Calcutta, the City of the Black Venus, Kali.--The River
Hoogley.--Cremation-Towers.--Chowringee, the Fashionable Suburb of
Calcutta.--The Black Hole.--Battles of Plassey and Assaye.--The
Brahmo-Somaj.--Temple of Kali.--Feast of Juggurnath.--Benares and
the Taj Mahal.
After eight or nine days' steaming from the fair and picturesque island
of Bombay our captain announced that we were about to enter the Hoogley,
a river made famous in Indian song and story as "the strong arm of the
beautiful goddess Gunga, the compassionate daughter of the proud
Himâlayas," but which is in reality a great muddy estuary. The burning
sun poured down upon its heavy waters as they loomed out of the distant
plain and rolled sluggishly toward the sea, every wave seeming to bear
on its troubled brow an impress of the dark history of the land through
which it has flowed for centuries.
Late in the same evening the pilot-boat came out to meet us, and not
long after we cast anchor at a place called Saugor, where there is a
lighthouse. I remember distinctly the oppressive night we passed here,
owing no doubt to the combined impurities rising out of the turbid waves
and the fetid odors of the adjoining land. Early next morning we were
again in motion, sailing up the dusky Hoogley. Its low, muddy banks were
dotted with wretched-looking mud huts, relieved only by the
ever-graceful palm trees that waved above them. What a contrast this
river was to the clear, limpid, and joyous Krishna, the high-banked and
proudly isolated Godaveri, the genial, broad-breasted Taptee, and the
grand, impetuous Vishwamitra of Western India!
Another day was nearly gone before we reached our moorings. We cast
anchor once more amid a dense forest of masts, funnels, and native craft
in the harbor of Calcutta. We were met at the Champhool Ghaut, or
landing-place, by kind friends. Ascending a magnificent flight of stone
steps and passing under a great archway, we hurried into a European
carriage, and were driven rapidly from the strange conflicting mass of
humanity that always abounds at a great seaport, but especially at the
seaports of all the British settlements in India.
The house of our friends here was in many respects furnished like a
European dwelling, and one might almost fancy himself in an English home
but for the pillared halls; the spacious chambers, with long punkahs or
fans suspended from the ceilings, some of which are kept going night and
day; the dark, silent barefooted domestics, robed in pure white, who are
seen gliding noiselessly to and fro, which lend a powerful magic charm,
a flavor of the Arabian Nights, to the interior of even the most
ordinary of British homes in the East.
Calcutta, the capital of British India, still bears the name of the
black goddess Kali, who is supposed to spread pestilence, famine, and
death over the land of which she is the presiding deity whenever her
altars are neglected and her thirst for vengeance unappeased. Unhealthy
as the spot is, it was rendered infinitely more so by the innumerable
corpses that were until within a few years cast upon the waters of the
Hoogley: the poverty-stricken inhabitants of the land, unable to pay the
expenses of a funeral by cremation, committed their dead to these waters
in the belief that its mystic current would purify them from all taint
of sin. This, however, has been prohibited by the British authorities.
Huge cremation-towers now receive all bodies cast upon its waters,
whence the never-dying flames are seen constantly ascending, dark and
lurid, toward the tranquil blue sky.
The town of Calcutta lies on the eastern bank of the Hoogley, which is
the eastern arm of the old Ganges, and held almost as sacred as that
river; the natives daily repair in great numbers to its banks to offer
up prayers and praises. Here also, amid the din and noise and hurry of
native craft, trading vessels, and all manner of river commerce, may be
seen at any hour of the day or night the sick and dying of the Hindoo
population stretched on the edge of the river's banks, half immersed in
the sacred stream, their faces turned to the sky, convulsed or calm,
breathing their lives away.
At high water the Hoogley is nearly a mile broad in front of the town,
and is very pleasant to look upon. Fine ships and steamers of all
nations and countries lie here within sight and sound;
picturesque-looking craft of every kind are seen gliding swiftly hither
and thither. But at low water the scene suddenly changes; the river
becomes a shrunken and muddy ghost of itself, with filthy borders,
whence myriad floating particles of miasma are wafted on the air to the
poor humanity who are doomed to live and labor in its vicinity.
After passing the triumphal archway you emerge on a spacious open area
called the Meidân, or plain; here all the principal roads part and meet,
and here on either side one sees a grand display of really stately
architecture. This is the handsome and fashionable suburb of Chowringee,
and in every respect worthy of being called, as it is, "the City of
Palaces." The houses are all European, three and four stories high, some
detached, others connected by handsome terraces or open sunny
balconies, many with shady verandahs, high carriage-porches supported by
stately pillars, while not a few are rendered still more attractive and
home-like with gay flower-gardens and fine forest and fruit trees, which
latter are not as fine as those found in the gardens of Bombay, owing to
the destructive influence of the periodical cyclones that sweep over the
valley of the Ganges.
Our first drive was through this the European part of the city, which
extends about five miles along the river. A noble and much-frequented
esplanade divides the town from Fort William. On one side stands the new
Government-house, said to have been erected by the marquis of Wellesley.
It is a noble pile, an Ionic structure on a simple rustic basement. A
flight of stone steps leads to the north entrance. The south part of the
building is ornamented with a circular colonnade surmounted with a lofty
dome. There are spacious corridors at each of the four corners, with
circular passages leading to the private apartments of the family. This
princely building contains magnificent chambers, some of which are
richly decorated and filled with valuable portraits of the great
viceroys of India. Near the Government-house stand the Town-hall,
Treasury, and High Court; opposite is Fort William, commenced by Clive
soon after the famous battle of Plassey in 1775, the most
systematically-constructed fortress in India. It is said to have cost
the East India Company the immense sum of one million pounds sterling.
In shape it is an irregular octagon, with bombproof quarters for a
garrison of no less than ten thousand men and with room for six hundred
pieces of cannon. Toward the front it presents a regular massive
appearance, and is not unlike most European fortifications, but on the
side overlooking the river it is strikingly varied and picturesque,
owing to the extremely irregular and broken character of the structure.
It was designed to bear upon objects that might approach the town on
either side of the river, and is eminently effective in warding off
danger. Immediately beyond the fort the fine steeple of the cathedral is
seen rising pure and high above the surrounding foliage. There is also
here a palatial residence for an Anglican bishop, and in 1844 the Rev.
H. Heber was the first Christian divine appointed to this see, with a
salary of five thousand pounds per annum.
Here in this spot is found the secret of the marvellous success of that
small band of intelligent Englishmen who first set out for India under
the name and protection of trade. Here only a few years after their
arrival they laid aside their intention of simple traders; here they
mounted their guns, enrolled armed bands of natives to assist them in
their new position, made laws, punished evil-doers, rewarded the
industrious and such as made no opposition to their pretensions; and
here from one step to another they finally became the legislators and
rulers of the land. The city of Calcutta does not date farther back than
the famous battle of Plassey. The old fortified English factory was
erected on a low marshy plain in the middle of a few straggling native
villages, bordered on three sides by dense jungles infested with tigers.
At that time it had a garrison of only three hundred men; nevertheless,
that insignificant English stronghold became in a short time the
depository of all the rich merchandise of the Gangetic valley, which
excited the cupidity of many of the rajahs. In 1756, Nawab Surajah
Dowlah attacked it with an immense army, and after a desperate
resistance from the English merchants and soldiers of the fort he
finally succeeded in capturing it. Then followed the famous Black Hole
tragedy, which Macaulay has so graphically described: "One hundred and
forty-six persons were thrust into a dungeon twenty feet square; driven
into this cell at the point of the sword, the door was shut ruthlessly
upon them. When they realized the horrors of their position they strove
to burst the door. They offered large bribes to the jailers, but all in
vain. The nawab was asleep, and none dared to awaken him. At length the
unhappy sufferers went mad with despair. They trampled each other down,
fought for the places at the windows, fought for the pittance of water
with which the cruel mercy of the murderers mocked their agonies, raved,
prayed, blasphemed, implored the guards to fire among them. The jailers
in the mean time held lights to the bars and shouted with laughter at
the frantic struggles of their victims. At length the tumult died away
in low gaspings and moanings. The day broke. The nawab had slept off his
debauch, and permitted the doors to be opened. But it was some time
before the soldiers could make a lane for the survivors by piling up on
each side the heaps of corpses on which the burning climate had already
begun to do its loathsome work. When at length a passage was made,
twenty-three ghastly figures, such as their own mothers would not have
known, staggered one by one out of the charnel-house. A pit was
instantly dug. The dead bodies, one hundred and twenty-three in number,
were flung into it promiscuously and covered up." Such was the terrible
nature of the affair of the Black Hole. But the day of retribution was
not far distant.
In order to understand the position of the East India Company at this
time we must go back a few years. The jealousy that had sprung up
between the French and English trading companies broke out into open
hostilities at the moment of the declaration of war by Louis XV. in
1744. The English were the first to receive reinforcements from home.
Four English vessels, having previously captured three richly-laden
French vessels on their voyage from China, appeared off the coast of
Coromandel in July, 1745. Dupleix, the governor at Pondicherry,
apprehensive that, owing to the incomplete state of the fortifications
and the insufficient garrison, the place would be taken, prevailed on
the nawab Anwar Ou Deen to threaten to revenge upon the English at
Madras any injury that the squadron should inflict upon the French
possessions within the limits of his government. The Madras officials,
intimidated by the authoritative language of the nawab, took immediate
measures to prevent the English fleet from attacking Pondicherry. The
English squadron, in obedience to the orders received, confined their
hostile operations to the sea.
In the following year an indecisive action took place between the
English squadron and a French fleet under the command of La Bourdonnais;
after which the latter, having reinforced himself at Pondicherry,
proceeded to attack the English at Madras. The town was bombarded for
several days; a few of the inhabitants were killed by an explosion of a
bombshell. The English, knowing that the nawab, with all his countless
forces, was on the side of the French, capitulated, on which the
assailants entered the town and took it without the loss of a single
life.
Robert Clive, then only a writer in the East India Company's service,
was among the persons who agreed to submit to La Bourdonnais, on the
express condition that the settlement should be restored on easy and
honorable terms. At the time when Madras had reverted to the English,
Clive had already exchanged the pen for the sword, and had risen to the
rank of a colonel in the East India Company's service. On hearing of the
atrocity of the Black Hole the English at Madras immediately despatched
a naval and military force, the one under Admiral Watson, and the other
under Colonel Clive, to punish the nawab and protect the English at
Bengal.
The bravery and "duplicity" of Clive, who believed in the adage,
"similia similibus curantur," enabled him to succeed beyond the most
sanguine expectations. Victory was followed by victory, and at length,
at the battle of Plassey, Clive at the head of three thousand men, of
whom less than one-third were English, and in the course of a single
hour's conflict, routed the entire army of Surajah Dowlah, consisting of
fifty-five thousand armed men. Surajah Dowlah vanquished and deposed,
his prime minister, Meer Jaffer, was appointed in the place of the
master, whom he had not only deserted, but betrayed, and thus Meer
Jaffer became at once the subject and tool of the English.
The directors of the East India Company, on receiving the news of
Clive's success, appointed him governor of their possessions in Bengal,
and in 1760 Clive was raised to the peerage with an income of forty
thousand pounds a year.
Warren Hastings was the next Englishman who from the position of a clerk
in an office at Calcutta rose to be the governor-general of British
India.
The kingdom of Mysore, whose lofty table-lands are swept by the cool
breezes of the Indian Ocean, has always been inhabited by a more hardy
and manly race than that which occupied the lower plains of Hindostan.
Hyder Alee, an illiterate common soldier, impelled by a daring spirit of
adventure, seized this kingdom of Mysore and seated himself on the
throne of Seringapatam. The next step taken by this daring adventurer
was even more startling. In the month of June, 1780, and when in his
eightieth year, he led an immense army into the Carnatic, carrying
slaughter and destruction wherever he appeared. Two small English
armies, headed by Colonel Baillie and Sir Hector Munro, tried in vain to
check his course; they were not only overwhelmed, but compelled to
retreat, and it seemed as if the British empire in Southern India
trembled on the very verge of destruction. It was this critical juncture
that brought out the great genius of Warren Hastings. He at once took
upon himself the supreme direction of affairs, superseded the incapable
council at Madras, and without loss of time despatched the brave veteran
Sir Eyre Coote with a small but resolute force to the assistance of the
English at Madras. At once the forces of Hyder Alee were checked, siege
after siege was raised, until at length the English and Mohammedan
armies met on the plains of Cuddalore, whence, after a desperate fight,
the latter was driven in wild and disorderly confusion. Hyder Alee died
two years after this defeat, bequeathing to his son, the famous Tippoo
Saihib, his throne and his hatred of English domination.
Very shortly after Warren Hastings, impeached by the House of Commons,
resigned his office as governor-general of India. Then followed that
famous trial which not only extended over seven years, but, when
dismissed from the bar of the House of Lords, left Warren Hastings a
ruined statesman and an insolvent debtor. The East India Company,
however, came to his aid with an annuity of £4000 a year, and a loan,
half of which was converted into a gift, of £50,000.
During the administration of the next governor-general, Lord Cornwallis,
the implacable Tippoo Saihib suffered a signal defeat. Sir John Shore
followed Lord Cornwallis, and was succeeded by the earl of Mornington,
the elder brother of the "Iron Duke." He no sooner arrived in India than
his attention was called to the intrigues of the French with Tippoo
Saihib, who were planning, with the assistance of fresh European troops,
to drive the English out of Hindostan. The treachery of Tippoo was
anticipated by a declaration of war. On the 5th of March, 1798, a
British army, commanded by General Harris, with the aid of several
native powers, entered the territory of Mysore, stormed the city of
Seringapatam, overthrew the dynasty of Tippoo Sultan, and annexed that
magnificent province to the British dominions.
The British had no sooner gained possession of the lofty table-lands of
the Mysore than a new and more formidable enemy, the warlike and
predatory tribes who inhabited the table-land of the Deccan, opposed
their further progress. The most renowned of these kings, the rajahs of
Berar, Scindia, and Holkar, formed the famous northern confederacy under
the leadership of a still more powerful chief, the Peishwa, whose
government was at Poonah, the capital of the Deccan. The British were
soon plunged into an extensive war with these wild and fierce northmen.
On the 4th of September, 1803, the fort of Alleghur was taken by storm,
and on the 11th of the same month General Lake met twenty thousand of
these intrepid warriors, headed by able French officers, and defeated
them, capturing Delhi, one of the most ancient capitals of Hindostan and
the seat of the intolerant and luxurious Mohgul emperors. Triumph
followed triumph; Agra, Ahmednug-gur, and the golden city of Aurungabâd
surrendered.
At length the united powers of Scindia and the rajah of Nagpoor made one
more desperate attempt to oppose the English power in the Deccan. The
armies of the Mahratta kings were marshalled at the small village of
Assaye to meet the British troops. On ascending the rising ground to
reconnoitre the enemy's forces, the English commander, who was no other
than General Wellesley, perceived a vast host extending in a line along
the opposite bank of the Kelnah River near its junction with the Jewah.
Their right consisted entirely of cavalry, and their left was formed of
infantry trained and disciplined by De Boigne, with over one hundred
pieces of cannon, which rested on the fortified village of Assaye. These
were completely overthrown by Wellesley with a force not exceeding eight
thousand men, and of whom not more than fifteen hundred were English.
The power of the Mahratta kings, once shaken at Assaye, was at length
completely humbled on the plains of Argaum. They were compelled to sue
for peace, which was only granted them at the expense of enormous
territory. From this time British influence became paramount through the
whole of Northern Hindostan, and these were the last and most famous of
General Wellesley's conquests in India. He returned to England in 1805
to win for himself greater fame than even that which he achieved on
Indian soil.
Magnificent as is the city of Calcutta architecturally, it was
considered at one time one of the most unhealthy of spots. The entire
country is flat; here and there are extensive muddy lakes, breeding
under a tropical sun malaria and all manner of diseases; a line of dank,
tangled forests still stretch across the land, and is not very distant
from the town. In former times this jungle was the abode of innumerable
wild beasts, and it is even now infested with jackals, who immediately
after nightfall howl in sudden accord, uttering the most demon-like
yells. These local disadvantages have been partially removed. The
streets have been well and carefully drained; many of the stagnant,
muddy pools have not only been filled up, but converted into blooming
gardens; and the magnificent Botanical Garden with which Mr. Hooker has
enriched Calcutta, is said by good judges to be the finest in the
world. Nevertheless, the air is still impregnated to a certain extent
with the impure exhalations arising from the low jungles in the vicinity
of this city, called the Sunderbunds.
From the palaces of the conquering Anglo-Indians the drive to the "Black
Town," as the native portion of the city is still called, is enough to
discourage the most enthusiastic of Christians in the world. This
quarter of Calcutta stretches for some miles toward the north,
presenting at once a sad contrast to the stately and grand portion
occupied by the English. The transition is all the more marked because
of the architectural pretensions of the one and the rude mud habitations
of the other. Here reside at least three-fourths of the entire
population of Calcutta. The streets are more or less narrow, filthy,
unpaved, and unswept. The houses are built principally of mud, bamboo,
or other coarse woods, swarming with an excess of population. Within
this wretched vicinity are found no less than twenty entire bazaars
extending from one end of the "Black Town" to the other, well stocked
with goods from all parts of the world, rare and valuable products of
the Indian loom, shawls and paintings from Cashmere, kinkaubs from
Benares, teas and silks from China, spices, pearls, and precious stones
from Ceylon, rupees from Pegu, coffee from Java and Arabia, nutmegs from
Singapore; in fact, everything that the wide world has ever produced is
displayed in shops that are nothing but miserably patched mud or bamboo
dwellings. Through these native bazaars the teeming population seemed to
flow and gurgle unchanged through all changes of governors,
constitutions, and rulers--the same to-day, in type, character, feeling,
religion, and occupation, as it was before the beginning of the earliest
known history. Here, assembled from the four winds of the heaven, were
all the elements of an unspeakably motley crowd--nut-brown, graceful
Hindoo maidens tripping daintily with rows of water-jars nicely balanced
on their heads; dark-hued young Hindoo men, all clean and washed, robed
in pure white, laughing, talking, or loitering around;
handsomely-dressed baboos--as the native gentlemen of Bengal are
called--in Oriental costumes, but with European stockings and shoes,
sauntering carelessly along; dancing-girls brilliantly attired; common
street-women jewelled and bedizened with innumerable trinkets and in
their distinctive garb; bheesties with water-skins on their backs;
Borahs, brokers, Brahmans, Musulmans, sepoys, fakeers, and gossains, in
their peculiar costumes, shouting in manifold tongues and various
dialects; and, above all, there may be seen strolling jugglers,
snake-charmers, and fortune-tellers plying their curious arts and
completing the picture of an Oriental bazaar.
In some of the streets a small stream of water, a rivulet of the sacred
Ganges, flows bright and clear through artificial channels. Many of the
native shops open on it, and all day long hosts of men, women, and
children may be seen seated beside it, busy or idle, but always grateful
for this truly precious gift of the gods.
Calcutta boasts of a Sanskrit college of high repute, a Mohammedan, and
an Anglo-Indian college, supported by the English government. The
College of Fort William, founded by the marquis of Wellesley, is chiefly
used by Englishmen, who, having been partially educated at the College
of Haylesbury, England, are instructed here in the Oriental languages
and other branches of study necessary for their respective professions
and callings in India.
The government system of native education was established on the
foundation of the Hindoo schools already in existence. These schools are
divided into two classes or grades, the upper and lower schools. In the
upper, by means of Sanskrit, the peculiar philosophy, literature, and
religion of the Hindoos are taught; the lower schools are to be found in
every village, and may be numbered by tens of thousands; in these the
teaching varies and is more or less dependent on the ability of the
persons--_i. e._ Brahmans--who are employed to teach. Most of these
village teachers are induced for about six pounds per annum to attend a
normal school for a year; after having passed the required examination
they are invited to take charge of some village school.
There are eight great centres of education in British India, and each is
wholly independent of the others. These are the three great presidencies
of Bengal, Madras, and Bombay, Scindh, the North-western Provinces,
Oude, the Central Provinces, and British Burmah. Each of these has its
own special director of public instruction, with a staff of inspecting
officers. Among the institutions that are wholly supported by the
government may be classed the village school, in which the vernacular of
the district is taught with a few other studies; the zillah, or district
school, in which the higher classes are often educated in English and
prepared for the universities; the talook schools, which also are
preparatory schools; colleges with European professors, in which a
thorough English education is imparted to the students, as are now found
in the chief cities of Benares, Delhi, Agra, Lahore, Poonah, Madras, and
Calcutta; and the Elphinstone College at Bombay. Normal schools,
technical colleges for medicine, engineering, and surgery, mission and
other private schools abound, besides which there are thousands of
purely native schools scattered throughout the vast territory of India,
still existing under the old Brahmanic village system of education.
Native female education is hardly begun by the government, and the task
is very difficult, owing to the peculiar social restraints still imposed
on the better class of Asiatic women. The Parsee female schools in
Bombay are said to be the best supported and the most efficient in this
respect. About twenty-five years ago Mr. Bethune opened in the city of
Calcutta a school for native women. It was liberally supported by Lord
Dalhousie, and since his death by the state. This was the beginning of a
movement which has found great favor not only in Bengal, but in the
North-western Provinces and the Punjaub. There are now in Bengal two
normal schools for teachers and two hundred and forty-four schools for
girls, with 4844 pupils. There are no fewer than six hundred and fifty
schools in the Punjaub, with an aggregate of 20,534 pupils. These
elementary schools in the Punjaub, Lahore, and Umritsur are
superintended solely by native gentlemen. In addition to these the
zenana mission-work, carried on so successfully by American and European
missionary ladies, is slowly but surely preparing hundreds of women and
children for a day that may ripen into better things; like a grain of
mustard-seed once cast into the right soil, it will stretch out strong
boughs to the four corners of the earth for the birds to lodge under.
Another school of religious thought, already mentioned, called the
Brahmo-Somaj, "assembled in the name of God," is even more closely
allied with the dawning freedom and emancipation of the Hindoos from the
priestcraft and spiritual tyranny of the Brahman hierarchy. From this
new school of religious thought a large party of about five thousand
souls seceded some few years ago. They chose for their leader the able
and astute philosopher, the late Keshub Chunder Sen, one of the most
talented and spiritual men among the Hindoos of to-day. This association
has a church in Calcutta, where the members meet once a week or oftener
for the purposes of meditation and worship.
Various means of improvement are now open to the British subjects of
India. The English residents in Calcutta, Madras, and Bombay are among
the most kind and liberal people in the world. Quite independent of the
government establishments, they privately support a vast number of
charitable institutions, and there is no end of societies for religious
and other educational objects; and although the changes effected in the
religious and social condition of the majority of the peoples since the
occupation of India by the British are hardly perceptible, nevertheless
some very important steps have been taken toward ensuring the good of
the people at large, especially in the prohibition of sutteeism,
infanticide, the terrific sacrifice of life that at one time
characterized the festival of the god Juggernath, not to speak of the
tortures of maddened fanatics and self-condemned ascetics, the horrible
practices of the Thugs and that of the Meriahs of Orissa. All these
savage practices are more or less repressed by the constant and vigilant
operation of protective laws instituted by the British rulers.
Before leaving Calcutta we paid a visit to the Khali Ghaut, and alighted
before a great hall with a towering but ungainly roof above it. This was
the famous temple of the black goddess Kali. There was something more
entangled, enchanted, and demon-like about this building and its
interior than any other that I had ever entered in India. It was the
festival of Juggernath. A number of white-robed priests were preparing
to place the grim goddess in a car and to lead her forth to grace the
festival. The temple consisted of a vast number of low pillars; it was
dimly lighted, and, although light was flooding the earth everywhere in
great splendor, it was not allowed to enter here, but it worked its way
hither and thither and quivered dubiously in unearthly tints on the face
of the black goddess dimly visible in the distance. A more hideous and
repulsive image can hardly be conceived by the heart of man than this
veritable female fiend after whom the city of Calcutta is still named.
No one seemed to object to our entering the temple, so we walked down
the dim aisles and stood face to face with the grim and terrible Kali.
It would be impossible to give utterance to the sense of horror that
crept over me as I looked at this strange, enigmatic deity of the
Bengalees. The black face was surmounted by long hair which had the
appearance of innumerable serpents; a red tongue protruded from the
hideous mouth; the expression of the eyes was strange and fierce, almost
to madness; she was furnished with four arms, in one of which she
grasped a knife and in the other the head of a man; in another pair of
hands higher up she held a lotos and the _chakra_, or the wheel. Round
her neck hung the skulls of murdered victims, and she stood on the body
of a prostrate man, who is represented trumpeting forth her praises even
while she is in the act of crushing him to death.
The pundit explained to us the meaning of this horrible figure; no
further text was needed. This grim idol is to the Hindoos a fearful
warning against sensuality. The lotos in the upper hand, which is the
emblem of purity, and the wheel of retribution, are transformed in the
lower hands into a knife and a bleeding human head. She puts out her
tongue derisively, and crushes her victim--all indicating, as plainly as
our Bible, "The wages of sin is death." Human sacrifices were offered to
her at no very remote period, but now, by order of the British
government, the sacrifices to her are limited to goats and kids, which
are offered to her every morning.
As we were standing and looking at this strange idol, a number of
barefooted priests came through a narrow court, entered the temple, and
took their places beside the shrine. Two men very handsomely dressed
approached from an opposite direction bearing a fine goat, which was
tied by the feet, and laid it at the foot of the altar. Then one of the
priests took from the altar a vase containing some red paint mixed with
oil, with which he touched the forehead, fore feet, and breast of the
goat; he then sprinkled some consecrated water on it. This done, a
low-caste man stepped up, took the poor palpitating beast, inserted its
head into a curiously-fashioned guillotine, secured it there by means of
a wooden pin, and then dealt it one blow; the head was severed, and was
presented to the officiating priests, and the executioner carried away
the body. Such offerings are made by both men and women as an atonement
for personal offences. Thus the wrath of the black goddess of Calcutta
is supposed to be appeased. Goats are also sacrificed to her by Hindoo
women when they have had bad dreams or when they anticipate any
calamity, in order to avert the coming evil.
On the next day was the procession of Juggernath. A wilder and more
incongruous scene I never witnessed. We spent several hours in watching
the procession, which, issuing from the native town, traverses a large
circuit round the principal thoroughfares, pauses at the bank of the
river, and then retires to the country-seat of the idol, some few miles
from the temple. The idol is made of wood, is about six feet high, with
a grim human countenance--very unlike the carvings of Krishna to be
found in other parts of India--painted blue, and seated in a lofty
chariot borne aloft on sixteen high wheels. It was drawn by long ropes
held by thousands of enthusiastic men, women, and children, who often
bribe the priests for the privilege of conducting the god to his
country-house. A number of priests and gayly-dressed priestesses,
standing on the platform of the chariot, chanted the praises of the
"lord of life," while the people shouted, screamed, and clapped their
hands amid the wild beating of drums and din of hundreds of native
musical instruments. The air was heavy with the incense offered to the
idol, while nature around seemed to be steeped in repose, myriads of
bees murmured softly their idyllic hum among the wayside flowers, doves
were seen nestling together among the shady leaves of huge pepul trees,
and around the cool recesses of huge tanks and reservoirs numbers of
peacocks sat or strutted quietly about, unfurling their glories to the
noonday sun. More puzzling than even the festival of Juggernath is the
curious state of things still existing in British India, for side by
side with the Church of the Brahmo-Somaj, the advanced thought and
intelligence of the educated baboos and other highly philosophic and
cultivated natives of Bengal, are the temples of the goddess Kali and
the strange festival of Juggernath.
With regard to European influence, it must be admitted that it is
hardly, if at all, felt by the majority of the native population. The
viceroy and the great English grandees are separated from the natives
for whose interests they are there by law and custom which nothing can
overcome, and the officials around whom the whole Indian empire revolves
are often ignorant of the Indian languages, races, religious and social
prejudices, and mode of life of the hundreds of provinces that lie
within the railways, while those beyond are to them, as the wilds of
Africa, an undiscovered country. I have often heard gentlemen of great
intelligence in other respects speak of the people of India with
profound contempt, classing in one indistinguishable mass Brahmans,
Hindoos, Parsees, Mohammedans, Arabians, Persians, Armenians, Turks,
Jews, and other races too numerous to mention.
Our next visit was to Benares, the far-famed ecclesiastical metropolis
of Hindostan. We rested full two hours just outside this sacred spot to
enable our pundit to perform the prescribed observances before entering
this holy of holies. When he appeared before us he was bathed, shaved,
anointed, and clothed in pure white, and even to his sandals he was a
new man. He kept his eyes half closed, so that his thoughts should not
be tempted to stray from the object of his deep contemplation. Presently
we were joined by a crowd of pilgrims who passed into the city, some
prostrating themselves full length as they drew near. In the morning
light Benares presented a most imposing appearance: the buildings are
lofty and mostly in the Hindoo style of architecture, stretching for
several miles along the edge of the Ganges, from which ascends a long
line of stone steps. Next morning we visited several of the Hindoo
temples, especially the temple of the monkeys, which was one of the most
ludicrous I have ever witnessed. A number of tame monkeys played about
the temple even while the most solemn services were being performed
within. The large area for the cremation of dead bodies sent hither from
all parts of Hindostan was the most astonishing thing I have ever seen,
and the huge funeral pyres ever burning here produced on my mind an
ever-memorable effect. We were glad to turn our steps from the revolting
sights and scenes of the cremation-ground to a beautiful mosque which
stands as a symbol of Moslem power in the very heart of this Brahmanic
city, towering up above the surrounding buildings on the site of a once
magnificent Hindoo temple which was torn down, by the order of
Aurungzebe, to give place to the present graceful structure. We remained
for an hour or more within the walls of this mosque, and came away
charmed with the glistening mosaics, the capitals of the columns, the
vaults, ceilings, and arches, and the thousand and one mysterious
optical illusions of light and shade caused by the wonderous
architecture of the Moslems. Our next visit was to the Hindoo Sanskrit
College, the most famous institution of learning in Hindostan, and well
worth seeing. The students often assemble here at sunrise, and even
after sunset, to continue their studies, and in no part of India do I
remember meeting so many noble-looking young Hindoos as were assembled
in these halls on the morning of our visit.
[Illustration: THE MUNIKURNIKA GHAT--ONE OF THE BURNING GHATS OF
BENARES.]
From Benares we made a long and tedious dâhk-journey--_i. e._ by
changing horses at different stations--to Agra, in the upper plains of
India. The country we passed through was beautiful. The picturesque
native villages of immemorial antiquity, their names, their fields,
their hereditary offices and occupations, have come down to them out of
a dim past and through countless generations, and everywhere we saw
fields of millet and wheat, the flaming poppy, and the tall luscious
sugar-cane plantations; cream-colored, dreamy-looking oxen moving
sleepily about in the fields or drawing water from the wells and tanks;
men, women, and children basking under the shade of huge trees or
bathing languidly in the cool tanks, giving one the feeling of passing
through dreamland.
The great sight of sights at Agra, as every one now knows, is the famous
Taj-Mahal, and hither we repaired the morning after our arrival; and I
must confess, though I had heard of it and read the many elaborate
descriptions of it, I had no idea of its matchless beauty till I stood
under its roof surrounded by its pillars and walls. It would take pages
to describe the wonderful outlines of the windows, the ornaments of the
walls, arches, domes, and minarets, or even the exquisite carvings and
arabesques of a single frieze; so that I will not attempt here what has
already been so often done. The impression left on the mind is very deep
and solemn. When I first caught sight of the Taj through the noble
gateway at the entrance to the grounds, I experienced feelings of
mingled awe and wonder, which increased in proportion as we examined it
more closely. Even the enormous platform on which the Taj stands is of
white marble, inlaid with precious stones, and all the lower parts
outside of the building are also most elaborately and tastefully carved.
The dome is perfect in its proportions of pure white marble, with an
exquisite minaret of gold. In the centre is the tomb of Noor Mahal, also
called by her proper name, Mamtaz Mahal, the favorite wife and queen of
Shah Jehan, built to her memory two centuries ago. Above the tomb is a
mass of the most delicate inlaid work, and the screen-like wall which
surrounds it is entirely composed of leaves and all sorts of flowers
containing innumerable precious stones. The echoes of our voices
produced the most wonderful reverberations, impossible to imagine or
adequately describe. We visited the Taj also by moonlight, and found it
a hundred-fold more enchanting. The gardens in which it stands are
purely Oriental, and recalled to my mind many passages from the old
Persian poets. There are lovely white marble fountains and tanks and
promenades with inviting seats here and there for rest, while a
profusion of fragrant flowers, shrubs, and the dark silent cypresses
which stand like muffled mourners around the monument add a pathetic
beauty to the lovely spot.
Having seen the Taj, there was nothing left to do but to return to the
"Aviary" on Malabar Hill.
And now, as I close these brief sketches of life and travel in India,
the romance, antiquity, the song, and story still stir the memory with
the powerful enchantment of a land where all nature seems to lie
dreaming in its glory of perpetual sunshine, warmth, and color.
THE END.