lingam was to be seen here and there among the rice-fields: a gross idol
made of stone and looking like a landmark, set up under a tree or
sheltered by a little kiosk. Soon temples of Vishnu were seen, raising
their pyramidal piles of ten stories to the sky. Amid the cool shade of
palms and bamboos, close to each temple, was a fine tank with steps all
round it; and surrounded by this magnificence of architecture and
vegetation Hindoos might all day be seen bathing, dwellers in hovels of
plaster or matting, sometimes in mere sheds supported on sticks, within
the shadow of the splendid building full of treasure, in which the god
is enshrined.
Birds, green, red, black, and gold-colour, fluttered gaily among the
palms, the bamboos as tall as pine trees, the baobabs and mango trees;
butterflies with rigid tails and large wings beating in uncertain
flight, floated over the bright verdure flecked with sunshine. Round one
pagoda, towering over a wretched village that lay huddled in the shade
of its consecrated walls, a proud procession of stone bulls stood out
against the sky, visible at a great distance in clear outline through
the heated, quivering air.
A kind of grey snipe, as they rose to fly, spread white wings which made
them look like storks or gulls, and then, dropping suddenly, became dull
specks again, scarcely distinguishable on the margin of the tank. Ibis,
on the watch, with pretty, deliberate, cautious movements, stood on one
leg, their bodies reflected in the mirror on which lay the lotus and
the broad, frilled leaves of the water-lily, and a sort of bind-weed
hanging from the edge in festoons of small, arrow-shaped leaves, with a
crowd of tiny pink starry flowers that looked as if they were
embroidered on the water.
The country was nowhere deserted. Labourers in the rice-fields were
transplanting the young seedlings or watering the taller growth that
waved in delicate transparent verdure. Or again, there were the watchers
perched on their platforms in the middle of the fields; fishermen
pushing little nets before them, fastened to triangular frames, or
grubbing in the mud in search of shell-fish--small freshwater mussels,
which they carried away in clay jars of Etruscan form. A motley crowd,
with animated and graceful gesticulations; the women red or white
figures in fluttering sarees, with flowers in their hair, and a few
glittering bangles on their arms; the children quite naked, with bead
necklaces and queer charms of lead or wood in their ears or their nose;
the men slender and active, wearing light-coloured turbans made of yards
on yards of twisted muslin, their brown skin hidden only by the langouti
or loin-cloth.
Along the line were hedges of glaucous aloes, of gynerium all plumed
with white, and over every plant an inextricable tangle of _baja_, its
pink flowers hanging in bunches.
Fields of betel pepper, broad-leaved and fleshy, carefully enclosed with
matting, were watched over by two or even three men, armed with heavy
cudgels.
Under an enormous banyan tree, far from any dwelling, two fine statues
of an elephant and a horse seemed to guard an image of Siva, rigidly
seated, and on his knees an image of Parvati, quite small, and standing
as though about to dance.
Images of horses recurred at intervals, singly, or in pairs face to
face; and as evening came on we saw round a pagoda a whole procession of
horses in terra-cotta, some very much injured, arranged as if they were
running round, one after another, in search of the heads and legs they
had lost.
Near a small station oxen were filing slowly past. On their heads were
hoops hung with bells, and little ornaments at the tips of their horns
dangled with quick flashes of light.
The evening was exquisitely calm, shrouding everything in rose-colour,
and shedding a light, opalescent golden haze on the pools and streams.
And out of this floating gauze, in the doubtful light, white figures
seemed to emerge gradually, only to vanish again in the pure,
transparent atmosphere of the blue night.
Over the rice-fields, in the darkness, danced a maze of fire-flies,
quite tiny, but extraordinarily bright; they whirled in endless streaks
of flame, intangible, so fine that they seemed part of the air itself,
crossing in a ceaseless tangle, faster and faster, and then dying out in
diamond sparks, very softly twinkling little stars turning to silver in
the moonlight.
Between the tracery of bamboos, behind clumps of cedars spreading their
level plumes of fine, flexible needles, we still constantly saw the
roofs of temples involved in clouds of tiny phosphorescent sparks
weaving their maze of light; and the clang of bells and drums fell on
the ear.
TRICHINOPOLY
High on a hill, one with the rock, are built the temples, up to which is
a flight of steps hewn in the stone itself. At every stage, or nearly,
are little shrines with images of Ganesa, the elephant-headed god, or of
Ananta, the sacred serpent, decked with flowers, the _mindi_ flower,
which has a strong scent of pepper. In some places the whole temple, as
vast as a cathedral, is hewn out of the hillside; the columns in
elaborate and intricate patterns, the niches and altars wrought with
inconceivable toil and patience, not a scrap added or stuck on. In the
dim distance is a huge red statue of Siva, wreathed with flowers.
The colouring in all these rock-temples is a softened harmony of yellow
stone, hardly darkened in some places, forming a setting for the gaudier
tones of the idols, all sparkling with gold and showy frippery.
One of these halls, almost at the top of the mount, accommodated a
school. The elder pupils sat on stools by the master's side; the little
ones and the girls, in groups of five or six, squatted on mats in the
corners; and all the little people were very quiet in the atmosphere of
sandal-wood and flowers brought as offerings, read gravely out of big
religious books, and listened to the Brahmin as, in a deep, resonant
voice, he chanted a sort of strongly-marked melody. There was scarcely
an ornament on the light-coloured walls, pierced with deep windows
showing foliage without; and among the dead whiteness of the mats and
the schoolchildren's draperies there was but one bright light, the bell
over the pulpit, surmounted by the sacred bull in bronze, of precious
workmanship.
From the summit we looked down over a panorama of the town, set out in
square blocks sunk in the verdure of palms, bamboos, and banyans. At our
feet was the cupola of the temple of Siva, all gold, and covered with
bosses, the edges of the mouldings catching the sun. Besides this a
number of coloured domes, painted in pale shades faded by the sunshine,
descended the almost perpendicular incline down to the bazaar, where the
throng was beginning to stir like white ants, of slow gait and
deliberate gestures, their light-hued dhoutis flitting about the stalls
for drink and fruit. Far away, beyond the bright green rice-fields, and
against the horizon of intensely blue hills, the rocks stand out--French
rocks and Golden rocks--where the treasure of the conquered natives was
distributed to English soldiers. It might almost be fancied that a glow
of metal still shines on the smooth stone, a warm, yellow stone bathed
in sunshine.
A Catholic church flanking the Jesuit college persistently sent up to us
the shrill tinkle of a little bell, rattling out its quick, harsh
strokes like a factory bell for workmen.
At the bottom of the steps, almost in the street, was another school at
the entrance to a temple. The children, in piercing tones, were all
spelling together under the echoing vault, a terrible noise which seemed
to trouble nobody.
On reaching the temple of Vishnu, on the very threshold, we met an
elephant marching in front of the Brahmin priests, who were carrying
water in copper amphoræ to bathe the idols withal. Musicians followed
the elephant, playing on bagpipes, on a kind of little trumpet, very
short and shrill-toned, and on drums; and the beast, with its trunk
swaying to right and left, begged a gift for the expenses of the temple.
The priests slowly mounted the stairs, the music died away in echoes
more and more confused, ceasing at last, while the sacred animal, going
off to the right at the foot of the steps, disappeared into its stable.
In the island of Srirangam we visited a temple to Vishnu, enclosed
within eight walls, of which the three first only contain any dwellings.
A crowd of pilgrims swarmed about the steps, where everything was on
sale: little gods in bronze, in painted marble, in clay, and in wood;
paper for writing prayers on; sacred books; red and white face-paints,
such as the worshippers of Vishnu use to mark their foreheads with a V;
little baskets to hold the colours, with three or four divisions, and a
mirror at the bottom; coco-nuts containing kohl; stuffs of every dye;
religious pictures, artless indeed, and painted with laborious dabs of
the brush in the presence of the customer; chromo-lithographs from
Europe, sickeningly insipid and mawkishly pretty.
_Ekkas_, and _chigrams_ closed with thick curtains, came galloping past
with loud cries from within. All was noise and a shifting of many
colours, seeming more foolish here, in this large island, with its
deserted avenues of tall trees, than anywhere else.
A portico, supporting two stories of an unfinished building, forms the
principal entrance; the pilasters are crowned with massive capitals
scarcely rough-hewn in the stone. This porch alone gives an impression
of repose, from its simplicity of line amid the medley of statues and
incongruous ornaments loaded with strong colours, which, diminishing by
degrees, are piled up to form each temple, ending almost in a spire
against the sky. Vishnu, reclining on the undulating rings of Ananta
Sesha the god of serpents, whose name is the Infinite; idols with human
faces riding on bulls, and elephants, and prancing horses; terrible
Kalis with two fists rammed into their mouth, and six other arms spread
like open wings; Ganesa, the elephant-headed god, ponderously squatting,
his hands folded over his stomach; Garudha, the bird-headed god, ridden
by Vishnu when he wanders through space; Hanuman, the monkey god,
perched on a pedestal in an acrobatic attitude, the face painted bright
green; gods of every size and every colour mixed up in a giddy whirl,
round and round to the very summit of the structure.
In one of the inmost circles, a sacred elephant had gone _must_,
breaking his ropes, and confined now by only one leg. The chains
fastened round his feet as soon as he showed the first symptoms of
madness were lying broken in heaps on the ground. The brute had
demolished the walls of his stable and then two sheds that happened to
be in his way; now he was stamping a dance, every muscle in incessant
motion, half swallowing his trunk, flinging straw in every direction,
and finally heaping it on his head. A mob of people stood gazing from a
distance, laughing at his heavy, clumsy movements; at the least step
forward they huddled back to fly, extending the circle, but still
staring at the patient. In an adjoining stable were two more elephants
very well cared for, the V neatly painted in red and white on their
trunks, quietly eating and turning round only at the bidding of the
driver; but one of them shed tears.
Inside the temple long arcades connect the shrines sunk in the thickness
of the walls, gloomy recesses with images of Vishnu and other idols;
where the corridors or arcades cross each other there are vast halls
with a sculptured roof supported by thousands of columns. In one of
these halls there is a chariot full of divinities. The wheels, the
horses, the highly-venerated images, are all of marble very delicately
wrought, and amazing after the coarse caricatures on the outside. In the
courts again, under sheds, there are cars; one of enormous size in black
wood carved with innumerable figures and interlacing patterns; pendant
ornaments of the same wood sway in the wind. The solid wheels, without
spokes, small and having huge axles, seem made not to turn, and the
shafts, to which a whole army of the faithful harness themselves on the
occasion of a high festival, are long and as thick as masts. Another
car, past service, lay slowly rotting in a corner; almost all its images
had vanished, and its canopy had fallen off; it was almost completely
hidden under aristolochia in blossom.
MADURA
Wide strands of golden sand; here and there among the rice-fields the
palms and bamboos are less crowded. In the moist air, that grows hotter
and hotter, the daylight is blinding, hardly tolerable through the blue
glass of the windows. Scorched, russet rocks stand up from the short
grass, tremulous in the noontide heat. The cattle, the very birds,
silent and motionless, have sought shelter in the shade; all the people
have gone within doors. And then, towards evening, in an oasis of
gigantic trees, amid bamboos and feathery reeds, behold the huge temples
of Madura, in sharp outline against a rosy sky.
The sun had just set, a violet haze was rising and enwrapping every
object. Fires were being lighted in the villages on the road to the holy
place. Tom-toms were rattling in the distance, and nearer at hand a
_vina_, gently touched by an invisible player, murmured a tune on three
notes.
The temples were already closed, but my servant, Abibulla, diverted the
attention of the gatekeeper, and I stole unseen into the outer
precincts.
Within the gateway, carved all over with foliage and rosettes, a
footway, paved with bright mosaic, leads to the interior of the temple.
All along a corridor, enormous prancing horses, mounted by men-at-arms,
support the roof which is deeply carved all over, and at the foot of
these giants a sacred tank reflects the sky. In front of us were gaps of
black shadow, and far, far away, lamps, shrouded in incense, were
twinkling behind the gratings.
Figures draped in pale muslins brushed past us, hastening to the door.
Flower-sellers, in one of the arcades, were hurrying to finish their
garlands; and suddenly, close before us--a mass that looked as if it
were part of the temple itself--an enormous elephant started into sight,
passed on and vanished in the darkness.
In the depths of little recesses the lamps twinkled feebly before images
crowned with flowers. At the entrances to shrines little glass lamps,
like a mysterious fairy illumination, followed the lines of the
arabesques, sparkling like glowworms, without lighting up the passages
which remained dark, and in which, in fact, we finally lost ourselves.
Near the statues, which are placed in a row close to the wall, other
statues, finer, slenderer, and more graceful, stood before the
pedestals, anointing the stone with some oil which in time soaks in and
blackens it, or else hanging lanterns up over the divinities. These were
the temple servants, wearing nothing but the langouti tied round their
loins; they either shuffle about barefoot, or remain motionless in rapt
ecstasy before the little niches where the idols grin or scowl among
branches of roses and amaryllis.
In one brilliantly-lighted hall, priests, dressed in long yellow
dalmatics, were adoring idols, elephants, Anantas; and from an enormous
gold lotus sprang the _Mandeel_, rising through the dome, its tip
standing in the outer air to bear the white flag that is hoisted on high
festivals. At the entrance to this shrine parrots in cages suddenly set
up a hostile outcry as I passed them, and were only pacified by the
coming of a priest, who gave them some food. The clatter, however, had
attracted other Brahmins; one of them desired me to leave, "and at
once." I declined to obey, so he sent for the elephant who does duty as
police, to turn me out.
And as the priests knew that the beast would need no help they again
left me to myself. Up came the elephant at a brisk trot, flourishing his
trunk and hooting; within two yards of me he stopped and stood still. He
accepted a four-anna piece that I offered him, and handed it up for his
driver, but finding no one on his back he put the coin back into my
pocket, and sniffing all over my coat found a biscuit, ate it, and then
quietly went back to his stable.
A muffled sound of instruments, mingling in confusion in the myriad
echoes, came dying on my ear, hardly audible. A gleam of light flashed
in the corridor and then went out. Then some lights seemed to be coming
towards me, and again all was gloom. An orchestra of bagpipes, of
_kemanches_ and darboukhas sounded close by me, and then was lost in the
distance, and the phantasmagoria of lights still went on. At last, at
the further end of the arcade where I was standing, two men raised
green-flamed torches at the end of long poles, followed by two drummers
and musicians playing on bagpipes and viols. Children squatting on the
ground lighted coloured fire that made a bright blaze, and died out in
stifling smoke, shrouding the priests--a cloud hardly tinted by the
torches.
A golden mass, an enormous shrine chased all over and starred with
tapers, now came forward, borne by a score of naked men. Against the
gold background, in a perfect glory of diamonds and pearls, sat Vishnu,
decked out with flowers and jewels, his head bare with a huge brilliant
in his forehead.
The music played louder, light flashed out on all sides, the god stood
still, and bayadères performed their worship. With slow gestures, their
hands first hollowed and held to the brow, then their arms flung out,
they bowed before the idol with a snake-like, gliding motion, while the
music played very softly and the lights burnt faintly. The _nauchnees_,
in dark muslin drapery spangled with gold, bangles on their arms, their
necks, and their ankles, and rings on their toes, swayed as they danced,
and swung long, light garlands of flowers which hung about their necks.
And there were flowers in their hair, in a bunch on each side of the
head, above two gold plates from which hung strings of beads. The
flying, impalpable gauze looked like a swirl of mist about their limbs.
Very gradually the measure quickened, the pitch grew shriller, and with
faster and freer movements the bayadères were almost leaping in a sort
of delirium produced by the increasing noise, and the constantly growing
number of lights.
Then, in a blaze of coloured fire, a _fortissimo_ of music, and a
whirlwind of drapery, they stopped exhausted in front of the idol. The
lights were put out, the tom-toms were the only sound, and the
procession moved on, escorting the shrine which glittered for some time
yet, till it disappeared at an angle, leaving the temple in darkness
just tinted blue by the moon.
A different scene indeed next day, with none of the magnificence of
yesterday, was the temple of magical lights. There was a dense crowd of
shouting and begging pilgrims. Along the pyramidal roofs, as at
Srirangam, there were rows of painted gods, but in softer and more
harmonious hues. Over the tank for ablutions was a balcony decorated in
fresco, representing in very artless imagery the marriage of Siva and
Parvati. The couple are seen holding hands under a tree; he a martial
figure, very upright, she looking silly, her lips pursed, an _ingénue_.
In another place Siva sits with his wife on his knees, she has still
the same school-girl expression. Finally, on the ceiling, is their
apotheosis: they are enthroned with all the gods of Ramayana around
them, and she looks just the same. The red and green, subdued by the
reflected light from the water, were almost endurable.
Immediately on entering we were in the maze of vaults, sanctuaries,
great halls and arcades, where stall-keepers sell their goods, priests
keep school, and flower-sellers wander. Statues, repeated in long rows,
lead up to temples all alike, of a bewildering uniformity of
architecture and identical decoration.
Elephants, freshly painted, go past begging.
Making my way among the too numerous gods in relief against the
overwrought walls heavy with carving, I came to a wonderful balcony
where, in broken cages, I found the parrots that had betrayed me, and
among them an exquisite pale yellow cockatoo of great rarity.
One after another I made my salaam to Siva, seated on a peacock; to
Ganesa, looking calm and knowing; to Parvati, riding a bull; to Siva
again, this time pinning a dragon to the ground with a fork, a writhing
reptile with gaping jaws and outspread wings; the same god again, with a
child in his arms; and again, holding his leg like a musket up against
his shoulder with one of his four hands, the other three lifting a bull,
a sceptre, and a trophy of weapons above his head.
In a central space was a hideous rajah, a benefactor, with his six
wives, all gaudily coloured with jewels in coloured paper stuck on to
the images, and all kneeling in attitudes of idiotic ecstasy, doubly
absurd under the daubing of vermilion and indigo. These were greatly
admired by my servant, a convinced connoisseur in Indian art. Further on
we saw, on the ceiling of a polychrome corridor, monsters carved to fit
the shape of squared beams ending in a griffin's or a bird's head.
In a dirty stable, strewn with withered plants, stood some forlorn,
sickly-looking beasts, the sacred bulls of Madura.
Here again the cars of the gods were neglected in the open air, and one
of them, older than the rest, was fast being transfigured into a pyramid
of shrubs and flowers.
Two men were quarrelling; one had robbed the other. The dispute went on
endlessly, and no one, not the priest even, had succeeded in pacifying
them. At last an elephant was fetched; he came up without being noticed
by the disputants, and trumpeted loudly just behind them. The thief,
convinced that the animal in its wisdom had discovered his crime, took
to his heels and fled.
In the afternoon, while it was still broad daylight and very bright
outside, it was already dusk under the arches of the temple, and bats
were flitting about.
And under an arcade priests were hanging the shrine with wreaths of pink
and yellow flowers, in preparation for its nocturnal progress, while an
old woman, all alone, was bathing in the tank, with much splashing and
noise of waters.
The old palace of the kings is now yellow-ochre, coated with plaster and
lime-wash over the splendid antique marble walls.
The rajah's sleeping-room has at one end a dais ascended by three steps;
here the sovereign's bed used to be spread; and here, now, the judges of
the Supreme Court have their seats. In the middle of the room was a
confused array of benches and tables, and against the walls, also washed
with yellow, hung a series of portraits of bewigged worthies.
From the roof, consisting of terraces between cupolas, there is a view
of many temples glorified in the golden sunset, and nearer at hand stand
ten imposing columns, very tall--the last remaining vestiges of the
rajah's elephant-house.
TUTICORIN
A desolate strand, all the vegetation burnt by the sun and the
sea-breeze. The pearl-oyster, which made the fortune of the district,
disappeared four years since, and has migrated to other parts. The
fisheries no longer pay, and the boats are dropping to pieces on the
beach, while the divers beg, decimated by want.
An old man who sold us some shells, had, in the days of prosperity, made
a little fortune by charming the sharks with spells and signs that kept
them away from the boats, and from the naked and defenceless
pearl-fishers as they plunged into the deep to seek the precious shells.
COLOMBO
A port crowded with steamers taking in coal, and very light barks high
out of the water, kept in equilibrium by parallel outriggers at the ends
of two flexible spars. These crank boats, made of planks that scarcely
overlap, were piled with luggage, and the boatmen jostle and turn and
skim close under the fast-steaming transatlantic liners, amid a
bewildering babel of shouts and oaths, under a sun hot enough to melt
lead.
On the landing-stage we read in large letters: "Beware of sunstroke,"
and lower down, "Avoid it by buying the best umbrellas and the best pith
helmets of John Dash." The streets are the commonplace highways of a
commercial town; the houses tall, with shops below. Dust and light alike
were blinding; jinrickshaws were passing to and fro, drawn by almost
naked coolies running as fast as horses.