opium-water from the large China jar on the landlord's desk, paying a pice
per glass for the beverage. Some drink one glass, some two, some three or
more; but as a rule the "kasumba" drinker confines himself to two glasses,
being ashamed to own even to a brother "Tiryaki" the real quantity of the
drug consumed by him: while a few, strengthened by prolonged habit, pay
somewhat more than the ordinary price for a thicker and stronger dilution.
When the glasses are empty the company calls for desert; for the
opium-drinker must always have his "_kharbhanjan_" or bitter taste
remover; and the landlord straightway produces sweets, fruit, parched
grain, or sago-gruel known as "_khir_" according to the taste of his
customers. Hardly has dessert ended when an elderly Mahomedan in shabby
garb falls out of the group and clearing his throat to attract attention
commences to recite a flowery prelude in verse. He is the "Dastan-Shah,"
own brother (professionally) of the "Sammar" or story-teller of Arabia and
the "Shayir" of Persia and Cairo: and his stories, which he delivers in
a quaint sing-song fashion, richly interspersed with quotations from the
poets of Persia, are usually culled from the immortal "Thousand and one
Nights" or are concerned with the exploits and adventures of one of the
great heroes of Islam. Amir-Hamza for example is a favourite subject of
the imaginative eastern story-teller. Amir-Hamza according to Professor
Dryasdust died before the Prophet, but according to the Troubadours of
Islam was the hero of a thousand stirring deeds by flood and field and
by the might of his right hand converted to the Faith the Davs and the
Peris of Mount Kaf (the Caucasus). You will hear, if you care to, of his
resourceful and trusty squire Umar Ayyar, owner of the magic "zambil" or
satchel which could contain everything, and master of a rude wit, similar
to that of Sancho Panza, which serves as an agreeable contrast to the
somewhat ponderous chivalry of the knight-errant of Islam.
* * * * *
Thus the Dastan-Shah whiles away time until about 8 p.m. when the club
breaks up and the faded Aspasia helps her fractious Pericles down the
rotten staircase and out into the night. Ere the company departs each
member subscribes a pice for the story-teller, who in this way earns about
forty pice a day, no inconsiderable income in truth for the mere retail of
second-hand fables: and then with a word of peace to the landlord the men
troop slowly forth to their homes. As we pass down the rotten staircase,
lit this time for our benefit with a moribund cocoanut oil lamp, we mark
the Maratha labourer still sleeping heavily in his niche, dreaming perhaps
amid the heavy odours of the house of the fresh wind-swept uplands of his
Deccan home.
IX.
THE GANESH CAVES.
Fifty-six miles to the north of Poona lies the old town of Junner, which
owing to its proximity to the historic Nana Ghat was in the earliest times
an important centre of trade. As early as 100 years before the birth of
Christ, the Nana Pass was one of the chief highways of trade between
Aparantaka or the Northern Konkan and the Deccan; and although the steep
and slippery nature of the ascent must have prevented cart-traffic, the
number of pack-bullocks and ponies that were annually driven upwards
towards the cooler atmosphere and richer soil of Junner must have been
considerable. Once the Nana Ghat had been crossed the traveller found
himself in a land marked out by Nature herself for sojourn and settlement:
for there lay before his eyes a fruitful plain, well-shaded, well-watered
and girt with mighty hills of rock, which needed but the skill of man to be
transformed into a chain of those "Viharas" or places of rest and
recreation, which the Buddhists of pre-Christian and early Christian ages
sought to establish. Thus it happens that in each of the mountain ranges
which rise around Junner are found caves and shrines hewn out of the solid
rock by the followers of Buddhism, some with inscriptions in obsolete
characters and all of them in a wonderful state of preservation,
considering the ages that have passed since their foundation.
Among those most easy of access are the Ganesh Lena, as they are called,
hollowed out of the vast rounded scarp, which rising a hundred feet above
the plain projects from the Hatkeshvar and Suleman ranges about a mile
northward of the town. A fairly smooth but dusty road leads the traveller
down to the Kukdi river dried by the fair weather into stagnant pools, in
which the women wash their clothes and the buffaloes lounge heavily, and
thence through garden-land and clumps of mango-trees to the under-slopes of
the mountain. There the road proper merges into a rocky pathway, which in
turn yields place some little distance further on to a series of well-laid
masonry steps, of comparatively recent date, which, as they curve upwards,
recall to one's mind the well-known Hundred Steps at Windsor Castle. The
steps are divided into about ten flights, and are said to have been built
at different times by devotees of God Ganesh in gratitude for his having
granted their prayers. What prompted the first worshipper to prove his
gratitude in this form none can say: he might have so easily satisfied his
conscience with a presentation to the God or by the erection of a small
shrine in the plains. But happily for all men he adopted the more
philanthropic course of smoothing the road to the presence of the kindly
Deity. Others, the recipients of like favours and fired by his example,
added each in their turn to the work, until the once rude track was
transformed into a massive stone-approach fit for the feet of princes.
The caves are twenty-six in number and consist mainly of dwellings and
cells, with three water-cisterns two of which bear inscriptions, and a
chapel. The cells are all hewn into somewhat similar pattern and shape,
containing on one and sometimes two sides long stone benches, which served
doubtless as the resting-place of their Buddhist occupants. The "Chaitya
Vihara" or chapel cave alone is worth a visit. Pillars and pilasters with
eight-sided shafts and waterpot-bases, which scholars attribute to the
period B. C. 90 to A. D. 300, stand sentinel over verandahs stretching away
into darkness on either side of the main aisle. Their capitals are
surmounted with crouching animals, twin elephants, a sphinx and lion, twin
tigers, all beautifully carved through in places broken; while above them
the main walls of the cave rise steep into a pointed vault, the centre of
which is some twenty-four feet from the ground-floor. The relic-shrine or
"Daghoba" at the far end of the chapel stands upon a high plinth, and is
crowned by a rounded dome, similar to the "Daghoba" at Vyaravali which
overlooks the dead city of Pratappur in Salsette. One of the members of our
party struck the plinth with a _dhotar_ to awaken the echoes which
eddy loudly round the vault and rouse the wild birds that have built their
nests in the holes and cornices. The birds as well as the bats which lurk
in the darker recesses of the chapel are said to be responsible for the
very pungent and unpleasant odour which greets one on entering and forces
one to cut short one's visit. And what of him who built the shrine? Deep in
the back wall of the verandah is graven, in characters long since obsolete,
an inscription interpreted some time ago by scholars, which tells how
Sulasadata, the illustrious son of Heranika of Kalyana, presented the
chapel to the monastery, to the glory of God and his own lasting merit. The
rock-hewn words are headed and ended with the "Swastika" or symbol of good
fortune, which appears in so many messages from Buddhist ages.
* * * * *
On the left of the chapel at a slightly higher level stands the largest of
this group of caves, a large hall with a verandah and twenty cells around
it. Later ages have converted the whole cave into a temple of Ganpati,
whence the caves obtain their name of Ganesh Lena; and the once plain
walls, whose very austerity reflected perhaps the life of the monks
dwelling within them, have been rudely plastered, white-washed and covered
with inferior representations of incidents in the lives of Devi, Krishna,
Shiv and Ganpati. In the centre of the back wall, between two ancient stone
seats, glowers a rude "eidolon," aflame with red lead and _ghi_, so
thickly smeared indeed that the original features and form of the god have
well-nigh disappeared. Yet this is Ganesh, the kindly Ganesh, who turns not
a deaf ear to the prayers of his servants and in whose honour the stone
steps were hewn and laid. Two _pujaris_ of the Yajurvedi Brahman stock
and three or four women, who are attached to the shrine, crave alms for the
God. They and their forbears, they tell you, have been the officiating
priests for years; wherefore, desirous of testing their knowledge, you
enquire who built these mighty dwelling-places. "Hindus of a thousand years
ago," say they, "who desired to acquire merit." But ask the untutored
villager who has guided you up the hill; and straightway comes the
answer:--"Sahib, these were not built by man, but by the Gods ere man
came hither!"
Outside the cave is a pleasant verandah and balus trade, whence you look
down over the bare lower slopes to the garden-studded course of the river.
Beyond lies a long low trail of vapour, which marks the position of Junner,
and behind that again climb heaven-ward the Manmoda hills. On the right,
with its ruined mosque and conning-tower grey in the morning light, the
massive pile of Shivner frowns over the valley, like some dismasted
battleship, hurled upwards into sudden petrifaction by the hands of Titans.
It is an impressive scene--the pre-Christian monastery behind you; the
relics of Musulman and Maratha sovereignty in front; and below, bathed in a
sea of morning-mist which Surya is hastening to disperse, Junner, the town
of ancient memories, in her latest _avatar_ of a British Taluka
Headquarter station. Let us hope that the monuments which we raise will
last as long as those of Buddhist monk or Mahomedan Killedar.
X.
A BHANDARI MYSTERY.
[Illustration: A Bhandari Mystery.]
In the heart of the great palm-groves to the north-west of Dadar lies an
"oart" known as Borkar's Wadi, shaded by tall well-tended trees whose
densely-foliaged summits ward off the noon-day sun and form a glistening
screen at nights, what time the moon rises full-faced above the eastern
hills. Not very long ago, at a time when cholera had appeared in the city
and was taking a daily toll of life, this oart was the scene of a bi-weekly
ceremony organized by the Bhandaris of Dadar and Mahim and designed to
propitiate the wrath of the cholera-goddess, who had slain several members
of that ancient and worthy community. For the Bhandaris, be it noted, know
little of western theories of disease and sanitation; and such precautions
as the boiling of water, even were there time to boil it, and abstention
from fruit seem to them utterly beside the mark and valueless, so long as
the goddess of cholera, Jarimari, and the thirty-eight Cholera Mothers are
wroth with them. Thus at the time we speak of, when many deaths among their
kith and kin had afforded full proof that the goddess was enraged, they met
in solemn conclave and decided to perform every Sunday and Tuesday night
for a month such a ceremony as would delight the heart of that powerful
deity and stave off further mortality. The limitation of the period
of propitiation to one month was based not so much upon religious
grounds as upon the fact that a Municipality, with purely Western
ideas of sanitation and of combating epidemics, refused to allow
the maintenance of the shed, which was to be the temporary home of
Jarimari, for more than thirty days. Yet it matters but little, this
time-limit: for a month is quite long enough for the complete assuagement
of the anger of one who, though proverbially capricious, is by no means
unkindly.
* * * * *
Let us glance at the ceremony as performed on a Tuesday night towards the
middle of the month of propitiation. In the darkest portion of the
_wadi_ stands a rude hut, containing the emblems of the Mother,
occupied for the time being by Rama Bhandari, who acts as a species of
medium between the goddess and his kinsmen. In front of the hut a space has
been cleared and levelled, flanked on one side by mats for the Bhandari
musicians, singers, drummers and cymbal-players, and on the other by four
or five chairs and a few wooden benches for the initiates in the mysteries;
and to the stems of several neighbouring trees lamps have been affixed
about five feet from the ground, which cast weird shadows across the
threshold of the goddess's home. Rama, the high-priest of this woodland
rite--a dark, thin man with a look of anxiety upon his face--enters the hut
with his assistant, Govind, while several fresh looking Bhandari boys take
up their position near the gong, cymbals, and drum, prepared when the hour
comes to hammer them with might and main. A pause--and Rama returns bearing
the symbol or idol of the Mother, followed by Govind carrying a lighted
saucer-lamp. The idol, for such we must perforce style it, is nothing more
nor less than a bright brass pot, full of water, set on a wooden stool
which is thickly covered with flowers. In the mouth of the water-pot rests
a husked cocoanut, with a hole in the upper end into which are thrust the
stems of a bouquet of jasmine, with long arms of jasmine hanging down on
either side. Now the water-pot is the shrine, the very home of Jarimari and
the thirty-eight cholera mothers. Behind the jasmine-wreathed stool Govind
places another stool bearing a tin tray full of uncooked rice, camphor, and
black and red scented powder; and close to it he piles the cocoanuts,
sugar, camphor, cakes, betel-nuts, and marigolds which the Bhandari
initiates have sent as an offering to Rama. He next produces a pile of
incense-sprinkled cinders, which he places in front of the goddess, and
several incense-cones which he lights, while Rama lays down a handful of
light canes for use at the forthcoming ceremony. And while the rich scented
smoke rises in clouds into the still night-air, shrouding the goddess's
face, Govind takes a little rice from the tray and a few flowers, and
places them on a Tulsi or sweet basil shrine which stands a little
northward of the hut.
* * * * *
All is now ready. Rama bids the boys sound the note of gathering, and at
once such a clashing and drumming arises as would frighten all the devils
of the palm-groves. The people come but slowly, for many of them work late
in the mills and have to go home and cook and eat their evening-meal before
they can take part in the rites of the Mother. But at last groups of women
appear out of the darkness, bareheaded save for flower-wreaths and a few
gold ornaments, their saris wound tightly round waist and shoulder. They
cluster silent and close-packed round the door of the hut; for they are the
women whom the thirty-eight Mothers love to possess and to lash into the
divine frenzy which only the human form can adequately portray. Govind
stirs the incense-heap; the dense smoke rolls forth again and shrouds all;
there is a feeling of witchery in the air and in the midst of the
smoke-pall one can just descry Rama bending low before the Mother. Now he
rises, draws the rattan-canes through his hands, and then leans against a
palm-tree with eyes tightly closed and hands quivering as if in pain. But
hark! there is something toward in the hut, and out of the darkness dash
two young women right in front of the goddess, leaping and tossing their
arms. They sway and twist their lithe forms in the smoke but utter no
word. Only one can see their breasts heaving beneath the sari and can
catch the sharp "Hoo, hoo" of their breathing, as their frenzy heightens.
Now from the other end of the hut two more rush forth, staggering, towards
the Tulsi shrine, and after the same mad gyrations dance towards the
Mother and bury their heads in the smoke; and they are followed at
momentary intervals by others who fly, some to the Tulsi shrine, others
to the Goddess but all mad with frenzy, dancing, leaping, swaying, until
they sink overpowered by fatigue. Meanwhile Rama is performing a devil
dance of his own in the smoke-clouds; the gong is ringing, cymbals
clashing, onlookers shouting; the tresses of the women have fallen down
and in the half-light look like black snakes writhing in torture; the
women themselves are as mad as the Bacchantes and Menads of old fable:
in a word, it is Pandemonium let loose!
* * * * *
The noise ebbs and flows, now dying down as the first frenzy fades away,
now rising more shrill as the spirit of the Mother wracks her devotees more
fiercely. That tall finely-formed young woman, who dances like a puppet
without will and who never seems to tire, is Moti, leader of the dancers
and the favourite choice of Jarimari. There behind her is Ganga, the
slightly-built, beloved of Devi, and in the midst of the smoke, swaying
frog-like, is Godavari, lashed to madness by Mother Ankai. Around them
dance by twos and threes the rest of the women with dishevelled locks and
loosened robes, whom Rama taps from time to time with his cane whenever
they show signs of giving in. But at length Nature reasserts her sway, and
the dancers one and all crouch down in the smoke, their dark sides heaving
painfully in the dim light like the implements of some ghostly forge. Now
Govind appears again with a tray and marks the brows of the women with a
finger-tip of vermilion, his own brow being marked by them in turn. He
places a cake of camphor on the tray and sets light to it; and as the clear
flame bursts forth in front of the Mother, the whole congregation rises and
shouts "Devi ki Jaya" (Victory to the Goddess). Then Moti takes the tray
and, balancing it on her head, dances slowly with long swinging stride
round the Mother, while the music bursts out with renewed vigour, urging
the other women, the human tabernacles of the cholera deities, to follow
suit. Thereafter the camphor-cake is handed round to both women and men in
turn who plunge their hands in the ashes and smear their faces with them;
and so, after distribution of the offering of cocoanuts, sugar, and betel,
the celebration closes. A few girls still dance and jerk their shining
bodies before the altar, but Rama who is getting weary touches them with
his hands, commanding the frenzy to cease, and with a sigh they withdraw
one by one into the dark shadows of the palm-grove.
* * * * *
Such is in brief the ceremony of propitiation of the Cholera-Goddess. What
does it signify? It appears that according to Bhandari belief the disease
is the outcome of neglect of the Mother. The present conditions of life in
the cramped and fetid chawls of the city, the long hours of work
necessitated by higher rentals and a higher standard of living, leave her
devotees but little leisure for her worship. She is maddened by neglect and
in revenge she slays her ten or fifteen in a night. Yet is she not by
nature cruel. Fashion for her a pleasant shrine, flower-decked, burn
incense before her, beat the drum in her honour, let the women offer
themselves as the sport and play-thing of her madness and of a surety will
she repent her of the evil she hath done and will stay the slaughter. In
spirit-parlance a woman chosen by the spirit, into whom as into a shrine
the mother enters, is known as a "Jhad" or tree: for just as a tree yields
rustling and quivering to the lightest breath of the gale, bends its head
and moves its branches to and fro, so the women, losing all consciousness
of self, play as the breath of the Mother stirs them, quivering beneath her
gentler gusts, bending their bodies and tossing their arms beneath the
stronger blasts, and casting themselves low with bowed heads and streaming
hair as the full force of the storm enwraps them. They are in very truth as
trees shaken by the wind. Nay more, the Mother herself once lived in human
form: she knows the pleasure, the comforts of the body and she is fain, by
entering the bodies of her female devotees, to renew the memories and
suggestions of her former life.
* * * * *
In conclusion one may briefly record what the Bhandaris thought of the
presence of a European at their sacred rite. Some feared him as one that
contemplated the imposition of a new tax; others viewed him askance as a
doctor from the Hospital despatched by higher authority to put an end to
the ceremony; and yet others,--the larger number insooth,--deemed that here
at last was a Saheb who had found physic a failure and had learned that the
Mother alone has power to allay grievous sickness.
XI.
SCENES IN BOMBAY.
A MUSULMAN HOLIDAY.
Nearly all the Mahomedan inhabitants of Bombay observe as a general picnic
day the last Wednesday of the month of 'Safar' which is known as 'Akhiri
Char Shamba' or 'Chela Budh'; for on this day the Prophet, convalescent
after a severe illness, hied him to a pleasance on the outskirts of Mecca.
During the greater portion of the previous night the women of the house are
astir, preparing sweetmeats and salt cakes, tinging their hands with henna,
bathing and donning new clothes and ornaments; and when morning comes, all
Mahomedans, rich and poor, set forth for the open grounds of Malabar Hill,
Mahalakshmi, Mahim or Bandora, the Victoria Gardens, or the ancient shrine
of Mama Hajiyani (Mother Pilgrim) which crowns the north end of the Hornby
Vellard. To the Victoria Gardens the tram cars bring hundreds of holiday-
makers, most of whom remain in the outer or free zone of the gardens and
help to illumine its grass plots and shady paths with the green, blue, pink
and yellow glories of their silk attire. Here a group of men and women are
enjoying a cold luncheon; there a small party of Memons are discussing
affairs over their 'bidis' while on all sides are children playing with the
paper toys, rattles and tin wheels which the hawkers offer at such seasons
of merry-making. Coal-black Africans, ruddy Pathans and yellow Bukharans
squat on the open turf to the west of the Victoria and Albert Museum;
Mughals in long loose coats and white arch-fronted turbans wander about
smoking cigars and chatting volubly, while Bombay Memons in gold turbans or
gold-brocade skullcaps, embroidered waistcoats and long white shirts stand
on guard over their romping children.
* * * * *
The road leading from Mahalakshmi to the shrine of Mama Hajiyani is
particularly gay, and the Vellard is lined throughout its entire length
with carriages full of men, women and children in their finest attire;
while under the palms on the east side of the road the hum of a great crowd
is broken from time to time by the cry of the sellers of sweets, toasted
grain, parched pistachio nuts and salted almonds, or by the chink of the
coffee seller's cups. A happy, orderly crowd it is, free from all signs of
quarrelling and excess, packed more densely than usual around the shrine of
Mama Hajiyani, where every little vacant space is monopolised by merry-go-
rounds and by the booths of bakers and pastry-sellers. Here are men playing
cards; others are flying kites; many are thronging the tea, coffee, and
cold drink stalls; while in the very heart of the crowd wander Jewish,
Panjabi and Hindustani dancing-girls, who have driven hither in hired
carriages to display their beauty and their jewels. Mendicants elbow one at
every step,--Mahomedan and Jewish beggars and gipsy-like Wagri women from
North Gujarat, who persistently turn a deaf ear to the "Maf-karo" or
"Pardon" of those whom they persecute for alms.
* * * * *
Many of the holiday-makers carry packets of basil leaves and flowers, which
they place upon the grave of the Mother Pilgrim, silently repeating as they
do so the 'Fatiha' or prayers for the dead. Others more Puritanical,
perchance more sceptical, utter not their prayers to the grave; but as the
words pass their lips, turn their faces seawards, remembering Holy Mecca in
the far west. Glance for a minute within the room that enshrines the tomb,
and you will see the walls hung with tiny toy cradles,--the votive
offerings of heartsick women from whom the grace of Mama Hajiyani has
lifted the curse of childlessness. So, as the sun sinks, you pass back from
the peace of the Mother Pilgrim's grave to the noise of the holiday-making
crowd; and turning homewards you hear above you the message of the green
parrakeets skimming towards the tomb "like a flight of emerald arrows
stolen from the golden quiver of the Twilight."
* * * * *
A BOMBAY MOSQUE.
Who does not know the Mahomedan quarters of the city of Bombay, with their
serried ranks of many-storeyed mansions extending as far as eye can reach?
Dark and forbidding seem many of these houses; and to few is it given to
know the secrets they enshrine. But these square battalions of brick and
plaster are not wholly continuous. For here and there the ranks are broken
by the plain guard-wall and deep-eaved porch, or by the glistening domes
and balcony-girt minarets of a mosque: and at such points one may, if one
so wish, see more of the people who dwell in the silent houses than one
could hope to see during the course of a month's peregrinations up and down
the streets devoted to the followers of the Prophet.
* * * * *