SERODA.
After an unusually protracted term of isolation and friendlessness, we
were agreeably surprised by meeting Lieutenants L⸺ and T⸺, walking in
their shooting-jackets, somewhat slowly and disconsolately, down the
dusty wharf of New Goa.
It is, we may here observe, by no means easy for a stranger—especially
if he be an Englishman—to get into Goanese society: more difficult still
to amuse himself when admitted. His mother tongue and Hindostanee will
not be sufficient for him. French, at least, or, what is more useful,
Portuguese should be well understood, if not fluently spoken. As the
generality of visitors pass merely a few days at Panjim, call at the
palace, have a card on the secretary, rush to the ruins, and then depart,
they expect and receive little attention. There are no messes to invite
them to—no public amusements or places of resort, and private families
do not easily open their doors. Besides, as might be expected, the
Goanese have occasionally suffered severely from individuals terming
themselves “British Officers.” It were well too, had the offenders been
always of the male sex: unfortunately for our national reputation, such
is by no means the case. However, a stranger may be sure that with his
commission, some knowledge of languages, and any letter of introduction,
he will be most hospitably received in society, such as it is.
The unlearned in such matters may be disposed to inquire whether there
are no resident Englishmen at Goa.
Certainly, there are a few; but they are, generally speaking, of that
class who have made Bombay too hot for them. Once in the Portuguese
territory, they may laugh at the bailiff, and fearlessly meet the
indignant creditor. The cheapness of the locality is, to certain
characters, another inducement; so that, on the whole, it is by no means
safe to become acquainted with any compatriot one may chance to meet at
Goa.
* * * * *
Now it so happened that all three of us had been reading and digesting a
rich account of Seroda, which had just appeared in one of the English
periodicals. We remembered glowing descriptions of a village, inhabited
by beautiful Bayaderes, governed by a lady of the same class—Eastern
Amazons, who permitted none of the rougher sex to dwell beneath the
shadow of their roof-trees—high caste maidens, who, having been
compelled to eat beef by the “tyrannical Portuguese in the olden time,”
had forfeited the blessings of Hindooism, without acquiring those of
Christianity,—lovely patriots, whom no filthy lucre could induce to quit
their peaceful homes: with many and many etceteras, equally enchanting to
novelty-hunters and excitement-mongers.
We unanimously resolved to visit, without loss of time, a spot so
deservedly renowned. Having been informed by our old friend John Thomas,
that we should find everything in the best style at Seroda, we hired a
canoe, cursorily put up a few cigars, a change of raiment, and a bottle
of Cognac to keep out the cold; and, a little after sunset, we started
for our Fool’s Paradise.
Our course lay towards the south-east. After about an hour’s rowing along
the coast, we entered a narrow channel, formed by the sea and innumerable
little streams that descend towards the main, winding through a dense
mass of bright green underwood. It was a lovely night, but the thick
dew soon compelled us to retreat under the mats destined to defend our
recumbent forms. The four boatmen that composed the crew must have been
sadly addicted to sleeping on duty, for, although the distance was only
fifteen miles, the sun appeared high in the heavens next morning before
we arrived at the landing-place. A guide was soon procured, and under
his direction we toiled up two miles of a steep and rocky path, through
a succession of cocoa groves, and a few parched-up fields scattered here
and there, till at last we saw, deep in a long narrow hollow, surrounded
by high hills, the bourne of our pilgrimage.
The appearance of Seroda is intensely that of a Hindoo town. Houses,
pagodas, tombs, tanks, with lofty parapets, and huge flights of steps,
peepul trees, and bazaars, are massed together in chaotic confusion. No
such things as streets, lanes, or alleys exist. Your walk is invariably
stopped at the end of every dozen steps by some impediment, as a loose
wall, or a deep drop, passable only to the well practised denizens of
the place. The town is dirty in the extreme, and must be fearfully hot
in summer, as it is screened on all sides from the wind. The houses
are raised one story above the ground, and built solidly of stone and
mortar: as there is no attempt at order or regularity, their substantial
appearance adds much to the strangeness of the _coup d’œil_.
To resume our personal adventures. Descending the slope which leads
through the main gate we wandered about utterly at a loss what to do, or
where to go, till a half-naked sample of the Hindoo male animal politely
offered to provide us with a lodging. Our hearts felt sad at witnessing
this practical proof of the presence of _man_kind, but sleepy, tired, and
hungry withal, we deferred sentimentalizing over shattered delusions and
gay hopes faded, till a more opportune moment, and followed him with all
possible alacrity. A few minutes afterwards we found ourselves under the
roof of one of the most respectable matrons in the town. We explained our
wants to her. The first and most urgent of the same being breakfast. She
stared at our ideas of that meal, but looked not more aghast than we did
when informed that it was too late to find meat, poultry, eggs, bread,
milk, butter, or wine in the market—in fact, that we must be contented
with “kichree”—a villanous compound of boiled rice and split vetches—as
a _pièce de resistance_, and whatever else Providence might please to
send us in the way of “kitchen?”
Rude reality the second!—
We had left all our servants behind at Panjim, and not an iota of our
last night’s supper had escaped the ravenous maws of the boatmen.—
Presently matters began to mend. The old lady recollected that in days
of yore she had possessed a pound of tea, and, after much unlocking and
rummaging of drawers, she produced a remnant of that luxury. Perseverance
accomplished divers other feats, and after about an hour more of half
starvation we sat down to a breakfast composed of five eggs, a roll of
sour bread, plantains, which tasted exactly like edible cotton dipped
in _eau sucrée_, and a “fragrant infusion of the Chinese leaf,” whose
perfume vividly reminded us of the haystacks in our native land. Such
comforts as forks or spoons were unprocurable, the china was a suspicious
looking article, and the knives were apparently intended rather for
taking away animal life than for ministering to its wants. Sharp
appetites, however, removed all our squeamishness, and the board was
soon cleared. The sting of hunger blunted, we lighted our “weeds,” each
mixed a cordial potion in a tea-cup, and called aloud for the nautch, or
dance, to begin.
This was the signal for universal activity. All the fair dames who had
been gazing listlessly or giggling at the proceedings of their strange
guests, now starting up as if animated with new life rushed off to don
their gayest apparel: even the grey-haired matron could not resist the
opportunity of displaying her gala dress, and enormous pearl nose-ring.
The tables were soon carried away, the rebec and kettledrum sat down in
rear of the _figurantes_, and the day began in real earnest. The singing
was tolerable for India, and the voices good. As usual, however, the
highest notes were strained from the chest, and the use of the _voix
de gorge_ was utterly neglected. The verses were in Hindostanee and
Portuguese, so that the performers understood about as much of them as
our young ladies when they perform Italian bravura songs. There was
little to admire either in the persons, the dress or the ornaments of the
dancers: common looking Maharatta women, habited in the usual sheet and
long-armed bodice, decked with wreaths of yellow flowers, the red mark
on the brow, large nose and ear-rings, necklaces, bracelets, bangles,
and chain or ring anklets, studded with strings of coarsely made little
brass bells. Some of them were very fair, having manifestly had the
advantage of one European progenitor: others showed the usual dark yellow
hue; the features were seldom agreeable, round heads, flat foreheads,
immense eyes, increased by the streaks of black dye along the thickness
of the eyelid, projecting noses, large lips, vanishing chins, and a huge
development of “jowl,” do not make up a very captivating physiognomy. A
few, but very few, of quite the youngest _figurantes_, were tolerably
pretty. They performed in sets for about four hours, concluding with the
_pugree_, or turban dance, a peculiar performance, in which one lady
takes the part of a man.
Our matron informed us that Seroda contains about twenty establishments,
and a total number of fifty or sixty dancing-girls. According to
her account all the stars were at the time of our visit engaged at
Panjim, or the towns round about: personal experience enabled us to
pronounce that the best were in her house, and, moreover, that there
is scarcely a second-rate station in the Bombay Presidency that does
not contain prettier women and as good singers. The girls are bought in
childhood—their price varies from 3_l._ to 20_l._ according to the market
value of the animal. The offspring of a Bayadere belongs of right to
her owner. When mere children they are initiated in the mysteries of
_nautching_,—one young lady who performed before us could scarcely have
been five years old. Early habit engenders much enthusiasm for the art.
The proportion of those bought in distant lands to those born at Seroda
is said to be about one to five. Of late years the nefarious traffic has
diminished, but unhappily many are interested in keeping it up as much as
possible.
Several of these _nautch_ women can read and write. Our matron was
powerful at reciting Sanscrit shlokas (stanzas), and as regards Pracrit,
the popular dialect, she had studied all the best known works, as the
“Panja Tantra,” together with the legends of Vikram, Rajah Bhoj, and
other celebrated characters. Their spoken language is the corrupt form of
Maharatta, called the Concanee,[46] in general use throughout the Goanese
territory; the educated mix up many Sanscrit vocables with it, and some
few can talk a little Portuguese. Their speaking voices are loud, hoarse,
and grating: each sentence, moreover, ends in a sing-song drawl, which
is uncommonly disagreeable to a stranger’s ear. These ladies all smoke,
chew betel-nut, drink wine and spirits, and eat fowls and onions, an
unequivocal sign of low caste. They do not refuse to quit Seroda, as is
generally supposed, but, of course, prefer their homes to other places.
Living being extremely cheap most of the money made by _nautching_ is
converted into pearl and gold ornaments; and these are handed down
from generation to generation. Some of the coins strung together into
necklaces are really curious. An old English five-guinea-piece may be
found by the side of a Portuguese St. Thomas, a French _Louis d’or_, and
a Roman medal of the Lower Empire. We should be puzzled to account for
how they came there, did we not know that India has from the earliest
ages been the great sink for Western gold. Many of the matrons have
collected a considerable stock of linen, pictures, and furniture for
their houses, besides dresses and ornaments. Our countrymen have been
liberal enough to them of late, and numerous, too, as the initials upon
the doors and shutters prove. Each establishment is violently jealous of
its neighbour, and all appear to be more remarkable for rapacity than
honesty. In spite of the general belief, we venture to assert that a
chain, a ring, or a watch, would find Seroda very dangerous quarters. As
a stranger soon learns, everything is done to fleece him; whether he have
five or five hundred rupees in his pocket, he may be sure to leave the
place without a farthing. This seems to be a time-honoured custom among
the Bayaderes cherished by them from immemorial antiquity.
* * * * *
When the rising shades of evening allowed us to escape from the house of
dancing, we sallied forth to view the abode in which Major G⸺ passed his
last years. The matron soon found a boy who preceded us to the place,
threading his way through a multitude of confused dwellings, climbing
over heaps of loose stones, walking along the walls of tanks, and groping
through the obscurity of the cocoa groves. At the end of this unusual
kind of walk, we found ourselves at the house, asked, and obtained leave
to enter it. There was nothing to attract attention in the building,
except a few old books; the peculiar character of its owner will,
perhaps, plead our excuse to the reader, if we dwell a little upon the
circumstances which led him to make Seroda his home.
Major G⸺ was an officer who had served with distinction for many years
in a Native Regiment. He was a regular old Indian, one of the remnants of
a race which, like its brethren in the far west, is rapidly disappearing
before the eastward progress of civilisation in the shape of rails,
steamers, and overland communication. By perpetual intercourse with the
natives around him he had learned to speak and write their language
as well as, if not better than, his own. He preferred their society
to that of his fellow-countrymen: adopted the Hindoo dress; studied
their sciences, bowed to their prejudices, and became such a proficient
in the ritual of their faith as to be considered by them almost a
fellow-religionist. Having left England at an early age, with a store of
anything but grateful reminiscences, he had determined to make India his
country and his home, and the idea once conceived, soon grew familiar
to his mind. Knowing that there is no power like knowledge amongst a
semi-civilised people, and possibly inclined thereto by credulity, he
dived deep into the “dangerous art,” as the few books preserved at Seroda
prove. Ibn Sirin,[47] and Lily, the Mantras,[48] and Casaubon, works
on Geomancy, Astrology, Ihzar or the Summoning of Devils, Osteomancy,
Palmistry, Oneiromancy, and Divination. The relics of his library still
stand side by side there, to be eaten by the worms.
Late in life Major G⸺ fell in love with a Seroda Nautch girl living under
his protection; not an usual thing in those days: he also set his mind
upon marrying her, decidedly a peculiar step. His determination gave rise
to a series of difficulties. No respectable Hindoo will, it is true, wed
a female of this class, yet, as usual amongst Indians, the caste has at
least as much pride and prejudice as many far superior to it. So Sita
would not accept a _mlenchha_ (infidel) husband, though she was perfectly
aware that she had no right to expect a _dwija_, or twice born one.
But Major G⸺’s perseverance surmounted every obstacle. Several times the
lady ran away, he followed and brought her back by main force at the
imminent risk of his commission. At last, finding all opposition in vain,
possibly thinking to prescribe too hard a trial, or, perhaps, in the
relenting mood, she swore the most solemn oath that she would never marry
him unless he would retire from the service to live and die with her in
her native town.
Major G⸺ at once sold out of his regiment, disappeared from the eyes
of his countrymen, bought a house at Seroda, married his enchantress,
and settled there for the remainder of his years. Many of the elder
inhabitants recollect him; they are fond of describing to you how
regularly every morning he would repair to the tank, perform his
ablutions, and offer up water to the manes of his _pitris_, or ancestors,
how religiously he attended all the festivals, and how liberal he was in
fees and presents to the Brahmans of the different pagodas.
We were shown his tomb, or rather the small pile of masonry which marks
the spot where his body was reduced to ashes—a favour granted to him
by the Hindoos on account of his pious munificence. It is always a
melancholy spectacle, the last resting-place of a fellow-countryman
in some remote nook of a foreign land, far from the dust of his
forefathers—in a grave prepared by strangers, around which no mourners
ever stood, and over which no friendly hand raised a tribute to the
memory of the lamented dead. The wanderer’s heart yearns at the sight.
How soon may not such fate be his own?
The moonlight was falling clear and snowy upon the tranquil landscape,
and except the distant roar of a tiger, no noise disturbed the stillness
that reigned over the scene around, as we slowly retraced our steps
towards Seroda. Passing a little building, whose low domed roof, many
rows of diminutive columns, and grotesque architectural ornaments of
monkeys and elephants’ heads, informed us was a pagoda, whilst a number
of Hindoos lounging in and out, showed that some ceremony was going
on, we determined to attempt an entrance, and passed the threshold
unopposed. Retiring into a remote corner we sat down upon one of the
mats, and learned from a neighbour that the people were assembled to
hear a Rutnageree Brahman celebrated for eloquence, and very learned
in the Vedas. The preacher, if we may so call him, was lecturing his
congregation upon the relative duties of parents and children; his
discourse was delivered in a kind of chaunt, monotonous, but not rude
or unpleasing, and his gesticulation reminded us of many an Italian
Predicatore. He stood upon a strip of cloth at the beginning of each
period, advancing gradually as it proceeded, till reaching the end of
his sentence and his carpet, he stopped, turned round, and walked back
to his standing place, pausing awhile to take breath and to allow the
words of wisdom to sink deep into his hearers’ hearts. The discourse was
an excellent one, and we were astonished to perceive that an hour had
slipped away almost unobserved. However, the heat of the place, crowded
as it was with all ages and sexes—for the ladies of Seroda, like the
frail sisterhood generally in Asia, are very attentive to their _dharma_,
or religious duties—the cloud of incense which hung like a thick veil
under the low roof, and the overpowering perfume of the huge bouquets and
garlands of jessamine with which the assembly was profusely decorated,
compelled us to forfeit the benefit we might have derived from the
peroration of the learned Brahman’s discourse.
Our night was by no means a pleasant one; the Seroda vermin, like the
biped population, were too anxious to make the most of the stranger.
Early the next morning we arose to make our exit; but, alas! it was not
destined to be a triumphant one. The matron and her damsels, knowing us
to be English, expected us to be made of money, and had calculated upon
easing our breeches pockets of more gold than we intended to give silver.
Fearful was the din of chattering, objurgating, and imprecating, when the
sum decided upon was gracefully tendered to our entertainers, the rebec
and the kettle-drum seemed inclined to be mutinous, but _they_ were more
easily silenced than the ladies. At length, by adding the gift of a pair
of slippers adorned with foil spangles, to which it appeared the company
had taken a prodigious fancy, we were allowed to depart in comparative
peace.
Bidding adieu to Seroda, we toiled up the hill, and walked dejectedly
towards the landing-place, where we supposed our boat was awaiting us.
But when we arrived there, the canoe, of course, was not to be found. It
was breakfast time already, and we expected to be starved before getting
over the fifteen miles between us and Panjim. One chance remained to
us; we separated, and so diligently scoured the country round that in
less than half an hour we had collected a fair quantity of provender;
one returning with a broiled spatchcock and a loaf of bread; another
with a pot full of milk and a cocoa-nut or two, whilst a third had
succeeded in “bagging” divers crusts of stale bread, a bunch of onions,
and a water-melon. The hospitable portico of some Banyan’s country-house
afforded us a breakfast-room; presently the boat appeared, and the crew
warned us that it was time to come on board. It is strange that these
people must tell lies, even when truth would be in their favour. This we
found to our cost, for wind and tide proved both against us.
Six hours’ steaming and broiling under a sun which penetrated the matting
of our slow conveyance, as if it had been water within a few degrees
of boiling heat, brought us on towards evening. Seeing some difficulty
in rowing against every disadvantage, we proposed to our rascally
boatmen—native Christians, as usual—to land us at the most convenient
place. Coming to a bluff cape, the wretches swore by all that was holy,
that we were within a mile’s walk of our destination. In an evil hour,
we believed the worse than pagans, and found that by so doing we had
condemned ourselves to a toilsome trudge over hill and dale, at least
five times longer than they had asserted it to be. Our patience being now
thoroughly exhausted, we relieved our minds a little by administering
periodical chastisements to the fellow whom our bad luck had sent to
deceive and conduct us, till, at length, hungry, thirsty, tired, and
sleepy, we found ourselves once more in the streets of Panjim.
Reader, we have been minute, perhaps unnecessarily so, in describing
our visit to Seroda. If you be one of those who take no interest in a
traveller’s “feeds,” his sufferings from vermin, or his “rows about the
bill,” you will have found the preceding pages uninteresting enough. Our
object is, however, to give you a plain programme of what entertainment
you may expect from the famed town of the Bayaderes, and, should your
footsteps be ever likely to wander in that direction, to prepare you for
the disappointment you will infallibly incur.