentrate their attention upon his skill
as a ploughman, but on the length of the piece of silk which forms
his lower garment. If, in the course of his amateur agricultural
operations, the Minister should pull this garment above his knee, it
is believed that excessive and therefore disastrous rains will occur
during the wet season. On the other hand, should he allow it to fall
to the ankle a great scarcity of rain is anticipated. A prosperous
season is foretold when the folds of the garment reach midway between
knee and ankle.
When a certain portion of the field has been ploughed, several old
women in the King's service, strew grain of different kinds over the
recently ploughed land. The animals are unyoked and led up to the
scattered grain and allowed to feed upon it. Once more the crowd are
on the alert, as they seek for yet other omens. That kind of grain
of which the buffaloes most freely partake, will, it is expected, be
scarce at the next harvest; the kind they disdain will be reaped in
abundance. The ceremony over, the minister returns in procession,
accompanied by soldiers and military bands; while the brightly
dressed, chattering crowds return to their homes to prepare for the
ploughing and the sowing, hoping for abundant rain and sunshine, and
looking for a fruitful harvest, that thereby they may escape the
terrible and remorseless hand of famine.
The harvest-festival ceremonies are of Brahminical origin and are
known to the people under the name of "Lo Ching Cha". The first word
"Lo" means "to pull"--"ching cha" is "a swing". The place where the
"Swinging Festival" is held is inside the city walls. It is a small
green lawn situated opposite to a very large temple, and on the edge
of a very busy thoroughfare. For three hundred and sixty three days
in each year, there is nothing, except the huge pillars of the swing,
to draw one's attention to the spot. A few boys playing football or
flying kites, a few old women squatting down for a little gossip, or
a few Malay grooms with their masters' ponies are the usual everyday
occupants of the spot. On the other two days of the year, when the
harvest festival is held, every inch of available space is occupied.
The native children, unable to see over the heads of the men and
women when they are upon the ground, quickly mount the neighbouring
walls, and perch themselves in the branches of the trees, or cling,
like monkeys, to every lamp-post and telegraph pole within sight
of the proceedings. The thoroughfares leading to the place are
blocked with innumerable carriages and rickshaws. The crowd is an
exceedingly good-tempered one, and brawling of any kind is very
unusual. The distant sound of a military band heralds the approach
of another of those processions so dear to the heart of the Siamese.
The procession passes through the dense crowd without any trouble,
for the people willingly fall back so as not to impede its progress.
Strangely coloured banners bearing quaint devices, flutter above the
heads of the crowd. A modern military band plays "Marching through
Georgia," while an ancient band in tattered vermilion garments with
yellow trimmings, bangs curious drums, and pierces the air with the
penetrating shrieks of long brass trumpets. The tom-tom and the gong
join in the general uproar. The crowd sways to and fro, striving
to catch a glimpse of the barefooted soldiers in their brilliant
uniforms, or of the numerous articles borne in the procession to
indicate the nature and meaning of the festivities. Decorated
buffaloes dragging decorated carts, bundles of rice, offerings of
fruit and flowers, are all evidences of the thankfulness of the people
for the safe ingathering of their harvests.
[Illustration: BUFFALOES RETURNING FROM THE RICE-FIELDS.]
In the centre of the procession, carried in a chair of state on the
shoulders of a number of strong well-built men, and shielded from
the sun by a huge state umbrella, sits the Master of the Ceremonies
resplendent in cloth of gold and jewelled ornaments. At one time
the Minister for Agriculture officiated on these occasions, but now
a different nobleman is selected each year, whose business it is
to organise and superintend all the arrangements for the festival.
All eyes turn towards the seated figure in his tall conical hat and
jewelled robes. He is carried to a small brick platform, which is
draped with the national flag and covered with flowers. He takes his
seat, with two Brahmin priests on his right hand and two on his left.
He places his right foot on his left knee, the left foot resting upon
the ground. After having once seated himself in this position he is
not allowed to remove his foot off his knee until the whole ceremony
is finished. As this lasts about two hours, the presiding nobleman
must be fairly uncomfortable by the time it is over. The penalty for
moving the foot was, formerly, the confiscation of the culprit's
property and the loss of his rank, in addition to any immediate
ill-usage the attendant priests might think fit to bestow upon him;
but this is now all done away with, and the only deterrent influence
brought to bear upon the temporary sufferer is the opinion of the
people, who would feel deeply hurt and disappointed should any detail
of their well-beloved ceremony be omitted.
The attention of the crowd is next directed to the performance of
the swinging games. The swing itself is like any ordinary child's
swing except for its enormous size. The side pillars are about ninety
feet high, and the seat of the swing is about half-way between the
ornamented cross-bar and the ground. A few feet in front of the seat,
on the side towards the Palace, a long bamboo-stem is fixed in the
ground, and from the top is suspended a small bag of silver coins. The
men who take part in the games are usually Brahmins. They are dressed
in white, and wear conical hats. They swing towards the bag of
money and endeavour to catch it with their teeth. There are generally
three competitors; the prizes for the first being worth about fifteen
shillings, while for the second and third they are worth about ten
and five shillings respectively. When the winners have received their
rewards they pass amongst the crowd, sprinkling the spectators with
consecrated water contained in bullocks' horns. Soon afterwards the
Minister returns to his home, the crowd disperses, and thus this very
ancient ceremony is brought to a close.