EASTERN INDIA.
We have at least reached India--and what extremes are here! Southern
India penetrates the Indian Ocean and is so near the Equator that
the inhabitants swelter under the heat of a perpetual summer, while
the rocky sentinels that guard the northern frontier are clad in
the ice of an eternal winter. As might be expected in a land which
has every altitude from sea level to nearly thirty thousand feet,
one finds all varieties of vegetation, from the delicate fern of
the tropics to the sturdy edelweiss that blossoms in the snow--from
the grain and orchards of Agra, Oudh and the Punjab to the cotton,
rice and fruits of Bombay, Calcutta and Madras. The extremes are as
noticeable among the people as in nature's realm. In learning there
is a great gulf between the Hindu pundit and the ignorant ryot;
there is a wide sea between the wealth of the native prince and the
poverty of the masses; and there is a boundless ocean between the
government and the people.
Eastern India is entered through Calcutta, a city of more than a
million inhabitants which has been built up under British occupancy.
It is the capital of the province of Bengal and the winter capital
of British India. I say winter capital because the higher English
officials have their headquarters at Simla, eight thousand feet up
in the Himalayas, during eight months of the year. Calcutta is on
the Hooghly river, one of the numerous mouths of the Ganges; and the
Ganges, it may be added, is a little disappointing to one who has
read about it from youth. Instead of being a large river, flowing
down from the Himalayas directly to the sea, it is neither of great
length nor of great width. It runs for hundreds of miles along the
foot of the range and joins the Brahmaputra, which comes from an
opposite direction and apparently is much longer. The mouths of the
joint stream form a delta like that of the Nile, which at the coast
is something like two hundred miles wide.
Lacking the antiquity of the cities of the interior, Calcutta does
not possess many things of interest to the tourist, no elaborate
tombs, no massive mosques and few temples of importance, although
all shades of religion are represented here. There is a very pretty
Jain temple in the suburbs, and in the city there is a Hindu temple
where goats are offered as a sacrifice, but the center of Hinduism
is at Benares, while Agra, Delhi and Lucknow furnish the finest
specimens of the taste of the Mohammedan rulers. There are at
Calcutta some fine public buildings and less pretentious private
blocks, some beautiful parks and a very extensive museum.
[Illustration: CALCUTTA BURNING GHAT.]
In this museum one can learn more of the various races of India, of
their dress, implements and weapons, more of the animal and insect
life, more of India's mineral wealth, more of her woods, stones and
marbles, more of her agricultural products and manufactures than he
can in weeks of travel. He sees here mounted specimens of bug and
butterfly, bird, fish and beast. It is the very Mecca of the student
and we saw a number of groups thus engaged. Among the insects there
are several which illustrate the mimicry of nature to a marvelous
degree. Some are like dried grass, some like moss and some like
leaves. The most remarkable of these is the leaf insect which can
scarcely be detected from a leaf even after it has been pointed out.
There is a mountain grouse which turns white in the winter, and in
some countries a hare which undergoes the same change. In Ceylon
there are crabs with legs like pieces of coral and a color closely
resembling the sand upon which they crawl, but the leaf insect
surpasses them all. Not only is its color identical with the leaf,
but its body and wings are veined and ribbed like a leaf; even rust
spots could be found on some of them. We could hardly have believed
our own eyes had we not seen some of these insects alive and some of
the young just hatched.
The botanical garden, while not equal in variety or beauty to the
gardens at Buitenzorg and Kandy, has one object of growing interest,
viz., a gigantic banyan tree. This tree is nearly a century and
a half old and shades a spot of ground almost a thousand feet in
circumference. Great arms run out from the parent trunk and these
are supported by four hundred and sixty-four ærial roots or minor
trunks, some of which are several feet in diameter. Seen from a
distance the tree presents a very symmetrical appearance, and, as it
is still growing, it is likely to become, if it is not already, the
largest tree in the world.
The zoological garden contains some excellent specimens. We were
especially interested in the Bengal tigers, in a red-nosed African
mandrill (which looks like a cross between a hog and an ape), and in
the monkeys. Three of the latter belong to the shouting variety--at
least, they do shout. When the attendant gives the cue, they set
up such a chorus of ear-splitting yells as one seldom hears. The
echoing and re-echoing makes a din before which the noise of a
football game seems tame. While not a football enthusiast, I venture
the suggestion that an American team would do well to secure the
assistance of these rooters, for they could work up the necessary
enthusiasm on short notice and with a great saving to the throats of
the students.
On the streets of Calcutta one sees Indian life in all its forms.
The coolies wear the lightest possible clothing and carry enormous
burdens on their heads. I saw eight of them hurrying down the street
at a fast walk bearing a grand piano on their heads. In another
place one man carried a large Saratoga trunk on his head down the
hotel stairs. He had to have assistance in lifting and lowering it,
but when it was once balanced on his head he marched off with it
with apparent ease. The coolie women also carry burdens upon their
heads, water jars being their specialty. Two and even three of
these, one on top of another, are sometimes carried in this way. The
brass water pot is, by the way, never out of sight in India; it is
to be seen everywhere, and the scouring of these pots seems to give
employment for leisure moments.
[Illustration: THE MAHARAJA OF MOURBHARAG--AN INDIAN PRINCE]
While much carrying is done on the head and on the pole, carts of
all kinds are numerous. The water buffalo is to be found in India,
but he divides the honors with the Indian bullock as a beast of
burden. The Indian bullock is a mild-eyed beast, usually white or
light in color, and has a hump on the shoulders which seems to
be made expressly for the yoke. There is a small variety of the
bullock, which is used for drawing passenger carts, and some of
these are so fast that they are entered in trotting races.
[Illustration: INDIAN PRINCESS.]
The merchants of India are a shrewd and persistent class. They press
their wares upon one at the hotels and in their shops, and the
purchaser never knows whether he is buying at a bargain or paying
two or three prices. It is not at all uncommon for the dealer to
begin negotiations with the assertion that he has but one price
and that his conscience will not allow him to ask more than a fair
price, and conclude by selling at a twenty-five or fifty per cent
discount. It may be that natives are treated differently, but the
foreigner is likely to be charged "what the traffic will bear."
You can not judge of the value of a merchant's stock by the size or
appearance of his store. He may have a little booth open in front,
with no show windows, but when he begins to bring out his trunks and
bundles, he may exhibit jewelry worth a hundred thousand dollars,
or rich embroideries worth their weight in gold. The merchant sits
cross-legged on the floor and spreads out the wares which his
attendants bring, beguiling you the while with stories of Lord So
and So's purchase, or Lady What's Her Name's order, or of a check
for thousands handed him by an American millionaire.
[Illustration: THE GREAT BANYAN TREE--CALCUTTA.]
The native buildings are, as a rule, neither beautiful nor cleanly.
The little shops that open on the street exhibit food and vegetables
arranged in heaps, the vendor apparently indifferent to dust and
flies. The houses are generally of adobe, plastered with mud and
without floors. In the warmer sections of the country they are built
of matting and bamboo. The rich Indians live in substantial homes
with high ceilings, tile floors and spacious verandas, but these are
very few compared with the mass of the poor.
The Indian women of the higher classes are in seclusion all the
time. They seldom leave their homes and when they do venture out
they travel in covered chairs or closed carriages. This custom was
brought into India by the Mohammedan conquerors, but it has been
generally adopted by Hindu society. There is a growing sentiment
among the educated Hindus against this practice, so burdensome
to woman, but custom yields slowly to new ideas. At Calcutta we
met several Indian ladies of high social rank who, in their home
life, have felt the influence of western ideas and who have to
some extent lessened the rigors of the zenana (seclusion). Two of
these ladies,--one a princess--were daughters of the famous Keshub
Chunder Sen, the great Hindu reformer, whose writing made a profound
impression on the religious thought of the world. In the group was
also a daughter-in-law of Mr. Sen's, a brilliant woman who was left
the widow of a native prince at the age of thirteen and who recently
shocked the orthodox Hindus by a second marriage. I mention these
ladies because they represent the highest type of Indian womanhood,
and it would be difficult to find in any country, in a group of the
same size, more beauty, culture and refinement.
[Illustration: A CALCUTTA STREET--INDIA]
The principal article of feminine dress is the sarai, a long strip
of cotton or silk, part of which is wrapped about the body to form
a skirt, while the rest is draped over the head and shoulders in
graceful folds. This garment lends itself to ornamentation and is
usually embroidered along the edges, sometimes with silver and gold.
We have not found in our travels a more becoming and attractive
costume.
The dress of the men is so varied that description is impossible.
One form of dress resembles the Roman toga. Many wear trousers
made by mysterious windings and foldings of a long strip of cloth,
others wear loose pantaloons. The coats are as multiform, a long,
close-fitting one being the most popular. But the hat is the article
to which most care is given. While the fez is popular, it is not so
conspicuous as the turban. The latter is to be seen in all colors,
shapes and styles. Some of the educated Indians have adopted the
European dress, but the change in costume has not been rapid.
Calcutta is one of the educational centers of India, and one
finds in the city many of the leaders of thought, educational and
political. The University of Calcutta grants degrees and affiliates
to itself the colleges whose students are preparing for the
university examinations. Besides the university there are medical,
law and technical schools which draw young men from the entire
country. The position taken by Lord Curzon in the matter of higher
education aroused so much opposition among the native population
that an association was formed two years ago for the purpose of
raising money to defray the expenses of students desiring to study
abroad. Last year fourteen students were selected and sent to
different countries. This year forty-four are going, and I had the
pleasure of meeting these at a public reception given them at the
town hall.
This meeting interested me very much. It was opened with a prayer by
Editor Sen, of the Indian Mirror, a liberal Hindu, and it was such a
prayer as might have been offered in any American church. It was so
brief that I quote it in full:
"We thank Thee, O God, that by Thy blessing those young men whom
we sent abroad for study last year are doing their work well and
have by Thy grace been kept in the right path. We are now met to
bid farewell to a much larger number of our youths, who are shortly
leaving these shores for study in distant foreign lands. We ask Thy
abundant blessing on them, and we humbly beseech Thee to protect
them in their travels by sea and land and to bring them all safely
to their respective destinations. May they be diligent in their
studies, obedient to their teachers, grateful to those by whose help
they are being sent abroad, and blameless in their conduct. May the
love and fear of God rule their hearts, and may they return to us
and to those nearest and dearest to them in due course crowned with
full success and filled with an earnest desire to labor for the good
of their country and their poorer brethren. We commend them to Thy
gracious keeping as we now bid them a hearty farewell, and beseech
Thee to help us all to live and work for the glory of Thy name and
the good of our fellow men now and always."
[Illustration: KESHUB CHUNDER SEN.]
Most of the students were going to Japan--one of the many
indications of that country's increasing influence in the
Orient--some were going to England and a few to America. Those bound
for America called upon me later at the hotel, and I found them an
earnest and ambitious group. They had, as all the Indians whom we
met seemed to have, a high opinion of our country and spoke with
enthusiasm of the benefits which they hoped to derive from their
stay in the United States. These, and other students with whom I
came in contact, impressed me as exceedingly patriotic and anxious
to turn their information and their ability to the advantage of
their country.
In Calcutta there are a number of Indians, who have won prominence
in various spheres of activity. Editor Sen, to whom I have already
referred, is one of the most influential of the native editors and
writers; Editor Banerjee, of the Bengalee, is both a writer and an
orator, and the editor of the Patrika has made his paper an exponent
of advanced political thought. The Tagore family has furnished
several men prominent in religious, literary and official life;
education has found a patron in the Roy family, and Dr. Bose has won
more than a national reputation in science.
[Illustration: THE BULL CART IN INDIA]
Those who visit Calcutta can not afford to miss the side trip to
Darjeeling, a summer resort perched upon the foothills of the
Himalayas. The journey is rather fatiguing--three hours to the
Ganges, then an all night ride to the foot of the range and then
an eight hour climb on a two-foot gauge up the mountain side, but
it amply repays the effort. We count this experience among the
richest that we have enjoyed. The city of Darjeeling is about seven
thousand feet above the sea, and the sides of the Himalayas are so
steep at this point that it is only fifty miles down the zig-zag
little railroad to the plain where the elevation is but two or three
hundred feet. I do not know where one can find more of the grand
and picturesque in the same distance than on this narrow gauge
that threads its way up the rocky sides of this most stupendous of
mountain ranges.
[Illustration: THIBETANS, AS SEEN AT DARJEELING.]
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE HIMALAYAS, AS SEEN FROM DARJEELING.]
Darjeeling is so near Thibet, Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan that one
finds here a motley variety of types and sees something of the
native life of the forbidden land that stretches along the northern
border of India. The mountain tribes are sturdier in build, coarser
in feature and lighter in color than the people of the lowlands, and
we saw some types that strongly resembled the American Indian.
But to return to the mountains themselves; the view from Darjeeling
is unsurpassed. The Kinchinjunga Peaks rise to a height of 28,156
feet above the sea, or nearly twice as high as Pike's Peak, and
though forty-five miles distant, are clear and distinct. The
summits, seen above the clouds, seem to have no terrestrial base,
but hang as if suspended in mid air. The best view is obtained from
Tiger Hill, six miles from Darjeeling and two thousand feet higher.
We made this trip one morning, rising at three o'clock, and reaching
the observation point a little before sunrise. I wish I were able to
convey to the reader the impression made upon us.
While all about us was yet in darkness, the snowy robe which clothes
the upper twelve thousand feet of the range, caught a tint of pearl
from the first rays of the sun, and, as we watched, the orb of day,
rising like a ruby globe from a lake of dark blue mist, gilded peak
after peak until at last we saw Mt. Everest, earth's loftiest point,
one hundred and twenty miles away and nearly a thousand feet higher
than Kinchinjunga. We saw the shadows fleeing from the light like
hunted culprits and hiding in the deep ravines, and we marked the
triumph of the dawn as it swept down the valleys.
How puny seem the works of man when brought into comparison with
majestic nature! His groves, what pigmies when measured against
the virgin forest! His noblest temples, how insignificant when
contrasted with the masonry of the hills! What canvas can imitate
the dawn and sunset! What inlaid work can match the mosaics of the
mountains!
Is it blind chance that gives these glimpses of the sublime? And was
it blind chance that clustered vast reservoirs about inaccessible
summits and stored water to refresh the thirsty plains through
hidden veins and surface streams?
No wonder man from the beginning of history has turned to the
heights for inspiration, for here is the spirit awed by the
infinite and here one sees both the mystery of creation and the
manifestations of the Father's loving kindness. Here man finds
a witness, unimpeachable though silent, to the omnipotence, the
omniscience and the goodness of God.