The Menagerie
Fate which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
[Illustration: TWO VIEWS OF LIFE.]
THE event of the week, from a Tamil point of view, is the midday Sunday
service; so we take care of the nurseries during that hour, and send all
grown-up life to church. In the Premalia nursery the babies range from a
few days old to eighteen months, and sometimes two years. There is a
baby for every mood, as one beloved of the babies says; and the babies
seem to know it. We have a lively time there on Sundays; for by noon the
morning sleep is over, and nineteen or twenty babies are waking up one
after the other or all together. And most of them want something, and
want it at once.
These babies are of various dispositions and colour--nut-brown, biscuit,
and buff; and there are two who, taken together, suggest
chocolate-cream. Chocolate is a dear child, very good-tempered and easy
to manage. Cream is a scamp. We see in her another Chellalu, and watch
with mingled feelings her vigorous development.
Chocolate has another name. It is Beetle. This does not sound
appreciative, but Beetle is beloved. The name was discovered by her
affectionate Piria Sittie, who came upon her one morning lying on her
back in the swinging cot, kicking her four limbs in the air in the
agitated manner of that insect unexpectedly upset. But no beetle ever
smiled as ours does.
Cream, whose real name is Nundinie, oftener called Dimples, because she
dimples so when she laughs, is a baby of character. She early discovered
her way to the bungalow, and scorning assistance or superintendence
found her way over as soon as she could walk. Afternoon tea is never a
sombre meal, for the middle-aged babies attend it in relays of four or
five; and Dimples and her special chum, Lulla, like to arrive in good
time for the full enjoyment of the function. Dimples sits down properly
in a high chair close beside her Attai, who, according to her view of
matters, was created to help her to sugar. Lulla, so as to be even
nearer that exhaustless delight, insists upon her Attai's knee; and
tapping her face with her very small fingers, immediately points to the
sugar bowl.
These preliminaries over, Dimples sets herself to pay for her seat. She
smiles upon her Attai first, then upon all the company. If the Iyer is
present, she notices him kindly: there is nothing in all nature so
patronising as a baby. If in the mood, she will imitate her friends like
her predecessor Scamp No. 1; or folding her fat arms will regard us all
with a quizzical expression more comical than play. Her latest invention
is drill. She stands straight up in her chair, and goes through certain
actions intended to represent as much as she knows of that interesting
exercise. We are kept anxious lest she should overbalance; but she is a
wary babe, and always suddenly sits down when she gets to the edge of a
tumble. Sometimes, however, when these diversions are in progress, we
have wished that the family could see how very much more entertaining
she is in her own nursery. There, from the beginning of the day till
the sad moment when it ends, she seems to be engaged in entertaining
somebody. Sometimes it is one of the Accals, those good elder sisters to
whom the babies owe so much. Dimples thinks she looks tired. Tired
people must be cheered, so Dimples devotes herself to her. Sometimes it
is another baby who is dull. Dull babies are anomalies. Dimples feels
responsible till the dull baby revives. Or it is just her own happy
little self who is being entertained. If ever a baby enjoyed a game for
its own sweet sake, it is Dimples.
But one thing she does not enjoy, and that is being put to bed at night.
Our babies are anointed with oil, according to the custom of the East,
before being put to sleep; but the moment Dimples sees the oil-bottle in
her nurse's hand, she knows her fate is sealed and protests with all her
might. Once she contrived to seize the bottle, pull out the cork, and
spill the oil before she was discovered. She seemed to argue that as she
was invariably oiled before being put to bed, the best way to avoid ever
being put to bed would be to get rid of the oil. Another evening she
succeeded in diverting her nurse into a long search for the cork,
thereby delaying the fatal last moment; it was finally found in her
mouth. When, in spite of all efforts to wriggle out of reach, she is
captured, anointed, and put in her hammock, Dimples knows she must not
get out; but her wails are so lamentable that it is difficult to
restrain ourselves from throwing discipline to the winds, and if by any
chance we do, her smiles are simply ravishing. But we hear about it
afterwards.
If Dimples is asleep when we take charge of the nursery, we find things
fairly quiet and almost flat. But she usually wakens early, and always
in a good temper. It is instructive to see the way she scrambles out of
her hammock before she is quite awake, and her sleepy stagger across
the room is often interrupted by a tumble. Dimples does not mind
tumbles. If her curly head has been rather badly knocked, she looks
reproachfully at the floor, rubs her head, and gets up again. By the
time she reaches us she is wide awake and most engaging.
In C. F. Holder's _Life of Agassiz_ we are told that the great scientist
"could not bear with superficial study: a man should give his whole life
to the object he had undertaken to investigate. He felt that desultory,
isolated, spasmodic working avails nothing, but curses with narrowness
and mediocrity." This is exactly the view of one of our babies, already
introduced, the little wise Lulla, who always knows her own mind and
sticks to her intentions, unbeguiled by any blandishments.
This baby is a tiny thing, with a round, small head, covered with soft,
small curls; and this head is very full of thoughts. Her face, which she
rarely shows to a stranger, is like a doll in its delicate daintiness;
but the mouth is very resolute, and the eyes very grave. Her hands and
feet are sea-shell things of a pretty pinky brown, and her ways are the
ways of a sea-anemone in a pool among the rocks.
Lulla, because of her anemone ways, is sometimes unkindly called
"Huffs." She does not understand that there are days when those who love
her most have little time to give to her. Lulla naturally argues that
where there is a will there is a way, and desultory, isolated, spasmodic
affection is worth little; so next time her friend appears, she explains
all this to her by means of a single gesture: she draws her tentacles
in.
But it is when Lulla has undertaken to investigate a tin of sweets that
she most suggests Agassiz. The tin has a lid which fits tightly, and
Lulla's fingers are very small and not very strong. The tin, moreover,
is on the window-sill just out of reach, though she stands on tip-toe
and stretches a little eager hand as far as it will go. Then it is you
see persistence. Lulla finds another baby, leads her to the window and
points up to the tin. The other baby tries. They both try together; if
this fails, Lulla finds a taller one, and at last successful, sits down
with the tin held tightly in both hands, and turns it over and shakes
it. This process seems to inspire fresh hope and energy; for she sets to
work round the lid, which is one of the fitting-in sort, and carefully
presses and pulls. Naturally this does nothing, and she shakes the tin
again. The joyful sound of rattling sweets stimulates to fresh attempts
upon the lid. She tugs and pulls, and thumps the refractory thing on the
floor. By this time the other babies, attracted by the hopeful rattle,
have gathered round and are watching operations; some offer to help, but
all such offers are declined. This oyster is Lulla's. She has undertaken
to force it. Agassiz and his fishes are on her side. She will not give
it up. But she is not getting on; and she sits still for a moment,
knitting her brow, and frowning a little puzzled frown at the refractory
tin.
Suddenly her forehead smooths, the anxious brown eyes smile, Lulla has
thought a new good thought. The babies struggle up and offer to help
Lulla up, but she shakes her head. She seems to feel if she herself
unaided, of her own free will, hands her problem over to her Ammal or
her Sittie, only so she may achieve her purpose without loss of
self-respect.
Lulla's beloved nurse is a motherly woman, older than most of our
workers. Her name is Annamai. When the nurses return from church, each
makes straight for her baby; and the babies always respond with a
cordial and pretty affection. But Lulla welcoming Annamai is something
more than pretty. The big white-robed figure no sooner appears in the
garden than the tiny Lulla is all a-quiver with excitement. But it is a
quiet excitement; and if you take any notice, the tentacles suddenly
draw in, and the little face is as wax. If no one seems to notice, then
Lulla lets herself go. She all but dances in her eagerness, while
Annamai is slowly sailing up the walk; and when she reaches the
verandah, Lulla can wait no longer; one spring and she is in her arms,
nestling, cuddling, burying her curls in her neck; then looking up
confidentially, little Lulla begins to talk; everything we have done and
said is being whispered into Annamai's ear. It does not matter that
Lulla cannot yet speak any language known to men; she can make Annamai
understand, and that is all she cares. Once we remember watching her, as
she took the remnant of a sweet we had given her, out of her mouth and
poked it into Annamai's. Could love do more?
Dimples and Lulla are quite inseparable. Lulla is to Dimples what Tara
is to Evu. She immensely admires her vigorous little junior, and tries
to copy her whenever possible. One delicious game seems to have been
suggested by the arches in the garden. Dimples and Lulla stand on all
fours close together. Then they lean over till their heads touch the
ground, and look through the arch. If you are on the babies' level (that
is on the floor), you will enjoy this game.
Another Sunday morning entertainment is kissing. Dimples advances upon
Lulla. Lulla falls upon Dimples. Then Dimples hugs Lulla, nearly chokes
her, almost certainly overturns her. The two roll over and over like
kittens. Dimples seizes Lulla by her curls and vehemently kisses face,
neck, and anything else she can get at; and then backs off, propelling
herself on two feet and one hand, in which position she looks like a
puppy on three paws. Lulla smooths her ruffled curls and person
generally, regards Dimples with gravity, and, if in an affectionate
humour herself, leads the attack upon Dimples, and the programme is
repeated.
But the joy of the hour is to spin in the hammocks. These contrivances
being hung from the roof swing freely, and the special excitement is to
hold on with both hands, and run round so that the hammock twists into a
knot and spins when released, with the baby inside it, in a giddy waltz
till the coil untwists itself. This looks dangerous, and when the game
was first invented we rather demurred. But we are wiser now, and we let
them spin. Lulla especially enjoys this madness. It is startling to see
the tiny thing whirl like a reckless young teetotum. But if you weakly
interfere, Lulla thinks you want to learn the art, and goes at it with
even madder zest, till her very curls are dizzy.
Dimples and Lulla in disgrace are a piteous spectacle. Dimples opens her
mouth till it is almost square, and the most plaintive wail proceeds
from it for about a minute and a half. Then she stops, looks sadly on
the world, surprised and hurt at its unkindness to her, and then
suddenly she discovers something interesting to do; and hastily rubbing
her knuckles into her eyes to clear them as quickly as maybe of tears,
she scrambles on to her feet, and forgets her injuries. Once she had
been very naughty, and had to be smacked. It is never easy to smack
Dimples, and fortunately she seldom requires it; but hard things have to
be done, so that morning the fat little hands, to their surprise, knew
the feel of chastening pats. "She daren't laugh, and she wouldn't cry";
this description, her Piria Sittie's, is the best I can offer of that
baby's attitude. The thing could not possibly be a joke, but if meant
otherwise, it was an indignity far past tears.
Lulla is quite different. She drops on the floor, if admonished, as if
her limbs had suddenly become paralysed, and takes absolutely no notice
of the offending disciplinarian. She simply ignores her, and gazes
mutely beyond her. The offence is not one for explanation, and if
invited to repent, her aloofness of demeanour is perfectly withering.
But take her up in your arms, and she buries her curls in your neck, and
coos her apologies (or is it forgiveness?) in your ear, and loves you
all the better for the momentary breach.
Our babies are often parables. Lulla stands for the Single Eye. How
often we have watched her and learned the lesson from her! She sees
someone to whom she wants to go at what must seem to her an immense
distance. And the distance is filled with obstacles, some of them quite
enormous. But Lulla never stops to consider possibilities. Difficulties
are simply things to be climbed over. She looks at the goal and makes
straight for it. Her only care is to reach it. Sometimes at afternoon
tea, when she is sitting on someone's lap, facing an empty,
uninteresting plate, she sees another plate three chairs distant, and
upon that plate there is a biscuit or some other sweet attraction. Upon
such occasions Lulla all but plunges into space between the chairs, in
her singleness of purpose. Having reached the lap nearest that plate,
she turns and smiles at her late entertainer just to make sure she is
not offended. But even if she knew she would be, Lulla would not
hesitate. Curly head foremost, eyes on the goal: that is Lulla.
We have a custom at Dohnavur which perplexes the sober-minded. We call
most of our possessions by names other than their own. These names are
entirely private. We have to keep to this rule of privacy, otherwise we
get shocks. "O Lord, look upon our beloved Puppy, and make her tooth
come through; and bless Alice (in Wonderland), whose inside has gone
wrong," was the petition offered in all seriousness, which finally moved
us to prudence. We do not feel responsible for these names, for they
come of themselves, and we see them when they come. That is all we have
to do with them. Besides the Beetle and the Sea-anemone we have a dear
Cockatoo, who screws her nose and her whole face up into a delightful
pucker when she either laughs or cries, and then suddenly unscrews it in
the middle of either emotion and looks entirely demure. This is the
little Vimala, who, under God, owes her life to her Piria Sittie's
splendid nursing. This baby has always got a private little secret of
joy hidden away somewhere inside. We surprise her sometimes, sitting
alone on the floor talking to herself about it; and then she tells us
bits of it--as much as she thinks we can understand. But most of it is
still hidden away, her own private little secret. And there is an Owlet,
a Coney, a Froglet, and a Cheshire Cat, a Teddy-bear, a Spider, a
Ratlet, and a Rosebud. We are aware that this list is rather mixed; but
to be too critical would end in being nothing, so we are a Menagerie.
The Rosebud is like her name, small and sweet. When she wants to kiss
her friends, which is whenever she sees them, her mouth is like the pink
point of a moss-rose bud just coming through the moss. George Macdonald,
perfect interpreter of babies, must have had our Preethie's double in
his mind when he wrote:--
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.
How did you come to us, you dear?
God thought of you, and so I am here.
The Owlet is twin to that quaint little bird, so its name flew to her
and stayed. This babe has round eyes with long curling lashes. When she
is good, these round eyes beam, and every one forgets that anything so
fascinating can ever be other than good. When she is naughty the case is
exactly reversed. This baby's proper name is Lullitha, which means
Playfulness, and illustrates a side of her character undiscovered by the
visitor who only sees the Owlet sitting on her perch with serious,
watchful, unblinking eyes, regarding the intruder. But most babies are
complex characters, and are not known in an hour.
The Teddy-bear is a fine child with perfect lungs, a benevolent smile,
and an appetite. Her ruling passion at present is devotion to her food.
She feels unjustly treated because we do not see our way to feed her
lavishly at her own five meal-times and also at the meal-times of all
the other babies in the nursery.
On Sunday morning, when we are in charge, we hear her views upon this
subject expressed in a manner wholly her own. She has just drained her
own bottle, and is indignantly explaining that it is not nearly enough,
when another bottle arrives for another baby, and this is too much for
Teddy's equanimity. We all know how hard it is to keep up under the
shock of adversity. Teddy does not attempt to keep up; she invariably
topples over. But the way she does this is instructive. She sits stiff
and straight for one brief moment, her milky mouth wide open, her hands
outstretched in despairing appeal; then she clasps her head with her
hands in a tragic fashion, absurd in a very fat infant, sways backwards
and forwards two or three times till the desperate rock ends suddenly,
as the poor Teddy-bear overbalances and bursts with a mighty burst. But
the storm is too furious to last, and she soon subsides with a gusty sob
and a short snort.
Poor little injured Teddy-bear! If it were not for her splendid health
we might believe her oft-repeated tale of private starvation. "They only
feed me when you are here to see! Other times they give me nothing at
all!" She tells us this frequently in her own particular language, but
the sturdy limbs belie it. This babe in matters of affection and
mischief is as strenuous and original as she is about the one supreme
affair pertaining to her elastic receptacle--to quote a Tamil friend's
polite reference to the cavity within us--and many more edifying scenes
might have been shown from her eventful life. But undoubtedly the
predominating note at the present hour is her insatiable hunger, and
when her name is mentioned in the nursery there is a smile and a new
tale about her amazing appetite.