At Almorah I parted company with my foreign friends. They intended
crossing the mountains--the snowy range--to pay a visit to Kanawur.
This was a journey for which I had not much inclination; besides I was
doubtful whether I could breathe at an elevation of eighteen thousand
feet above the level of the sea. As it was, several of the coolies died
of cold and the rarity of the atmosphere. In fact, both of my friends
themselves had, as they informed me afterwards, a very narrow escape.
On several occasions they were compelled to huddle themselves amongst
the coolies in their tent, and the sheep which they were taking with
them for food were kept alive for the sake of the warmth they could
impart in the canvas abode. The grandeur of the scenery, they said,
would defy any attempt at describing it. What they most wondered at
was the impudence of that insect, man, in daring to climb up into such
regions.
My friend, the assistant magistrate, had still a fortnight of unexpired
leave, and proposed to me that we should pay a visit to a friend of
his at an out-of-the-way station, called Bijnore. I had not the least
objection, and thither we went. We were most hospitably received,
partly out of regard for ourselves in particular, but chiefly because
our host had not seen a white face for five weeks.
The cutcherry, or court-house, was undergoing repair, and the
magistrate, therefore, was obliged to administer the duties of his
office in his own abode, or rather in the verandah; for a large number
of half-clad natives in a hot country do not impart to a confined
space an agreeable perfume by any means. To me this scene--the native
court--was particularly interesting. There sat the covenanted official
in an arm-chair, with his solah hat on and a cheroot in his mouth,
listening very attentively to the sheristadar, or head clerk, who
was reading or singing aloud the entire proceedings in the case then
pending.
The prisoner, surrounded by half-a-dozen native policemen, all with
drawn swords, was standing ten paces off. Ever and anon he interrupted
the court by protesting his innocence, and assuring the Sahib that
the whole of the depositions were false from beginning to end. This
interruption was usually--I may say invariably--rebuked by the
words, "Choop raho, suer!" ("Hold your tongue, you pig!") And, not
unfrequently the nearest policeman accompanied this mandate by giving
the culprit a smart blow on the back or a "dig in the ribs." I have
seen prisoners well thrashed in our Indian courts of justice by order
of the presiding magistrate for talking out of their turn; but that was
not the case in the present instance. No more violence was resorted
to than was absolutely necessary for the maintenance of order and the
progress of the trial. The offence of which the prisoner stood charged
was that of forging a bond for five hundred rupees, and suing thereon
for principal and interest. The defence was, that the signature to
the bond was not a forgery, and that the money had been advanced to
the prosecutor; to prove which, no fewer than seven witnesses were
called. Each of them swore, point blank, that, upon a certain day and
at a certain place, they saw the prisoner pay over the money, and saw
the prosecutor execute the deed. To rebut this, the prosecutor called
eleven witnesses who swore, point blank, that, upon the day and at the
hour mentioned as the day and hour on which the deed was executed, they
met the prosecutor at a village forty miles distant from Bijnore. In
short, if their testimony was to be relied upon, the eleven witnesses
had proved an alibi.
This was one of those cases which happen continually in courts
of justice in India; where the magistrate or judge must not be,
and is not, guided by the oaths of the witnesses, but entirely by
circumstances. It is one of those cases, too, in which it would be
dangerous to consult the native officers of the court; for having
received bribes from both parties, their advice would be dictated
entirely by pecuniary considerations. With them the question would
be simply out of which party--the accused or the prosecutor--could
most money be got in the event of "guilty" or "not guilty." With
regard to the characters of the witnesses, they are pretty equal, and
generally very bad on both sides. Indeed, in nearly all these cases,
the witnesses are professionals; that is to say, men who are accustomed
to sell their oaths, and who thoroughly understand their business. They
know exactly what to say when they come into court, just as an actor,
who is letter perfect in his part, knows what to say when he comes on
the boards. In fact, a case is got up exactly as a play is. Each man
has his particular part and studies it separately; before the day of
trial comes they meet and rehearse, and go through "the business" till
they verily believe (such is my opinion) that they are not perjured,
but are speaking the truth. As for shaking the testimony of men so
trained to speak to a certain string of facts, I would defy the most
eminent nisi prius advocate in Europe. Besides, even if you should
reject one part of a statement, it does not follow, in a native court,
that you should reject the whole. The price paid to these professional
witnesses depends, in a great measure, on the nature and magnitude of
the cause. It is about twelve per cent. out of the sum in dispute.
I believe it is distributed amongst the witnesses, and the like sum
amongst the native officers of the court. This, of course, does not
include little extra presents given secretly to those who are supposed
to have the greatest amount of influence with the Sahib, and who
pretend that they will speak to him favourably. The personal servants,
also, of the European magistrate or judge expect some gratuity, and
hang about a client like the servants of badly regulated hotels where
attendance is not charged in the bill. It is this that makes litigation
so expensive in India that even the successful party is often ruined
before the suit is half concluded.
"Tiffin is ready, Sahib," said the khansamah, coming into the verandah,
and placing his hands together in a supplicating attitude. "It is on
the table, Sahib."
"Then we will adjourn," said the magistrate, bowing to me, and rising.
This was at once the signal for breaking up the day's proceedings.
The tiffin over, we began to play at whist, and continued to do so
until the sun had lost his power, when the buggies were ordered, and we
took a drive in couples along a very bad road. It fell to my lot to be
the companion of the magistrate, a very able and excellent man: one of
the most efficient officers in the East India Company's civil service.
He was, moreover, an admirable linguist, and spoke Hindostanee as well
as any native.
"You understood the proceedings to-day?" he asked me.
"I followed them; yes."
"And you heard the evidence?"
"Yes."
"What would you say? Is he guilty or not?"
"I cannot say, although I have thought a good deal on the point. Even
while we were playing whist, to-day's proceedings were uppermost in my
mind. Nothing can be clearer than that either one side or the other is
perjured."
"Both sides are perjured. If the bond be genuine, the men who really
witnessed the execution and who subscribed their names as witnesses
will not come forward, or else they are such fools that the native
lawyer for the defence will not trust to them lest they should be
confused and commit themselves."
"But what do you think? Is the bond a genuine document or not?"
"That is the very question. And when there is no evidence to weigh, how
are you to act?"
"I suppose that in those cases you give the prisoner the benefit of the
doubt?" I remarked.
"Not always. If I did that, I should acquit almost every culprit that
is brought before me, and so would every judge throughout the length
and breadth of the land. By the way, about a year ago, I sent a case to
the sessions judge--a case of murder. I fancied there could be no doubt
as to the guilt of the accused; which was the opinion of the sessions
judge and of the Sudder Court of Appeal. The man was hanged about six
weeks ago; and now I have discovered, beyond all question, that he was
hanged for the offence of which his prosecutor was guilty! It may be
all very well for people in England to rail at the administration of
justice in this country; but they would be less severe upon some of us
if they could only come out here and see the material with which we
have to deal. The administration of justice may be, I confess, very
much reformed and improved, but where the great bulk of the people
are corrupt, it can scarcely be in anything like a perfect state."
This statement, remember, was made, by a magistrate who speaks as
well as writes the native language as well as the natives themselves.
But conceive the confusion and injustice in those courts, where the
magistrates solely depend on corrupt moonshees for what they know of
the evidence.
There is but very little twilight in India; and by the time that we had
returned from the drive it was dark. Shortly afterwards, dinner was
announced. Dinner over, we resumed our whist, and played until midnight.
The following day was a native holiday--a Hindoo holiday. What with
Hindoo holidays and Mahommedan holidays, nearly a third of every year
is wasted: for, upon these days public business is suspended and the
various offices closed. It is devoutly to be hoped that, when our rule
in India is completely re-established, these absurd concessions--these
mere pretexts for idleness--will no longer be suffered to prevail.
It is only the pampered native servants of the Government, civil and
military, who are clamorous for the observance of these "great days,"
as they call them. Go into the fields or ride through a bazaar on
one of these holidays and you will see the people at their work, and
the shopkeepers pursuing their respective avocations. You pass the
court-house, the treasury, the magistrate's office, and observe that
they are all shut up. You ask the reason, and are informed that it is
a native holiday. You go to an establishment founded and conducted by
private enterprise--a printing-office, for instance--and you observe
Hindoos of every caste, and Mussulmans also, at their daily labour.
Why? Because the head of such an establishment stipulates that those
who wish for employ must work all the year round, and they prefer
employ on such terms to no employ at all. So it is in some mercantile
firms in Calcutta, and at the other Presidencies; albeit such firms
experience very great inconvenience from the circumstance of the
Government banks being closed on these holidays; if a merchant wishes
to get a cheque cashed, or a bill discounted, he must wait sometimes
for days together. Even the doors of the Queen's courts are often
closed, and the judges and the counsel left unemployed, notwithstanding
that the litigants are British subjects; and this because the native
writers in these courts and the officers attached to them, are paid by
the Company's Government, which recognises absence from duty on these
holidays.
It would be hard to deprive either of the great sects of certain
holidays in every year. The Doorgah-Poojah, for instance, or the
Mohurrum; but it is sheer folly, and profitless withal, to sanction
these constantly repeated interruptions to public business. The idlers
of the covenanted civil service in India are, naturally, in favour of
closing the doors of the various offices as often as possible; but the
hard-working portion, those men who take some interest in the discharge
of the duties for which they draw their pay, regard the native holidays
as an intolerable nuisance which ought, long since, to have been
abolished.
Whilst we were enjoying ourselves after dinner, on the evening of the
Hindoo holiday, the khansamah came in, and announced that two Sahibs
had arrived.
"Two Sahibs?" said our host. "Who are they?"
"They are strangers to me, Sahib," said the khansamah, "and they do not
speak Hindostanee; but their bearers say that they are Lord Sahibs."
"Who on earth can they be?" said the magistrate of Bijnore (loudly) to
himself; and, rising, he left the table to make inquiry in person, and
offer the travellers every hospitality.
"O, I beg your pardon," said a voice from one of the palanquins. "But
would you be good enough to tell me where I am?"
"You are at Bijnore," said the magistrate, blandly.
"Bij-what?"
"Bijnore."
"Then, how far am I from Meerut?"
"A very considerable distance--forty miles at least."
"How the deuce is that?"
"Well, sir--in the words of the Eton Latin Grammar--I may reply:--
Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.