going very slowly, jostles the travellers across rice plantations and
woods of giant trees, under whose shade tree-ferns expand on the banks
of the streams. By the side of the water springs are hung prayers
written on strips of rice-paper that flutter in the wind from the shrubs
and bamboos, mingling with the blossoms of rhododendron and funkia,
spots of bright colour showing against the forest of mighty cedars and
sycamores and gloomy palms. Clinging to the highest branches, orchids
like birds are to be seen, and from bush to bush hang bright green
threads covered with white stars, tangled into hanks and hooked on to
every thorn. The vegetation of banyans, phoenix, and other tropical
plants gradually becomes mixed with oak, box, and plane trees, and then
disappears altogether as we get higher; and presently, as we pass
through a belt of great dark firs, the shrubs, the mosses, and even the
flowers are those of Europe. Higher up, the mountain side is mapped out
into lines and squares, green and russet, looking from a distance like
ribbed velvet; these are the tea plantations. The horizon grows broader,
spreading away and out of sight towards the vision-like mountains
forming the outposts of the Himalayas; up to the very verge of the
eternal snows they are cultivated in the same rib-like strips, all tea
plantations; and amid the shrubs are the little factories where the
precious leaves are dried, and villages of little homesteads lost among
the greenery, or peeping through the opalescent haze, intensely blue
under the pure, cold sky and crude sunshine. The natives here wear skins
with the fur inside; the leather outside is patterned with red or blue
cloth. Men and women alike go about in felt boots, which give them an
unsteady and straddling gait.
Above Darjeeling--a modern and fashionable health-resort, a town of
villas, for the most part with corrugated iron roofs--hangs a dense
mist, cutting off the horizon at a distance of a few miles; and through
the dull substance of this fleece, at an impossible height, there was a
reflection--a mirage, an illusion, a brighter gleam, a bluer shadow,
which might be the top of a mountain; but so high up, so far away, and
above all so transient, that it failed to fix itself on the memory,
blotted out at once by the pallid wall that shut in the scene. But at
sunset one thickness of the haze melted away, unveiling, leagues on
leagues away, a chain of giant mountains, not yet the snowy peaks, but
bright-hued cliffs on which gold and purple mingled in symphonies before
dying into violet, turning to blue in the moonlight; and the mists fell
once more--a shroud at our feet, an abyss of shadows, in which the
tea-planters' lamps twinkled through the darkness.
In the sleeping town of Darjeeling a bell and drum were sounding to
announce the Tibetan Christmas. The Brahmin paradise remained invisible
and mysterious behind a clear sky studded with stars.
Next morning--so far, so high on the horizon! I saw a pink spot; then,
as day broke, the rose colour spread--broader, lower, turned paler, then
to white, and the Himalayas lay before me in blinding glory of size and
light. Kinchinjunga, at a measureless distance, looked in the clear air
as if it were quite close; and round the sovereign giant other giants
rent their wrappings of cloud, an amphitheatre of peaks of dazzling
whiteness lost against the sky, and almost insensibly fading away behind
the vapour that rolled up from the abysses, grew thicker, and settled
into a compact mass over the lost summits, hiding the nearer heights and
shrouding Darjeeling in opaque white fog.
Round a temple, with iron roofs ending in copper balls at the top, a
crowd was watching, some seated on steps cut in the soil and some
squatting on the hillside, here almost perpendicular. By the temple long
white streamers, fluttering from bamboo poles, were covered with painted
prayers. A Lama was enthroned in an armchair under an arbour of
pine-branches; he wore a yellow robe, and above a face like a cat's he
had a sort of brass hat surmounted by a coral knob; his little beard was
quite white, and he turned his praying machine with a steady, dull
movement, perfectly stolid. Two women stood by his side fanning him,
dressed in close-fitting aprons of dark cloth bordered with a brighter
shade, and opening over pale pink satin petticoats, on their heads
crowns of flowers of every hue.
Four women and two men wearing masks stretched in a broad grimace--one
of the men in a red satin robe edged with leopard-skin, while the other
had a squalid white shirt, intentionally soiled, over all his
clothes--then began to dance round the priest, stopping presently to
spin very fast on one spot, and the girls' skirts floated gracefully in
heavy folds, showing their under-skirts of bright satin embroidered with
silver and gold. One of these women, who were not satisfied with
painting their faces, by way of adornment, on the nose and cheeks with
blackened pig's blood, took off her mask, showing her whole face smeared
with it. She and the man in the dirty shirt played a number of
mountebank's tricks to the great delectation of the spectators, and she
finished amid thunders of applause by seating herself on the Lama's knee
and stroking his beard.
Cymbals and kettle-drums formed the orchestra, reinforced by the shrill
cries and strident laughter of the spectators.
Whenever there was a pause in the dance the performers, to amuse
themselves, sang a scale, always the same, beginning on a very high
note, or sometimes taken up from the lowest bass pitch, and marking time
with their stamping feet.
Far up the hill, and for a long time, the clanging brass and sharp cries
followed me on my way all through the afternoon, and I could picture the
dancing women, the Lama under his gleaming brass hat, turning his
praying-wheel beneath his bower of branches and papers fluttering in the
wind; and not till dark did the whole party break up and go back to
Darjeeling; the poorer women, on foot, all a little tipsy, danced a
descending scale that ended occasionally in the ditch; the richer
ladies, in thin dark satin robes with wide sleeves all embroidered in
silk and gold, and their hair falling in plaits from beneath a fillet of
red wood studded with large glass beads, fitting tightly to the head,
rode astride on queer little horses, mostly of a dirty yellow colour,
that carried them at a brisk amble. Their husbands, extremely attentive,
escorted the dames, some of whom gave noisy evidence of the degree of
intoxication they had reached. The least blessed had but one husband, or
perhaps two; but the more fortunate had a following of as many as six
eager attendants, whom they tormented with incessant scolding.
Off at four in the morning, led by a Mongol guide with a broad
expressionless yellow face. My steed was a perfect little devil of a
horse of a light coffee colour.
I rode to Tiger Hill. Overhead hung a dense mist, like a roof of shadow,
perfectly still, wrapping us in damp and frightfully cold vapour. After
two hours' ride in the darkness we reached our destination. Suddenly
the cloud fell like a curtain pulled down, the sky appeared, and then
the earth at our feet became visible in the starlight. Some vestiges of
a temple could be discerned among the grass--the foundations of enormous
halls, and still standing in solitude, the brick chimneys in which the
devout were wont to burn their prayers, written on rice-paper. Far away,
in the transparent air, above a wall of grey cloud--the dull, dingy grey
of dirty cotton-wool--a speck showed as a beacon of lilac light, of the
hue and form of a cyclamen flower; this turned to rose, to brick-red, to
warm gold colour, fading into silver; and then, against the blue sky,
showed immaculately white. This was Gaurisankar--Mount Everest--the top
of the world, appallingly high, inconceivably vast, though lost in the
distance, and seen from a hillock three thousand metres above the sea.
After the giant a whole chain of lavender and rose-coloured peaks
turning to blue came into sight in the marvellously clear atmosphere;
then the sun rose below us, in the throbbing tide of heat the mountains
seemed to come closer to us, but immediately the mist gathered about
Gaurisankar. "The Apsaras wearing impenetrable veils, that mortals may
not gaze too long on the throne of the gods," said my saïs, who had
fallen on his face since the first appearance of the snow-crowned
colossus, with hands upraised towards the paradise of Indra.
For another minute the sublime ice-peak remained visible through the
gauzy whiteness, and then a cloud rising from beyond the range descended
on the heights and gradually enfolded the whole chain.
As we returned, vistas of unreal definiteness showed us endless valleys
lost in the distance, and vast spaces cultivated in green and russet
stripes--the tea plantations that spread below the now vanished
splendour of the snows. At a turning in the road stands a cross, erected
there in memory of an epidemic of suicide that broke out among the
soldiers of the English fort--a small structure of stone with an iron
roof that faces the heaven-scaling range.
Towards noon the mass of Kinchinjunga again lifted its head above the
clouds, now white with a dust of rosy gold or violet on the snow in the
shadows; and again, as the clouds swept across, of every changing tint
of steel and copper, pearl and sunshine, till, following on the ardent
glory of sunset, a purple and living fire, like a flame within the very
substance of the ice-fields, all died into mysterious blueness under
the broad pure light of the moon.
All the day long a solid blue mass melting into rain hid the mountains
and darkened the nearer view; and our return journey was made between
two grey walls, through which the trees, which sometimes met in an arch
overhead, were but dimly visible.
At the railway station thousands of people had collected to take leave
of a great turbaned moollah from Mecca, dressed in yellow silk. Long
after we had left Darjeeling the faithful ran by the side of the
carriage to kiss his hand, on which blazed an enormous diamond cut in a
cone; and all along the road, when the train going downhill went too
fast for anyone to keep up with it, Moslem natives bowed and prostrated
themselves in the road, shouting words of Godspeed to the holy man. And
at one stopping-place a little carpet was spread, on which he took off
his shoes and prayed--hurried through his last prostrations by the
whistle of the locomotive.
At night, when the fog had at last cleared off, a column of fire was
piled up on the engine; it shone on the smooth trunks of the "flame of
the forest," which looked like the pillars of a cathedral, on the
sparkling water-springs all hung about with prayer-strips, on the
veronica shrubs covered with flowers and as tall as trees, and the
sheaves of bamboo and fern; or it lighted up the hanging screen of
creepers, the impenetrable jungle growth that shut in the silence of the
sleeping forest.
BENARES
Yellow palaces, mirrored as gold in the luminous waters of the Ganges,
came into view; cupolas quivering with dazzling lustre against the
intense sky--and then the whole city vanished. Nothing was to be seen
but a suburb of shabby buildings, the commonplace railway station
crowded by a Burmese pilgrimage of Buddhists come from so far--who knows
why?--to the holy Indian city. Yellow priests and white doll-like
figures dragging bundles that fell open, dropping the most medley
collection of objects to be picked up and stowed into the parcels again,
only to roll out once more. A yelling crowd, hustling and bustling,
shouting from one end of the station to the other, and finally
departing, like a flock of sheep, in long files down the dusty road, to
be lost at last in the little bazaar.
All along the narrow streets, paved with broad flagstones up and down in
low irregular steps, stand the five hundred temples of Benares, and
between them houses with carved stone porticoes. The ochre-coloured
stone, of which they all are built, is toned in places by a coating of
reddish purple, faded by the rain and sun to pale flesh-colour, with an
undertone of the yellow wall; and this takes on a glow as of ruby and
sunset fires in the watery ripple reflected from the river--a mingling
of every hue of intense sunshine, filtering through the awnings spread
over the balconies--a glory of repose, tender and clear, which seems to
emanate from the objects themselves, and to envelop them in a fine
powder of light.
Squeezed in and crushed between houses that tower above it, rises the
pointed dome of Biseshwar Matti, covered with leaves of chased gold;
smaller cones surround the principal dome, bristling with tiny pyramids
of gold, carved into flowers round statues of Kali with her eight arms,
of Ganesa, and of peacocks with spread tails. Under this splendid
cupola, dazzlingly bright against the sky, the temple itself is quite
small, and strictly closed against the unbeliever. Some pious hands had
hung chains of jasmine and roses above the entrance, and they gave a
touch of beauty to the stonework, very old, and soiled with large stains
of oil. A sense of intense piety hangs about this sanctuary, subdues
every voice, and bends the head of every passer-by in reverence of the
mystery, and they all bring flowers.
Under an arcade, lightly tinted with faded colours, and supporting a
heavy stone roof elaborately carved, a marble bull stands facing the
well which Vishnu touched when he came down from heaven. This is the
Court or Well of Wisdom.
Two fakirs, squatting in a corner, gazed at the sacred stone, their
bodies rigidly motionless; they did not seem to be of this world, rather
to be statues of gods themselves; their eyes alone were alive--burning.
Further on, in the temple stables, open to the sky and surrounded by a
colonnade of carved and painted pillars, some women, in silken sarees of
dark hues, were waiting on the bulls and the tiny zebu cows, feeding
them with the flower offerings strewn on the mosaic pavement of the
courtyard.
From the top of the observatory, where instruments, all out of order,
are to be seen on the deserted terraces, a staircase in a half-circle of
stonework leads straight up to the open sky, and there the eye is
dazzled by the view of Benares, all spread out below: the vast city of
yellow stone, the cupolas of its temples, and its palaces stretching far
along the Ganges, which slowly rolls its milky green waters under a sky
of almost pearly whiteness; and in the distance the grassy plain of
bright emerald green, lost on the horizon that throbs with the heat.
Everything was wrapped in a halo rather than a haze, faintly blue with
the smoke that went up from the funeral piles of the Hindoo dead.
One of the servants of the place, sitting in the shade of the arcade,
was painting, after a strange method. He sprinkled powdered colour on
the surface of some water in a tub, outlining the colour with black;
then, with a feather, he massed and arranged the colours, taking some
off and replacing it in infinitesimal quantities. Finally the result was
a representation of Siva and Ourasi, robed in blue and violet, against a
background of crude red. When they were quite finished he jerked the
bowl, giving the figures a curtseying motion, and stood a little way off
to contemplate the general effect; and then, quite satisfied, stirred
the whole thing up and began again, the same picture, with the same
precise care.
We sailed past the holy city in a heavy, massive junk, the prow formed
of a snake with its head erect and jaws yawning, down the Ganges, all
rippled with rose and blue. Palaces, and more palaces, with thick walls
and towers, that look like bastions, stand in perspective as far as the
eye can see. Windows and balconies are cut in the ponderous masonry at
the level of the third floor, and high above these rajahs' dwellings
rise the domes of the temples, pointing skywards among tall trees that
spread their shade on the russet stonework. At the foot of the palaces,
steps lead down to the river, divided by little stages covered with
wicker umbrellas that shine in the sun like discs of gold; under these,
Brahmins, after bathing, were telling their beads. Now and again they
dipped their fingers in the sacred waters and moistened their eyes,
forehead, and lips.
One of the largest buildings once slid into the river during an
earthquake, and stands there complete and unbroken, its magnificence
surviving under water. Some minarets only rise above the surface like
kiosks, and form a landing-stage, invaded by the bathers, who wash
themselves with much gesticulation, flourishing their long sarongs and
white loin-cloths, which they spread out to dry on the steps.
Between the large parasols are thousands of little pagodas, formed of
four columns and a roof, and sheltering idols wreathed with flowers, to
whom the faithful pray and bring offerings. Garlands are for ever
floating down-stream, jasmine and Indian pinks, and patches of scattered
rose petals; and on the banks of the river, where the sand forms little
bays, flowers lie in a hem of delicate colours.
Down the middle of the Ganges a white bundle is being borne, and on it a
crow pecking the body of a child wrapped in its winding-sheet.
From the broad steps on the shore other narrower flights lead to
archways and porticoes, or zigzag up to the lanes that make a gap of
distant blackness in the light-hued mass of palaces and embankments.
Then from afar came the sound of tom-toms and bagpipes, nearer and
nearer, and the musicians became visible at the top of one of the
stair-like alleys. First came the men, then the women. One of these,
robed in pale green with a violet and silver saree, carried a child in
her arms wrapped in a red dress embroidered with gold. He was this day
six months old; he had eaten rice, and was brought to see the sacred
Ganges for the first time. The family, friends, and neighbours had
assembled in honour of the great ceremony, which consisted in holding
the infant face downwards over the water, which he scarcely saw with
half-shut eyes; and then the procession went back again to the sound of
the music, and was gone.
Close to a temple, of which the cornice is decorated with female figures
holding musical instruments, on a sort of terrace a party of youths were
making a distracting din with brass instruments, acutely shrill, and, of
course, tom-toms. Two very small temples covered with brass that shines
like gold stand in the bazaar to mark the beginning and end of the
coppersmiths' quarter, where every stall rings with the tinkle of the
little hammers tapping the metal that is beaten into trays and pots and
a thousand vessels for the worship of the gods and for domestic
purposes. Workmen aged four, the great-grand-sons of the master-smith,
were already trying their 'prentice hand, chiselling the hard metal with
a free touch, and ornamenting cups and bowls of traditional shape. And
this is the only part of the calm and lazy city, living on its temples
and its sacred river, where the visitor feels himself a "tourist." Here
the shops for the special craft of Benares are furnished with the
unwonted luxury of chairs, and some display of signs and wares is made.
Further on is a large open place full of piles of flowers, garlands of
jasmine and marigold, and heaps of rose petals to be strewn on the
water.
Next came a whole row of very small shops, where there was an endless
variety of trifles for sale, toys made of wood painted red and green;
and finally, on the ground floor of houses ornamented with carvings and
slender colonnades, in a cool and shady and silent street, were the
sellers of silk and cloth.
Past the buildings, and palaces with gardens enclosed behind pierced
stonework, and then across fresh green fields full of flowers, under the
shade of banyans and palm trees, we reached the temple of the monkeys.
This temple, dedicated to the fierce and bloodthirsty goddess Durga, is
painted all over of a vivid red colour, blazing in the sunshine with
intolerable brightness. Inside the sanctuary a black image of the
goddess may be seen, mounted on her lion, and flowers are arranged about
her in radiating lines mingled with gold thread, and producing very much
the effect of a theatrical sun. In the forecourt, on the carvings and
the roof of the temple monkeys swarm, rushing after each other, fighting
for the grains of maize that are thrown to them, and tormenting the
wretched mangy dogs that seek refuge in the temple precincts, where
they, too, are kept alive by the faithful.
A poor sick ape, beaten by all the others, sat crying with hunger at the
top of a parapet. I called her for a long time, showing her some maize
on a tray. At last she made up her mind to come down. With the utmost
caution she reached me, and then, after two or three feints, she struck
the platter with her closed fist, sending all the grain flying. Utterly
scared, she fled, followed to her perch by a whole party of miscreants
roused by the gong-like blow on the tray. Others stole into the temple
to snatch the flowers while the attendant priest had his back turned;
and when I left they were all busily engaged in rolling an earthenware
bowl about, ending its career in a smash. In front of the temple the
crimson dust round a stake shows the spot where every day the blood is
shed of a goat sacrificed to the Divinity.
A garden of roses and lilies was the dwelling-place of a very ancient
fakir, who had taken a vow to live naked, and only put on a loin-cloth
when ladies were expected. He was venerated by all, yes, even by
Abibulla, who knelt before him, touched the holy man's feet and then his
own forehead. The old fellow was surrounded by pilgrims wearing wreaths
of flowers round their neck; he came to meet me, took me by the hand,
and led me under the shade of a kiosk, where he showed me a large book
he had written, containing an account of the joys and ecstasies of his
life of asceticism and prayer. This old man had a magnificent brow, and
the deep gaze of his kind, smiling eyes was fine in a face puckered with
a thousand wrinkles. Infinite calm and peace characterized this happy
soul--a naked man in the midst of flowers.
At the end of the garden, in a little temple, is a statue of the holy
man of the size of life, in his favourite attitude, sitting on his
crossed legs. Round the image were the most absurd toys--and a
photograph of the German Emperor! As I was leaving, the fakir called me
back, asked me to think of him sometimes, and gave me one of the
splendid yellow roses that hung about him like a glory.
Very early in the morning, on emerging from the gloom of the narrow
streets, there is a sudden blaze of glory, the rising sun, purple and
gold, reflected in the Ganges, the waters throbbing like fiery opal. The
people hurry to the shore carrying trays piled high with flowers and
offerings. The women carry little jars in their hands looking like
burnished gold, and containing a few drops of scented oil to anoint
themselves withal after bathing. These jars are covered with roses and
jasmine blossoms, to be sent floating down the sacred stream as an
offering to the gods. The steps are crowded already with the faithful,
who have waited till Surya the day-star should rise, before going
through their devotional ablutions. With a great hubbub of shouts and
cries, and laughter and squabbling, this throng pushes and hustles,
while those unimaginable priests sit stolidly under their wicker
sunshades, mumbling their prayers, and accepting alms and gifts. All
along the river there are people bathing on the steps which go down
under the water, the men naked all but a loin-cloth, the women wearing
long veils which they change very cleverly for dry ones after their
bath, and then wait in the sun till their garments are dry enough to
carry away.
In the sacred tank, where Vishnu bathes when he comes on earth, an old
woman was standing pouring the stagnant green water over her body, while
others of the faithful, seated on the steps, were piously drinking the
stuff from a coco-nut that they handed round. In one corner of this pool
was an exquisite bower of floating wreaths--yellow, white, and violet--a
splash of bright colour on the squalid water.