In an hour's time we stopped at the gate of a large bungalow, and were
welcomed by the beaming face of our bareheaded Bengali. When we were
all safely gathered on the verandah, he explained to us that, knowing
beforehand that our "American pigheadedness" would not listen to any
warning, he had dodged up this little scheme of his own and was very
glad he had been successful.
"Now let us go and wash our hands, and then to supper. And," he added,
addressing me, "was it not your wish to be present at a real Hindu meal?
This is your opportunity. Our host is a Brahman, and you are the first
Europeans who ever entered the part of his house inhabited by the
family."----
Who amongst Europeans ever dreamed of a country where every step, and
the least action of everyday life, especially of the family life, is
controlled by religious rites and cannot be performed except according
to a certain programme? India is this country. In India all the
important incidents of a man's life, such as birth, reaching certain
periods of a child's life, marriage, fatherhood, old age and death,
as well as all the physical and physiological functions of everyday
routine, like morning ablutions, dressing, eating, et tout ce qui s'en
suit, from a man's first hour to his last sigh, everything must be
performed according to a certain Brahmanical ritual, on penalty of
expulsion from his caste. The Brahmans may be compared to the musicians
of an orchestra in which the different musical instruments are the
numerous sects of their country. They are all of a different shape and
of a different timbre; but still every one of them obeys the same leader
of the band. However widely the sects may differ in the interpretation
of their sacred books, however hostile they may be to each other,
striving to put forward their particular deity, every one of them,
obeying blindly the ancient custom, must follow like musicians the same
directing wand, the laws of Manu. This is the point where they all meet
and form a unanimous, single-minded community, a strongly united mass.
And woe to the one who breaks the symphony by a single discordant note!
The elders and the caste or sub-caste councils (of these there are any
number), whose members hold office for life, are stern rulers. There is
no appeal against their decisions, and this is why expulsion from
the caste is a calamity, entailing truly formidable consequences. The
excommunicated member is worse off than a leper, the solidarity of the
castes in this respect being something phenomenal. The only thing that
can bear any comparison with it is the solidarity of the disciples of
Loyola. If members of two different castes, united by the sincerest
feelings of respect and friendship, may not intermarry, may not dine
together, are forbidden to accept a glass of water from each other, or
to offer each other a hookah, it becomes clear how much more severe all
these restrictions must be in the case of an excommunicated person. The
poor wretch must literally die to everybody, to the members of his own
family as to strangers. His own household, his father, wife, children,
are all bound to turn their faces from him, under the penalty of
being excommunicated in their turn. There is no hope for his sons and
daughters of getting married, however innocent they may be of the sin of
their father.
From the moment of "excommunication" the Hindu must totally disappear.
His mother and wife must not feed him, must not let him drink from the
family well. No member of any existing caste dares to sell him his food
or cook for him. He must either starve or buy eatables from outcasts
and Europeans, and so incur the dangers of further pollution. When the
Brahmanical power was at its zenith, such acts as deceiving, robbing and
even killing this wretch were encouraged, as he was beyond the pale of
the laws. Now, at all events, he is free from the latter danger, but
still, even now, if he happens to die before he is forgiven and received
back into his caste, his body may not be burned, and no purifying
mantrams will be chanted for him; he will be thrown into the water, or
left to rot under the bushes like a dead cat.
This is a passive force, and its passiveness only makes it more
formidable. Western education and English influence can do nothing
to change it. There exists only one course of action for the
excommunicated; he must show signs of repentance and submit to all kinds
of humiliations, often to the total loss of all his worldly possessions.
Personally, I know several young Brahmans, who, having brilliantly
passed the university examinations in England, have had to submit to the
most repulsive conditions of purification on their return home; these
purifications consisting chiefly in shaving off half their moustaches
and eyebrows, crawling in the dust round pagodas, clinging during
long hours to the tail of a sacred cow, and, finally, swallowing the
excrements of this cow. The latter ceremony is called "Pancha-Gavya,"
literally, the five products of the cow: milk, curds, butter, etc.
The voyage over Kalapani, the black water, that is to say the sea, is
considered the worst of all the sins. A man who commits it is considered
as polluting himself continually, from the first moment of his going on
board the bellati (foreign) ship.
Only a few days ago a friend of ours, who is an LL.D., had to
undergo this "purgation," and it nearly cost him his reason. When we
remonstrated with him, pointing out that in his case it was simply
foolish to submit, he being a materialist by conviction and not caring
a straw for Brahmanism, he replied that he was bound to do so for the
following reasons:
"I have two daughters," he explained, "one five, the other six years
old. If I do not find a husband for the eldest of them in the course of
the coming year, she will grow too old to get married, nobody will think
of espousing her. Suppose I suffer my caste to excommunicate me, both
my girls will be dishonored and miserable for the rest of their lives.
Then, again, I must take into consideration the superstitions of my old
mother. If such a misfortune befell me, it would simply kill her....."
But why should he not free himself from every bond to Brahmanism and
caste? Why not join, once for all, the ever-growing community of men
who are guilty of the same offence? Why not ask all his family to form a
colony and join the civilization of the Europeans?
All these are very natural questions, but unfortunately there is no
difficulty in finding reasons for answering them in the negative.
There were thirty-two reasons given why one of Napoleon's marshals
refused to besiege a certain fortress, but the first of these reasons
was the absence of gunpowder, and so it excluded the necessity of
discussing the remaining thirty-one. Similarly the first reason why a
Hindu cannot be Europeanized is quite sufficient, and does not call for
any additional ones. This reason is that by doing so a Hindu would
not improve his position. Were he such an adept of science as to rival
Tyndall, were he such a clever politician as to eclipse the genius of
Disraeli and Bismarck, as soon as he actually had given up his caste and
kinsmen, he would indubitably find himself in the position of Mahomet's
coffin; metaphorically speaking, he would hang half-way between the
earth and the sky.
It would be an utter injustice to suppose that this state of things
is the result of the policy of the English Government; that the said
Government is afraid of giving a chance to natives who may be suspected
of being hostile to the British rule. In reality, the Government has
little or nothing to do with it. This state of things must be attributed
entirely to the social ostracism, to the contempt felt by a "superior"
for an "inferior" race, a contempt deeply rooted in some members of
the Anglo-Indian society and displayed at the least provocation.
This question of racial "superiority" and "inferiority" plays a
more important part than is generally believed, even in England.
Nevertheless, the natives (Mussulmans included) do not deserve contempt,
and so the gulf between the rulers and the ruled widens with every year,
and long centuries would not suffice to fill it up.
I have to dwell upon all this to give my readers a clear idea on the
subject. And so it is no wonder the ill-fated Hindus prefer
temporary humiliations and the physical and moral sufferings of the
"purification," to the prospect of general contempt until death. These
were the questions we discussed with the Brahmans during the two hours
before dinner.
Dining with foreigners and people belonging to different castes is, no
doubt, a dangerous breach of Manu's sacred precepts. But this time, for
once, it was easily explained. First, the stout Patel, our host, was
the head of his caste, and so was beyond the dread of excommunication;
secondly, he had already taken all the prescribed and advisable
precautions against being polluted by our presence. He was a
free-thinker in his own way, and a friend of Gulab-Lal-Sing, and so
he rejoiced at the idea of showing us how much skillful sophistry and
strategical circumspection can be used by adroit Brahmans to avoid the
law in some circumstances, while adhering at the same time to its dead
letter. Besides, our good-natured, well-favored host evidently desired
to obtain a diploma from our Society, being well aware that the
collector of his district was enrolled amongst our members.
These, at any rate, were the explanations of our Babu when we expressed
our astonishment; so it was our concern to make the most of our
chance, and to thank Providence for this rare opportunity. And this we
accordingly did.
Hindus take their food only twice a day, at ten o'clock in the morning
and at nine in the evening. Both meals are accompanied by complicated
rites and ceremonies. Even very young children are not allowed to eat
at odd times, eating without the prescribed performance of certain
exorcisms being considered a sin. Thousands of educated Hindus have long
ceased to believe in all these superstitious customs, but, nevertheless,
they are daily practised.
Sham Rao Bahunathji, our host, belonged to the ancient caste of Patarah
Prabhus, and was very proud of his origin. Prabhu means lord, and this
caste descends from the Kshatriyas. The first of them was Ashvapati (700
B.C.), a lineal descendant of Rama and Prithu, who, as is stated in the
local chronology, governed India in the Dvapara and Treta Yugas, which
is a good while ago! The Patarah Prabhus are the only caste within which
Brahmans have to perform certain purely Vedic rites, known under the
name of the "Kshatriya rites." But this does not prevent their being
Patans, instead of Patars, Patan meaning the fallen one. This is
the fault of King Ashvapati. Once, when distributing gifts to holy
anchorites, he inadvertently forgot to give his due to the great Bhrigu.
The offended prophet and seer declared to him that his reign was
drawing near its end, and that all his posterity would perish. The king,
throwing himself on the ground, implored the prophet's pardon. But his
curse had worked its fulfilment already. All that he could do to
stop the mischief consisted in a solemn promise not to let the king's
descendants disappear completely from the earth. However, the Patars
soon lost their throne and their power. Since then they have had to
"live by their pens," in the employment of many successive governments,
to exchange their name of Patars for Patans, and to lead a humbler life
than many of their late subjects. Happily for our talkative Amphitryon,
his forefathers became Brahmans, that is to say "went through the golden
cow."
The expression "to live by their pens" alludes, as we learned later on,
to the fact of the Patans occupying all the small Government posts in
the Bombay Presidency, and so being dangerous rivals of the Bengali
Babus since the time of British rule. In Bombay the Patan clerks reach
the considerable figure of five thousand. Their complexion is darker
than the complexion of Konkan Brahmans, but they are handsomer and
brighter. As to the mysterious expression, "went through the golden
cow," it illustrates a very curious custom. The Kshatriyas, and even
the much-despised Shudras, may become a sort of left-hand Brahmans. This
metamorphosis depends on the will of the real Brahmans, who may, if they
like, sell this right for several hundreds or thousands of cows. When
the gift is accomplished, a model cow, made of pure gold, is erected
and made sacred by the performance of some mystical ceremonies. The
candidate must now crawl through her hollow body three times, and thus
is transformed into a Brahman. The present Maharaja of Travankor, and
even the great Raja of Benares, who died recently, were both Shudras who
acquired their rights in this manner. We received all this information
and a notion of the legendary Patar chronicle from our obliging host.
Having announced that we must now get ready for dinner, he disappeared
in the company of all the gentlemen of our party. Being left to
ourselves, Miss X---- and I decided to have a good look at the house
whilst it was empty. The Babu, being a downright, modern Bengali, had
no respect for the religious preparations for dinner, and chose to
accompany us, proposing to explain to us all that we should otherwise
fail to understand.
The Prabhu brothers always live together, but every married couple have
separate rooms and servants of their own. The habitation of our host
was very spacious. There were small several bungalows, occupied by
his brothers, and a chief building containing rooms for visitors, the
general dining-room, a lying-in ward, a small chapel with any number
of idols, and so on. The ground floor, of course, was surrounded by a
verandah pierced with arches leading to a huge hall. All round this hall
were wooden pillars adorned with exquisite carving. For some reason or
other, it struck me that these pillars once belonged to some palace of
the "dead town." On close examination I only grew more convinced that
I was right. Their style bore no traces of Hindu taste; no gods, no
fabulous monster animals, only arabesques and elegant leaves and flowers
of nonexistent plants. The pillars stood very close to each other, but
the carvings prevented them from forming an uninterrupted wall, so that
the ventilation was a little too strong. All the time we spent at the
dinner table miniature hurricanes whistled from behind every pillar,
waking up all our old rheumatisms and toothaches, which had peacefully
slumbered since our arrival in India.
The front of the house was thickly covered with iron horseshoes--the
best precaution against evil spirits and evil eyes.
At the foot of a broad, carved staircase we came across a couch or a
cradle, hung from the ceiling by iron chains. I saw somebody lying on
it, whom, at first sight, I mistook for a sleeping Hindu, and was going
to retreat discreetly, but, recognizing my old friend Hanuman, I grew
bold and endeavored to examine him. Alas! the poor idol possessed only a
head and neck, the rest of his body was a heap of old rags.
On the left side of the verandah there were many more lateral rooms,
each with a special destination, some of which I have mentioned already.
The largest of these rooms was called "vattan," and was used exclusively
by the fair sex. Brahman women are not bound to spend their lives
under veils, like Mussulman women, but still they have very little
communication with men, and keep aloof. Women cook the men's food, but
do not dine with them. The elder ladies of the family are often held in
great respect, and husbands sometimes show a shy courteousness towards
their wives, but still a woman has no right to speak to her husband
before strangers, nor even before the nearest relations, such as her
sisters and her mother.
As to the Hindu widows, they really are the most wretched creatures in
the whole world. As soon as a woman's husband dies she must have her
hair and her eyebrows shaven off. She must part with all her trinkets,
her earrings, her nose jewels, her bangles and toe-rings. After this is
done she is as good as dead. The lowest outcast would not marry her. A
man is polluted by her slightest touch, and must immediately proceed to
purify himself. The dirtiest work of the household is her duty, and she
must not eat with the married women and the children. The "sati," the
burning of the widows, is abolished, but Brahmans are clever managers,
and the widows often long for the sati.
At last, having examined the family chapel, full of idols, flowers, rich
vases with burning incense, lamps hanging from its ceiling, and aromatic
herbs covering its floor, we decided to get ready for dinner. We
carefully washed ourselves, but this was not enough, we were requested
to take off our shoes. This was a somewhat disagreeable surprise, but a
real Brahmanical supper was worth the trouble.
However, a truly amazing surprise was still in store for us.
On entering the dining-room we stopped short at the entrance--both our
European companions were dressed, or rather undressed, exactly like
Hindus! For the sake of decency they kept on a kind of sleeveless
knitted vest, but they were barefooted, wore the snow-white Hindu dhutis
(a piece of muslin wrapped round to the waist and forming a petticoat),
and looked like something between white Hindus and Constantinople
garcons de bains. Both were indescribably funny, I never saw anything
funnier. To the great discomfiture of the men, and the scandal of the
grave ladies of the house, I could not restrain myself, but burst out
laughing. Miss X----blushed violently and followed my example.
A quarter of an hour before the evening meal every Hindu, old or young,
has to perform a "puja" before the gods. He does not change his clothes,
as we do in Europe, but takes off the few things he wore during the day.
He bathes by the family well and loosens his hair, of which, if he is
a Mahratti or an inhabitant of the Dekkan, he has only one long lock at
the top of his shaven head. To cover the body and the head whilst eating
would be sinful. Wrapping his waist and legs in a white silk dhuti,
he goes once more to salute the idols and then sits down to his
meal.----
But here I shall allow myself to digress. "Silk possesses the property
of dismissing the evil spirits who inhabit the magnetic fluids of the
atmosphere," says the Mantram, book v., verse 23. And I cannot help
wondering whether this apparent superstition may not contain a deeper
meaning. It is difficult, I own, to part with our favorite theories
about all the customs of ancient heathendom being mere ignorant
superstitions. But have not some vague notions of these customs being
founded originally on a true knowledge of scientific principles found
their way amongst European scientific circles? At first sight the idea
seems untenable. But why may we not suppose that the ancients prescribed
this observance in the full knowledge that the effect of electricity
upon the organs of digestion is truly beneficial? People who have
studied the ancient philosophy of India with a firm resolve to penetrate
the hidden meaning of its aphorisms have for the most part grown
convinced that electricity and its effects were known to a considerable
extent to some philosophers, as, for instance, to Patanjali. Charaka and
Sushruta had pro-pounded the system of Hippocrates long before the time
of him who in Europe is supposed to be the "father of medicine." The
Bhadrinath temple of Vishnu possesses a stone bearing evident proof of
the fact that Surya-Sidhanta knew and calculated the expansive force of
steam many centuries ago. The ancient Hindus were the first to determine
the velocity of light and the laws of its reflection; and the table of
Pythagoras and his celebrated theorem of the square of hypotenuse are to
be found in the ancient books of Jyotisha. All this leads us to suppose
that ancient Aryans, when instituting the strange custom of wearing
silk during meals, had something serious in view, more serious, at all
events, than the "dismissing of demons."
Having entered the "refectory," we immediately noticed what were the
Hindu precautions against their being polluted by our presence. The
stone floor of the hall was divided into two equal parts. This division
consisted of a line traced in chalk, with Kabalistic signs at either
end. One part was destined for the host's party and the guests belonging
to the same caste, the other for ourselves. On our side of the hall
there was yet a third square to contain Hindus of a different caste. The
furniture of the two bigger squares was exactly similar. Along the two
opposite walls there were narrow carpets spread on the floor, covered
with cushions and low stools. Before every occupant there was an oblong
on the bare floor, traced also with chalk, and divided, like a chess
board, into small quadrangles which were destined for dishes and plates.
Both the latter articles were made of the thick strong leaves of the
butea frondosa: larger dishes of several leaves pinned together with
thorns, plates and saucers of one leaf with its borders turned up.
All the courses of the supper were already arranged on each square; we
counted forty-eight dishes, containing about a mouthful of forty-eight
different dainties. The materials of which they were composed were
mostly terra incognita to us, but some of them tasted very nice. All
this was vegetarian food. Of meat, fowl, eggs and fish there appeared no
traces. There were chutneys, fruit and vegetables preserved in vinegar
and honey, panchamrits, a mixture of pampello-berries, tamarinds, cocoa
milk, treacle and olive oil, and kushmer, made of radishes, honey and
flour; there were also burning hot pickles and spices. All this was
crowned with a mountain of exquisitely cooked rice and another mountain
of chapatis, which are something like brown pancakes. The dishes stood
in four rows, each row containing twelve dishes; and between the rows
burned three aromatic sticks of the size of a small church taper.
Our part of the hall was brightly lit with green and red candles. The
chandeliers which held these candles were of a very queer shape. They
each represented the trunk of a tree with a seven-headed cobra wound
round it. From each of the seven mouths rose a red or a green wax candle
of spiral form like a corkscrew. Draughts blowing from behind every
pillar fluttered the yellow flames, filling the roomy refectory with
fantastic moving shadows, and causing both our lightly-clad gentlemen
to sneeze very frequently. Leaving the dark silhouettes of the Hindus
in comparative obscurity, this unsteady light made the two white figures
still more conspicuous, as if making a masquerade of them and laughing
at them.
The relatives and friends of our host came in one after the other. They
were all naked down to the waist, all barefooted, all wore the triple
Brahmanical thread and white silk dhutis, and their hair hung loose.
Every sahib was followed by his own servant, who carried his cup, his
silver, or even gold, jug filled with water, and his towel. All of them,
having saluted the host, greeted us, the palms of their hands pressed
together and touching their foreheads, their breasts, and then the
floor. They all said to us: "Ram-Ram" and "Namaste" (salutation to
thee), and then made straight for their respective seats in perfect
silence. Their civilities reminded me that the custom of greeting each
other with the twice pronounced name of some ancestor was usual in the
remotest antiquity.
We all sat down, the Hindus calm and stately, as if preparing for some
mystic celebration, we ourselves feeling awkward and uneasy, fearing to
prove guilty of some unpardonable blunder. An invisible choir of women's
voices chanted a monotonous hymn, celebrating the glory of the gods.
These were half a dozen nautch-girls from a neighboring pagoda. To this
accompaniment we began satisfying our appetites. Thanks to the Babu's
instructions, we took great care to eat only with our right hands. This
was somewhat difficult, because we were hungry and hasty, but quite
necessary. Had we only so much as touched the rice with our left hands
whole hosts of Rakshasas (demons) would have been attracted to take part
in the festivity that very moment; which, of course, would send all the
Hindus out of the room. It is hardly necessary to say that there were no
traces of forks, knives or spoons. That I might run no risk of
breaking the rule I put my left hand in my pocket and held on to my
pocket-handkerchief all the time the dinner lasted.
The singing lasted only a few minutes. During the rest of the time a
dead silence reigned amongst us. It was Monday, a fast day, and so
the usual absence of noise at meal times had to be observed still more
strictly than on any other day. Usually a man who is compelled to break
the silence by some emergency or other hastens to plunge into water
the middle finger of his left hand, which till then had remained hidden
behind his back, and to moisten both his eyelids with it. But a really
pious man would not be content with this simple formula of purification;
having spoken, he must leave the dining-room, wash thoroughly, and then
abstain from food for the remainder of the day.
Thanks to this solemn silence, I was at liberty to notice everything
that was going on with great attention. Now and again, whenever I caught
sight of the colonel or Mr. Y----, I had all the difficulty in the world
to preserve my gravity. Fits of foolish laughter would take possession
of me when I observed them sitting erect with such comical solemnity and
working so awkwardly with their elbows and hands. The long beard of the
one was white with grains of rice, as if silvered with hoar-frost,
the chin of the other was yellow with liquid saffron. But unsatisfied
curiosity happily came to my rescue, and I went on watching the quaint
proceedings of the Hindus.
Each of them, having sat down with his legs twisted under him, poured
some water with his left hand out of the jug brought by the servant,
first into his cup, then into the palm of his right hand. Then he
slowly and carefully sprinkled the water round a dish with all kinds
of dainties, which stood by itself, and was destined, as we learned
afterwards, for the gods. During this procedure each Hindu repeated a
Vedic mantram. Filling his right hand with rice, he pronounced a new
series of couplets, then, having stored five pinches of rice on the
right side of his own plate, he once more washed his hands to avert the
evil eye, sprinkled more water, and pouring a few drops of it into his
right palm, slowly drank it. After this he swallowed six pinches of
rice, one after the other, murmuring prayers all the while, and wetted
both his eyes with the middle finger of his left hand. All this done,
he finally hid his left hand behind his back, and began eating with the
right hand. All this took only a few minutes, but was performed very
solemnly.
The Hindus ate with their bodies bent over the food, throwing it up and
catching it in their mouths so dexterously that not a grain of rice
was lost, not a drop of the various liquids spilt. Zealous to show
his consideration for his host, the colonel tried to imitate all these
movements. He contrived to bend over his food almost horizontally, but,
alas! he could not remain long in this position. The natural weight of
his powerful limbs overcame him, he lost his balance and nearly tumbled
head foremost, dropping his spectacles into a dish of sour milk and
garlic. After this unsuccessful experience the brave American gave up
all further attempts to become "Hinduized," and sat very quietly.
The supper was concluded with rice mixed with sugar, powdered peas,
olive oil, garlic and grains of pomegranate, as usual. This last
dainty is consumed hurriedly. Everyone nervously glances askance at his
neighbor, and is mortally afraid of being the last to finish, because
this is considered a very bad sign. To conclude, they all take some
water into their mouths, murmuring prayers the while, and this time they
must swallow it in one gulp. Woe to the one who chokes! 'Tis a clear
sign that a bhuta has taken possession of his throat. The unfortunate
man must run for his life and get purified before the altar.
The poor Hindus are very much troubled by these wicked bhutas, the
souls of the people who have died with ungratified desires and earthly
passions. Hindu spirits, if I am to believe the unanimous assertions
of one and all, are always swarming round the living, always ready to
satisfy their hunger with other people's mouths and gratify their impure
desires with the help of organs temporarily stolen from the living. They
are feared and cursed all over India. No means to get rid of them
are despised. The notions and conclusions of the Hindus on this
point categorically contradict the aspirations and hopes of Western
spiritualists.
"A good and pure spirit, they are confident, will not let his soul
revisit the earth, if this soul is equally pure. He is glad to die and
unite himself to Brahma, to live an eternal life in Svarga (heaven) and
enjoy the society of the beautiful Gandharvas or singing angels. He is
glad to slumber whole eternities, listening to their songs, whilst his
soul is purified by a new incarnation in a body, which is more perfect
than the one the soul abandoned previously."
The Hindus believe that the spirit or Atma, a particle of the GREAT
ALL, which is Parabrahm, cannot be punished for sins in which it never
participated. It is Manas, the animal intelligence, and the animal
soul or Jiva, both half material illusions, that sin and suffer and
transmigrate from one body into the other till they purify themselves.
The spirit merely overshadows their earthly transmigrations. When the
Ego has reached the final state of purity, it will be one with the Atma,
and gradually will merge and disappear in Parabrahm.
But this is not what awaits the wicked souls. The soul that does not
succeed in getting rid of earthly cares and desires before the death of
the body is weighed down by its sins, and, instead of reincarnating in
some new form, according to the laws of metempsychosis, it will remain
bodiless, doomed to wander on earth. It will become a bhuta, and by its
own sufferings will cause unutterable sufferings to its kinsmen. That is
why the Hindu fears above all things to remain bodiless after his death.
"It is better for one to enter the body of a tiger, of a dog, even of a
yellow-legged falcon, after death, than to become a bhuta!" an old Hindu
said to me on one occasion. "Every animal possesses a body of his own
and a right to make an honest use of it. Whereas the bhutas are doomed
dakoits, brigands and thieves, they are ever watching for an opportunity
to use what does not belong to them. This is a horrible state--a horror
indescribable. This is the true hell. What is this spiritualism they
talk so much of in the West? Is it possible the intelligent English and
Americans are so mad as this?"
And all our remonstrances notwithstanding, he refused to believe that
there are actually people who are fond of bhutas, who would do much to
attract them into their homes.
After supper the men went again to the family well to wash, and then
dressed themselves.
Usually at this hour of the night the Hindus put on clean malmalas,
a kind of tight shirt, white turbans, and wooden sandals with knobs
pressed between the toes. These curious shoes are left at the door
whilst their owners return to the hall and sit down along the walls
on carpets and cushions to chew betel, smoke hookahs and cheroots, to
listen to sacred reading, and to witness the dances of the nautches.
But this evening, probably in our honor, all the Hindus dressed
magnificently. Some of them wore darias of rich striped satin, no end of
gold bangles, necklaces mounted with diamonds and emeralds, gold watches
and chains, and transparent Brahmanical scarfs with gold embroidery.
The fat fingers and the right ear of our host were simply blazing with
diamonds.
The women, who waited on us during the meal, disappeared afterwards
for a considerable time. When they came back they also were luxuriously
overdressed and were introduced to us formally as the ladies of the
house. They were five: the wife of the host, a woman of twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, then two others looking somewhat younger, one
of whom carried a baby, and, to our great astonishment, was introduced
as the married daughter of the hostess; then the old mother of the host
and a little girl of seven, the wife of one of his brothers. So that our
hostess turned out to be a grandmother, and her sister-in-law, who was
to enter finally into matrimony in from two to three years, might have
become a mother before she was twelve. They were all barefooted, with
rings on each of their toes, and all, with the exception of the old
woman, wore garlands of natural flowers round their necks and in their
jet black hair. Their tight bodices, covered with embroidery, were so
short that between them and the sari there was a good quarter of a yard
of bare skin. The dark, bronze-coloured waists of these well-shaped
Women were boldly presented to any one's examination and reflected the
lights of the room. Their beautiful arms and their ankles were covered
with bracelets. At the least of their movements they all set up a
tinkling silvery sound, and the little sister-in-law, who might easily
be mistaken for an automaton doll, could hardly move under her load of
ornaments. The young grandmother, our hostess, had a ring in her left
nostril, which reached to the lower part of the chin. Her nose was
considerably disfigured by the weight of the gold, and we noticed how
unusually handsome she was only when she took it off to enable herself
to drink her tea with some comfort.
The dances of the nautch girls began. Two of them were very pretty.
Their dancing consisted chiefly in more or less expressive movements
of their eyes, their heads, and even their ears, in fact, of the whole
upper part of their bodies. As to their legs, they either did not move
at all or moved with such a swiftness as to appear in a cloud of mist.
After this eventful day I slept the sleep of the just.
After many nights spent in a tent, it is more than agreeable to sleep in
a regular bed, even if it is only a hanging one. The pleasure would, no
doubt, have been considerably increased had I but known I was resting on
the couch of a god. But this latter circumstance was revealed to me only
in the morning, when descending the staircase I suddenly discovered
the poor general en chef, Hanuman, deprived of his cradle and
unceremoniously stowed away under the stairs. Decidedly, the Hindus of
the nineteenth century are a degenerate and blaspheming race!
In the course of the morning we learned that this swinging throne of
his, and an ancient sofa, were the only pieces of furniture in the whole
house that could be transformed into beds.
Neither of our gentlemen had spent a comfortable night. They slept in an
empty tower that was once the altar of a decayed pagoda and was situated
behind the main building. In assigning to them this strange resting
place, the host was guided by the praiseworthy intention of protecting
them from the jackals, which freely penetrate into all the rooms of the
ground floor, as they are pierced by numberless arches and have no
door and no window frames. The jackals, however, did not trouble the
gentlemen much that night, except by giving their nightly concert. But
both Mr. Y---- and the colonel had to fight all the night long with a
vampire, which, besides being a flying fox of an unusual size, happened
to be a spirit, as we learned too late, to our great misfortune.
This is how it happened. Noiselessly hovering about the tower, the
vampire from time to time alighted on the sleepers, making them shudder
under the disgusting touch of his cold sticky wings. His intention
clearly was to get a nice suck of European blood. They were wakened by
his manipulations at least ten times, and each time frightened him away.
But, as soon as they were dozing again, the wretched bat was sure to
return and perch on their shoulders, heads, or legs. At last Mr. Y----,
losing patience, had recourse to strong measures; he caught him and
broke his neck.
Feeling perfectly innocent, the gentlemen mentioned the tragic end of
the troublesome flying fox to their host, and instantly drew down on
their heads all the thunder-clouds of heaven.
The yard was crowded with people. All the inhabitants of the house stood
sorrowfully drooping their heads, at the entrance of the tower. Our
host's old mother tore her hair in despair, and shrieked lamentations in
all the languages of India. What was the matter with them all? We were
at our wits' end. But when we learned the cause of all this, there was
no limit to our confusion.
By certain mysterious signs, known only to the family Brahman, it had
been decided ten years ago that the soul of our host's elder brother had
incarnated in this blood-thirsty vampire-bat. This fact was stated as
being beyond any doubt. For nine years the late Patarah Prabhu existed
under this new shape, carrying out the laws of metempsychosis. He spent
the hours between sunrise and the sunset in an old pipal-tree before the
tower, hanging with his head downwards. But at night he visited the
old tower and gave fierce chase to the insects that sought rest in
this out-of-the-way corner. And so nine years were spent in this happy
existence, divided between sleep, food, and the gradual redemption of
old sins committed in the shape of a Patarah Prabhu. And now? Now his
listless body lay in the dust at the entrance of his favorite tower,
and his wings were half devoured by the rats. The poor old woman, his
mother, was mad with sorrow, and cast, through her tears, reproachful,
angry looks at Mr. Y----, who, in his new capacity of a heartless
murderer, looked disgustingly composed.
But the affair was growing serious. The comical side of it disappeared
before the sincerity and the intensity of her lamentations. Her
descendants, grouped around her, were too polite to reproach us openly,
but the expression of their faces was far from reassuring. The family
priest and astrologer stood by the old lady, Shastras in hand, ready to
begin the ceremony of purification. He solemnly covered the corpse with
a piece of new linen, and so hid from our eyes the sad remains on which
ants were literally swarming.
Mr. Y---- did his best to look unconcerned, but still, when the tactless
Miss X---- came to him, expressing her loud indignation at all these
superstitions of an inferior race, he at least seemed to remember that
our host knew English perfectly, and he did not encourage her farther
expressions of sympathy. He made no answer, but smiled contemptuously.
Our host approached the colonel with respectful salaams and invited us
to follow him.
"No doubt he is going to ask us to leave his house immediately!" was my
uncomfortable impression.
But my apprehension was not justified. At this epoch of my Indian
pilgrimage I was far, as yet, from having fathomed the metaphysical
depth of a Hindu heart.
Sham Rao began by delivering a very far-fetched, eloquent preface.
He reminded us that he, personally, was an enlightened man, a man who
possessed all the advantages of a Western education. He said that, owing
to this, he was not quite sure that the body of the vampire was actually
inhabited by his late brother. Darwin, of course, and some other great
naturalists of the West, seemed to believe in the transmigration of
souls, but, as far as he understood, they believed in it in an inverse
sense; that is to say, if a baby had been born to his mother exactly at
the moment of the vampire's death, this baby would indubitably have
had a great likeness to a vampire, owing to the decaying atoms of the
vampire being so close to her.
"Is not this an exact interpretation of the Darwinian school?" he asked.
We modestly answered that, having traveled almost incessantly during the
last year, we could not help being a bit behindhand in the questions
of modern science, and that we were not able to follow its latest
conclusions.
"But I have followed them!" rejoined the good-natured Sham Rao, with a
touch of pomposity. "And so I hope I may be allowed to say that I have
understood and duly appreciated their most recent developments. I have
just finished studying the magnificent Anthropogenesis of Haeckel,
and have carefully discussed in my own mind his logical, scientific
explanations of the origin of man from inferior animal forms through
transformation. And what is this transformation, pray, if not the
transmigration of the ancient and modern Hindus, and the metempsychosis
of the Greeks?"
We had nothing to say against the identity, and even ventured to observe
that, according to Haeckel, it does look like it.
"Exactly!" exclaimed he joyfully. "This shows that our conceptions are
neither silly nor superstitious, as is maintained by some opponents
of Manu. The great Manu, anticipated Darwin and Haeckel. Judge for
yourself; the latter derives the genesis of man from a group of
plastides, from the jelly-like moneron; this moneron, through the
ameoba, the ascidian, the brainless and heartless amphioxus, and so on,
transmigrates in the eighth remove into the lamprey, is transformed, at
last, into a vertebrate amniote, into a premammalian, into a marsupial
animal.... The vampire, in its turn, belongs to the species of
vertebrates. You, being well read people all of you, cannot contradict
this statement." He was right in his supposition; we did not contradict
it.
"In this case, do me the honor to follow my argument...."
We did follow his argument with the greatest attention, but were at a
loss to foresee whither it tended to lead us.
"Darwin," continued Sham Rao, "in his Origin of Species, re-established
almost word for word the palin-genetic teachings of our Manu. Of this I
am perfectly convinced, and, if you like, I can prove it to you book in
hand. Our ancient law-giver, amongst other sayings, speaks as follows:
'The great Parabrahm commanded man to appear in the universe, after
traversing all the grades of the animal kingdom, and springing primarily
from the worm of the deep sea mud.' The worm be-came a snake, the snake
a fish, the fish a mammal, and so on. Is not this very idea at the
bottom of Darwin's theory, when he maintains that the organic forms have
their origin in more simple species, and says that the structureless
protoplasm born in the mud of the Laurentian and Silurian periods--the
Manu's 'mud of the seas,' I dare say--gradually transformed itself into
the anthropoid ape, and then finally into the human being?"
We said it looked very like it.
"But, in spite of all my respect for Darwin and his eminent follower
Haeckel, I cannot agree with their final conclusions, especially with
the conclusions of the latter," continued Sham Rao. "This hasty and
bilious German is perfectly accurate in copying the embryology of Manu
and all the metamorphoses of our ancestors, but he forgets the evolution
of the human soul, which, as it is stated by Manu, goes hand in hand
with the evolution of matter. The son of Swayambhuva, the Self Becoming,
speaks as follows: 'Everything created in a new cycle, in addition to
the qualities of its preceding transmigrations, acquires new qualities,
and the nearer it approaches to man, the highest type of the earth, the
brighter becomes its divine spark; but, once it has become a Brahma, it
will enter the cycle of conscious transmigrations.' Do you realize what
that means? It means that from this moment, its transformations depend
no longer on the blind laws of gradual evolution, but on the least of a
man's actions, which brings either a reward or a punishment. Now you
see that it depends on the man's will whether, on the one hand, he will
start on the way to Moksha, the eternal bliss, passing from one Loka to
another till he reaches Brahmaloka, or, on the other, owing to his sins,
will be thrown back. You know that the average soul, once freed from
earthly reincarnations, has to ascend from one Loka to another, always
in the human shape, though this shape will grow and perfect itself with
every Loka. Some of our sects understood these Lokas to mean certain
stars. These spirits, freed from earthly matter, are what we mean by
Pitris and Devas, whom we worship. And did not your Kabalists of the
middle ages designate these Pitris under the expression Planetary
Spirits? But, in the case of a very sinful man, he will have to
begin once more with the animal forms which he had already traversed
unconsciously. Both Darwin and Haeckel lose sight of this, so to speak,
second volume of their incomplete theory, but still neither of them
advances any argument to prove it false. Is it not so?"
"Neither of them does anything of the sort, most assuredly."
"Why, in this case," exclaimed he, suddenly changing his colloquial tone
for an aggressive one, "why am I, I who have studied the most modern
ideas of Western science, I who believe in its representatives--why am I
suspected, pray, by Miss X---- of belonging to the tribe of the
ignorant and superstitious Hindus? Why does she think that our perfected
scientific theories are superstitions, and we ourselves a fallen
inferior race?"
Sham Rao stood before us with tears in his eyes. We were at a loss what
to answer him, being confused to the last degree by this outburst.
"Mind you, I do not proclaim our popular beliefs to be infallible
dogmas. I consider them as mere theories, and try to the best of my
ability to reconcile the ancient and the modern science. I formulate
hypotheses just like Darwin and Haeckel. Besides, if I understood
rightly, Miss X---- is a spiritualist, so she believes in bhutas. And,
believing that a bhuta is capable of penetrating the body of a medium,
how can she deny that a bhuta, and more so a less sinful soul, may enter
the body of a vampire-bat?"
I own, this logic was a little too condensed for us, and so, avoiding a
direct answer to a metaphysical question of such delicacy, we tried to
apologize and excuse Miss X----'s rudeness as well as we could.
"She did not mean to offend you," we said, "she only repeated a calumny,
familiar to every European. Besides, if she had taken the trouble to
think it over, she probably would not have said it...."
Little by little we succeeded in pacifying our host. He recovered his
usual cheerfulness, but could not resist the temptation of adding a
few words to his long argumentation. He had just begun to reveal to us
certain peculiarities of his late brother's character, which induced him
to be prepared, judging by the laws of atavism, to see their repetition
in the propensities of a vampire bat, when Mr. Y----suddenly dashed in
on our small group and spoiled all the results of our conciliatory words
by screaming at the top of his voice: "The old woman has gone demented!
She keeps on cursing us and says that the murder of this wretched bat
is only the forerunner of a whole series of misfortunes brought on her
house by you, Sham Rao," said he, hastily addressing the bewildered
follower of Haackel. "She says you have polluted your Brahmanical
holiness by inviting us. Colonel, you had better send for the elephants.
In another moment all this crowd will be on us..."
"For goodness' sake!" exclaimed poor Sham Rao, "have some consideration
for my feelings. She is an old woman, she has some superstitions, but
she is my mother. You are educated people, learned people... Advise me,
show me a way out of all these difficulties. What should you do in my
place?"
"What should I do, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Y----, completely put out of
temper by the utter ludicrousness of our awkward predicament. "What
should I do? Were I a man in your position and a believer in all you
are brought up to believe, I should take my revolver, and in the first
place, shoot all the vampire bats in the neighborhood, if only to rid
all your late relations from the abject bodies of these creatures,
and, in the second place, I should endeavor to smash the head of the
conceited fraud in the shape of a Brahman who invented all this stupid
story. That is what I should do, sir!"
But this advice did not content the miserable descendant of Rama. No
doubt he would have remained a long time undecided as to what course
of action to adopt, torn as he was between the sacred feelings of
hospitality, the innate fear of the Brahman-priest, and his own
superstitions, if our ingenious Babu had not come to our rescue.
Learning that we all felt more or less indignant at all this row, and
that we were preparing to leave the house as quickly as possible,
he persuaded us to stay, if only for an hour, saying that our hasty
departure would be a terrible outrage upon our host, whom, in any case,
we could not find fault with. As to the stupid old woman, the Babu
promised us to pacify her speedily enough: he had his own plans and
views. In the meantime, he said, we had better go and examine the ruins
of an old fortress close by.
We obeyed very reluctantly, feeling an acute interest in his "plans." We
proceeded slowly. Our gentlemen were visibly out of temper. Miss X----
tried to calm herself by talking more than usual, and Narayan, as
phlegmatic as usual, indolently and good-naturedly chaffed her about
her beloved "spirits." Glancing back we saw the Babu accompanied by the
family priest. Judging by their gestures they were engaged in some warm
discussion. The shaven head of the Brahman nodded right and left, his
yellow garment flapped in the wind, and his arms rose towards the sky,
as if in an appeal to the gods to come down and testify to the truth of
his words.
"I'll bet you a thousand dollars, no plans of our Babu's will be of any
avail with this fanatic!" confidently remarked the colonel as he lit his
pipe.
But we had hardly walked a hundred steps after this remark when we saw
the Babu running after us and signaling us to stop.
"Everything ended first-rate!" screamed he, as soon as we could hear.
"You are to be thanked... You happen to be the true saviours and
benefactors of the deceased bhuta... You..."
Our Babu sank on the ground holding his narrow, panting breast with both
his hands, and laughed, laughed till we all burst into laughter too,
before learning any-thing at all.
"Think of it," began the Babu, and stopped short, prevented from going
on by his exuberant hilarity. "Just think of it! The whole transaction
is to cost me only ten rupees.... I offered five at first... but he
would not.... He said this was a sacred matter..... But ten he could not
resist! Ho, ho, ho...."
At last we learned the story. All the metempsychoses depend on the
imagination of the family Gurus, who receive for their kind offices
from one hundred to one hundred and fifty rupees a year. Every rite is
accompanied by a more or less considerable addition to the purse of the
insatiable family Brahman, but the happy events pay better than the
sad ones. Knowing all this, the Babu asked the Brahman point-blank to
perform a false samadhi, that is to say, to feign an inspiration and
to announce to the sorrowing mother that her late son's will had acted
consciously in all the circumstances; that he brought about his end
in the body of the flying fox, that he was tired of that grade of
transmigration, that he longed for death in order to attain a higher
position in the animal kingdom, that he is happy, and that he is deeply
indebted to the sahib who broke his neck and so freed him from his
abject embodiment.
Besides, the observant eye of our all-knowing Babu had not failed to
remark that a she-buffalo of the Guru's was expecting a calf, and that
the Guru was yearning to sell it to Sham Rao. This circumstance was
a trump card in the Babu's hand. Let the Guru announce, under the
influence of samadhi, that the freed spirit intends to inhabit the body
of the future baby-buffalo and the old lady will buy the new incarnation
of her first-born as sure as the sun is bright. This announcement will
be followed by rejoicings and by new rites. And who will profit by all
this if not the family priest?
At first the Guru had some misgivings, and swore by everything sacred
that the vampire bat was veritably inhabited by the brother of Sham
Rao. But the Babu knew better than to give in. The Guru ended by
understanding that his skillful opponent saw through his tricks, and
that he was well aware that the Shastras exclude the possibility of such
a transmigration. Growing alarmed, the Guru also grew meek, and asked
only ten rupees and a promise of silence for the performance of a
samadhi.
On our way back we were met at the gate by Sham Rao, who was simply
radiant. Whether he was afraid of our laughing at him, or was at loss to
find an explanation of this new metamorphosis in the positive sciences
in general, and Haeckel in particular, he did not attempt to explain why
the affair had taken such an unexpectedly good turn. He merely
mentioned awkwardly enough that his mother, owing to some new mysterious
conjectures of hers, had dismissed all sad apprehensions as to
the destiny of her elder son, and he then dropped the subject
completely.----
In order to wipe away the traces of the morning's perplexities from our
minds, Sham Rao invited us to sit on the verandah, by the wide entrance
of his idol room, whilst the family prayers were going on. Nothing
could suit us better. It was nine o'clock, the usual time of the morning
prayers. Sham Rao went to the well to get ready, and dress himself, as
he said, though the process was more like undressing. In a few moments
he came back wearing only a dhuti, as during dinner time, and with his
head uncovered. He went straight to his idol room. The moment he entered
we heard the loud stroke of a bell that hung under the ceiling, and that
continued tolling all the time the prayers lasted.
The Babu explained to us that a little boy was pulling the bell rope
from the roof.
Sham Rao stepped in with his right foot and very slowly. Then he
approached the altar and sat on a little stool with his legs crossed.
At the opposite side of the room, on the red velvet shelves of an altar
that resembled an etagere in the drawing-room of some fashionable lady,
stood many idols. They were made of gold, of silver, of brass and of
marble, according to their im-portance and merits. Maha-Deva or Shiva
was of gold. Gunpati or Ganesha of silver, Vishnu in the form of a round
black stone from the river Gandaki in Nepal. In this form Vishnu is
called Lakshmi-Narayan. There were also many other gods unknown to us,
who were worshipped in the shapes of big sea-shells, called Chakra.
Surya, the god of the sun, and the kula-devas, the domestic gods, were
placed in the second rank. The altar was sheltered by a cupola of carved
sandal-wood. During the night the gods and the offerings were covered
by a huge bell glass. On the walls there were many sacred images
representing the chief episodes in the biographies of the higher gods.
Sham Rao filled his left hand with ashes, murmuring prayers all the
while, covered it for a second with the right one, then put some matter
to the ashes, and mixing the two by rubbing his hands together, he
traced a line on his face with this mixture by moving the thumb of his
right hand from his nose upwards, then from the middle of the forehead
to the right temple, then back again to the left temple. Having done
with his face he proceeded to cover with wet ashes his throat, arms,
shoulders, his back, head and ears. In one corner of the room stood a
huge bronze font filled with water. Sham Rao made straight to it and
plunged into it three times, dhuti, head, and all, after which he came
out looking exactly like a well-favored dripping wet Triton. He twisted
the only lock of hair on the top of his shaved head and sprinkled it
with water. This operation concluded the first act.
The second act began with religious meditations and with mantrams,
which, by really pious people, must be repeated three times a day--at
sunrise, at noon and at sunset. Sham Rao loudly pronounced the names of
twenty-four gods, and each name was accompanied by a stroke of the bell.
Having finished he first shut his eyes and stuffed his ears with cotton,
then pressed his left nostril with two fingers of his left hand, and
having filled his lungs with air through the right nostril, pressed the
latter also. Then he tightly closed his lips, so that breathing became
impossible. In this position every pious Hindu must mentally repeat a
certain verse, which is called the Gayatri. These are sacred words which
no Hindu will dare to pronounce aloud. Even in repeating them mentally
he must take every precaution not to inhale anything impure.
I am bound by my word of honor never to repeat the whole of this prayer,
but I may quote a few unconnected sentences:
"Om... Earth... Heaven.... Let the adored light of.... [here follows a
name which must not be pronounced] shelter me. Let thy Sun, O thou only
One, shelter me, the unworthy... I shut my eyes, I shut my ears, I do
not breathe... in order to see, hear and breathe thee alone. Throw light
upon our thoughts [again the secret name]... "
It is curious to compare this Hindu prayer with the celebrated prayer
of Descartes' "Meditation III" in his L'Existence de Dieu. It runs as
follows, if I remember rightly:
"Now I shut my eyes, cover my ears, and dismiss all my five senses, I
will dwell on the thought of God alone, I will meditate on His quality
and look on the beauty of this wondrous radiancy."
After this prayer Sham Rao read many other prayers, holding with two
fingers his sacred Brahmanical thread. After a while began the ceremony
of "the washing of the gods." Taking them down from the altar, one after
the other, according to their rank, Sham Rao first plunged them in the
big font, in which he had just bathed himself, and then bathed them in
milk in a smaller bronze font by the altar. The milk was mixed up with
curds, butter, honey, and sugar, and so it cannot be said that this
cleansing served its purpose. No wonder we were glad to see that the
gods underwent a second bathing in the first font and then were dried
with a clean towel.
When the gods were arranged in their respective places, the Hindu traced
on them the sectarian signs with a ring from his left hand. He used
white sandal paint for the lingam and red for Gunpati and Surya. Then he
sprinkled them with aromatic oils and covered them with fresh flowers.
The long ceremony was finished by "the awakening of the gods." A small
bell was repeatedly rung under the noses of the idols, who, as the
Brahman probably supposed, all went to sleep during this tedious
ceremony.
Having noticed, or fancied, which often amounts to the same thing,
that they were wide awake, he began offering them his daily sacrifices,
lighting the incense and the lamps, and, to our great astonishment,
snapping his fingers from time to time, as if warning the idols to "look
out." Having filled the room with clouds of incense and fumes of burning
camphor, he scattered some more flowers over the altar and sat on the
small stool for a while, murmuring the last prayers. He repeatedly held
the palms of his hands over the flame of the tapers and rubbed his face
with them. Then he walked round the altar three times, and, having knelt
three times, retreated backwards to the door.
A little while before our host had finished his morning prayers the
ladies of the house came into the room. They brought each a small
stool and sat in a row murmuring prayers and telling the beads of their
rosaries.
The part played by the rosaries in India is as important as in all
Buddhist countries. Every god has his favorite flower and his favorite
material for a rosary. The fakirs are simply covered with rosaries. The
rosary is called mala and consists of one hundred and eight beads. Very
pious Hindus are not content to tell the beads when praying; they must
hide their hands during this ceremony in a bag called gomukha, which
means the cow's mouth.
We left the women to their prayers and followed our host to the cow
house. The cow symbolizes the "fostering earth," or Nature, and is
worshipped accordingly. Sham Rao sat down by the cow and washed her
feet, first with her own milk, then with water. He gave her some sugar
and rice, covered her forehead with powdered sandal, and adorned her
horns and four legs with chains of flowers. He burned some incense under
her nostrils and brandished a burning lamp over her head. Then he walked
three times round her and sat down to rest. Some Hindus walk round the
cow one hundred and eight times, rosary in hand. But our Sham Rao had
a slight tendency to freethinking, as we knew, and besides, he was too
much of an admirer of Haeckel. Having rested himself, he filled a cup
with water, put in it the cow's tail for a moment, and then drank it!
After this he performed the rite of worshipping the sun and the sacred
plant tulsi. Unable to bring the god Surya from his heavenly altar and
wash him in the sacred font, Sham Rao contented himself by filling
his own mouth with water, standing on one leg, and spirting this water
towards the sun. Needless to say it never reached the orb of day, but,
very unexpectedly, sprinkled us instead.----
It is still a mystery to us why the plant tulsi, Royal Basilicum, is
worshipped. However, towards the end of September we yearly witnessed
the strange ceremony of the wedding of this plant with the god Vishnu,
notwithstanding that tulsi bears the title of Krishna's bride, probably
because of the latter being an incarnation of Vishnu. On these occasions
pots of this plant are painted and adorned with tinsel. A magical circle
is traced in the garden and the plant is put in the middle of it. A
Brahman brings an idol of Vishnu and begins the marriage ceremony,
standing before the plant. A married couple hold a shawl between the
plant and the god, as if screening them from each other, the Brahman
utters prayers, and young women, and especially unmarried girls, who are
the most ardent worshippers of tulsi, throw rice and saffron over the
idol and the plant. When the ceremony is concluded, the Brahman is
presented with the shawl, the idol is put in the shade of his wife,
the Hindus clap their hands, rend everyone's ears with the noise of
tom-toms, let off fireworks, offer each other pieces of sugar-cane, and
rejoice in every conceivable way till the dawn of the next day.