[Picture: Pictures of various Indian men] EXTENDED, six feet of me, over
an ample easy-chair, in absolute repose of mind and body, soothed with a
cup of tea which Canjee had ministered to me, comforted by the slippers
which he had put on my feet in place of a heavy pair of boots which he
had unlaced and taken away, feeling in charity with all mankind—from this
standpoint I began to contemplate “The Boy.”
What a wonderful provision of nature he is in this half-hatched
civilization of ours, which merely distracts our energies by multiplying
our needs and leaves us no better off than we were before we discovered
them! He seems to have a natural aptitude for discerning, or even
inventing, your wants and supplies them before you yourself are aware of
them. While in his hands nothing petty invades you. Great-mindedness
becomes possible. “Magnanimus Æneas” must have had an excellent Boy.
What is the history of the Boy? How and where did he originate? What is
the derivation of his name? I have heard it traced to the Hindoostanee
word _bhai_, a brother, but the usual attitude of the Anglo-Indian’s mind
towards his domestics does not give sufficient support to this. I
incline to the belief that the word is of hybrid origin, having its roots
in _bhoee_, a bearer, and drawing the tenderer shades of its meaning from
the English word which it resembles. To this no doubt may be traced in
part the master’s disposition to regard his boy always as _in statu
pupillari_. Perhaps he carries this view of the relationship too far,
but the Boy, on the other hand, cheerfully regards him as _in loco
parentis_ and accepts much from him which he will not endure from a
stranger. A cuff from his master (delivered in a right spirit) raises
his dignity, but the same from a guest in the house wounds him terribly.
He protests that it is “not regulation.” And in this happy spirit of
filial piety he will live until his hair grows white and his hand shaky
and his teeth fall out and service gives place to worship, _dulia_ to
_latria_, and the most revered idol among his _penates_ is the photograph
of his departed master. With a tear in his dim old eye he takes it from
its shrine and unwraps the red handkerchief in which it is folded, while
he tells of the virtues of the great and good man. He says there are no
such masters in these days, and when you reply that there are no such
servants either, he does not contradict you. Yet he may have been a sad
young scamp when he began life as a dog-boy fifty-five years ago, and, on
the other hand, it is not so impossible as it seems that the scapegrace
for whose special behoof you keep a rattan on your hat-pegs may mellow
into a most respectable and trustworthy old man, at least if he is happy
enough to settle under a good master; for the Boy is often very much a
reflection of the master. Often, but not always. Something depends on
the grain of the material. There are Boys and Boys. There is a Boy with
whom, when you get him, you can do nothing but dismiss him, and this is
not a loss to him only, but to you, for every dismissal weakens your
position. A man who parts lightly with his servants will never have a
servant worth retaining. At the morning conference in the market, where
masters are discussed over the soothing _beeree_, none holds so low a
place as the _saheb_ who has had eleven butlers in twelve months. Only
loafers will take service with him, and he must pay even them highly.
Believe me, the reputation that your service is permanent, like service
under the _Sircar_, is worth many rupees a month in India.
The engagement of a first Boy, therefore, is a momentous crisis, fraught
with fat contentment and a good digestion, or with unrest, distraction,
bad temper, and a ruined constitution. But, unfortunately, we approach
this epoch in a condition of original ignorance. There is not even any
guide or handbook of Boys which we may consult. The Griffin a week old
has to decide for himself between not a dozen specimens, but a dozen
types, all strange, and each differing from the other in dress,
complexion, manner, and even language. As soon as it becomes known that
the new _saheb_ from England is in need of a Boy, the _levée_ begins.
First you are waited upon by a personage of imposing appearance. His
broad and dignified face is ornamented with grey, well-trimmed whiskers.
There is no lack of gold thread on his turban, an ample _cumberbund_
envelopes his portly figure, and he wears canvas shoes. He left his
walking-cane at the door. His testimonials are unexceptionable, mostly
signed by mess secretaries; and he talks familiarly, in good English, of
Members of Council. Everything is most satisfactory, and you inquire,
timidly, what salary he would expect. He replies that that rests with
your lordship: in his last appointment he had Rs. 35 a month, and a pony
to ride to market. The situation is now very embarrassing. It is not
only that you feel you are in the presence of a greater man than
yourself, but that you know _he_ feels it. By far the best way out of
the difficulty is to accept your relative position, and tell him blandly
that when you are a commissioner _saheb_, or a commander-in-chief, he
shall be your head butler. He will understand you, and retire with a
polite assurance that that day is not far distant.
As soon as the result of this interview becomes known, a man of very
black complexion offers his services. He has no shoes or _cumberbund_,
but his coat is spotlessly white. His certificates are excellent, but
signed by persons whom you have not met or heard of. They all speak of
him as very hard-working and some say he is honest. His spotless dress
will prepossess you if you do not understand it. Its real significance
is that he had to go to the _dhobie_ to fit himself for coming into your
presence. This man’s expectations as regards salary are most modest, and
you are in much danger of engaging him, unless the hotel butler takes an
opportunity of warning you earnestly that, “This man not gentlyman’s
servant, sir! He sojer’s servant!” In truth, we occupy in India a
double social position; that which belongs to us among our friends, and
that which belongs to us in the market, in the hotel, or at the dinner
table, by virtue of our servants. The former concerns our pride, but the
latter concerns our comfort. Please yourself, therefore, in the choice
of your personal friends and companions, but as regards your servants
keep up your standard.
The next who offers himself will probably be of the Goanese variety. He
comes in a black coat, with continuations of checked jail cloth, and
takes his hat off just before he enters the gate. He is said to be a
Colonel in the Goa Militia, but it is impossible to guess his rank, as he
always wears _muftie_ in Bombay. He calls himself plain Mr. Querobino
Floriano de Braganza. His testimonials are excellent; several of them
say that he is a good tailor, which, to a bachelor, is a recommendation;
and his expectations as regards his stipend are not immoderate. The only
suspicious thing is that his services have been dispensed with on several
occasions very suddenly without apparent reason. He sheds no light on
this circumstance when you question him, but closer scrutiny of his
certificates will reveal the fact that the convivial season of Christmas
has a certain fatality for him.
When he retires, you may have a call from a fine looking old follower of
the Prophet. He is dressed in spotless white, with a white turban and
white _cumberbund_; his beard would be as white as either if he had not
dyed it rich orange. He also has lost his place very suddenly more than
once, and on the last occasion without a certificate. When you ask him
the cause of this, he explains, with a certain brief dignity, in good
Hindoostanee, that there was some _tukrar_ (disagreement) between him and
one of the other servants, in which his master took the part of the
other, and as his _abroo_ (honour) was concerned, he resigned. He does
not tell you that the _tukrar_ in question culminated in his pursuing the
cook round the compound with a carving-knife in his hand, after which he
burst into the presence of the lady of the house, gesticulating with the
same weapon, and informed her, in a heated manner, that he was quite
prepared to cut the throats of all the servants, if honour required it.
If none of the preceding please you, you shall have several varieties of
the Soortee tribe anxious to take service with you; nice looking, clean
men, with fair complexions. There will be the inevitable unfortunate
whose house was burned to ashes two months ago, on which occasion he lost
everything he had, including, of course, all his valuable certificates.
Another will send in a budget dating from the troubled times of the
mutiny. From them it will appear that he has served in almost every
capacity and can turn his hand to anything, is especially good with
children, cooks well, and knows English thoroughly, having been twice to
England with his master. When this desirable man is summoned into your
presence, you cannot help being startled to find how lightly age sits
upon him; he looks like twenty-five. As for his knowledge of English, it
must be latent, for he always falls back upon his own vernacular for
purposes of conversation. You rashly charge him with having stolen his
certificates, but he indignantly repels the insinuation. You find a
discrepancy, however, in the name and press him still further, whereupon
he retires from his first position to the extent of admitting that the
papers, though rightfully his, were earned by his father. He does not
seem to think this detracts much from their value. Others will come,
with less pronounced characteristics, and, therefore, more perplexing.
The Madrassee will be there, with his spherical turban and his wonderful
command of colloquial English; he is supposed to know how to prepare that
mysterious luxury, “real Madras curry.” Bengal servants are not common
in Bombay, fortunately, for they would only add to the perplexity. The
larger the series of specimens which you examine, the more difficult it
becomes to decide to which of them all you should commit your happiness.
“Characters” are a snare, for the master when parting with his Boy too
often pays off arrears of charity in his certificate; and besides, the
prudent Boy always has his papers read to him and eliminates anything
detrimental to his interests. But there must be marks by which, if you
were to study them closely, you might distinguish the occult qualities of
Boys and divide them into genera and orders. The subject only wants its
Linnæus. If ever I gird myself for my _magnum opus_, I am determined it
shall be a “Compendious Guide to the Classification of Indian Boys.”