From Auckland we take a steamer for Asia by way of Sydney and other
ports of Australia, crossing the Indian Ocean and landing at the extreme
southerly point of India, at Tuticorin. It is a quaint old place of
little present interest, though it was once famous for its pearl
fisheries. We proceed northward by railway to Madura, where, there being
no hotel, we take up our quarters in an unoccupied native house,
situated in a grove of cocoanut-trees. Flies, mosquitoes, and scorpions
dispute possession with us, and ugly-looking snakes creep close to the
low piazza. Flying-foxes hang motionless from the branches of the trees;
clouds of butterflies, many-colored, sunshine-loving creatures, in
infinite variety, flit about the bungalow, some with such gaudy spread
of wing as to tempt pursuit. Large bronze and yellow beetles walk
through the short grass with the coolness and gait of domestic poultry.
Occasionally a chameleon turns up its bright eye, as though to take our
measure. The redundancy of insect and reptile life is wonderful in
Southern India.
The principal attraction to the traveller in Madura, which contains some
fifty thousand inhabitants, is a remarkable and very ancient temple
supported by two thousand stone columns. It is probably one of the
largest and finest monuments of Hindoo art in existence, covering in all
its divisions, courts, shrines, colonnades, and tanks, twenty acres of
ground. It has nine lofty tower-like gates of entrance and exit, each
one of which has the effect of forming an individual pagoda. In the
central area of the temple is what is known as the "Tank of the Golden
Lily" being a large body of water covering a couple of acres of ground,
and leading into which are broad stone steps on all sides. Here
individuals of both sexes are seen constantly bathing for religious
purification. A grand tank is the adjunct of every Indian temple. This
mass of buildings contains many living sacred elephants, deified bulls,
enshrined idols, and strange ornamentation, the aggregate cost of which
must have been enormous. The elephants rival the beggars in their
importunities, being accustomed to receive an unlimited amount of
delicacies from visitors, such as fruits, sweetmeats, candies, and the
like.
Another hundred miles northward by railway brings us to the city of
Trichinopoly, where the famous natural rock five hundred feet in height
is crowned by the Temple of Ganesa. The view from this eminence is
exceptionally fine. The town far below us looks as though it had been
shaken up and dropped there by a convulsion of nature. There is no
regularity in the laying out of the place; it is a confused mass of
buildings, narrow paths, crooked roads, and low-built mud cabins. In
what is called the silversmith's quarter, amid filthy lanes, full of
dirty children, mangy dogs, and moping cats, we find hovels containing
finely wrought silver ornaments manufactured on the spot by the natives.
So original and elegant are these wares that they have a reputation
beyond the borders of India. Trichinopoly has over sixty thousand
inhabitants. But however much there may be to interest us, we must not
tarry long. Two hundred miles still northward bring us to Tanjore, a
large fortified city, where we find a mammoth and gorgeously decorated
car of Juggernaut, the Indian idol. It makes its annual excursion from
the temple through the town, drawn by hundreds of worshippers, who come
from great distances to assist at the ceremony. Pilgrims, delirious with
fanaticism, used once to throw themselves under the wheels of the huge
car and perish. This self-immolation is now almost entirely suppressed
by the government, as is the kindred one of the burning of widows upon
their husbands' funeral piles. From 1815 to 1826, published statistics
show that fifteen thousand widows perished thus in India!
The great temple of Tanjore is fourteen stories in height, and measures
two hundred feet from base to top. These temples all resemble each other
in general design, and are characterized by grotesqueness, caricature,
and vulgar images, as well as by infinite detail in their finish. Though
they are gorgeously decked in colors, and gross in ornamentation, still
they are so grand in size and on so costly a scale, as to create
amazement rather than disgust. It would seem that a people equal to such
efforts must have been capable of something better. In all grosser forms
of superstition and idolatry, carnal and material elements seem to be
essential to bind and attract the ignorant, and this is undoubtedly the
governing policy of a religion, embodying emblems so outrageous to
Christian sensibility. This grand pagoda at Tanjore, taken as a whole,
is the most remarkable religious monument in India. In passing through
the southern section of the country, we see many ruined temples in
unpopulated districts, which belong to past ages; many mammoth stone
elephants and bulls, crumbling by the wear of centuries. Large flocks of
goats tended by herdsmen are seen distributed over the plains, and so
level is the country, that the eye can make out these groups for miles
away on either side of the railroad. Well-cultivated plantations of
sugar-cane, plantains, wheat, rice, and orchards of fruit come into
view. The old style of irrigation goes on, by means of buckets worked by
hand, the same as was practised in the East four thousand years ago,
while the very plough, rude and inefficient, which is used upon their
plains to-day is after the antique fashion belonging to the same period.
Indeed, except that the railroad runs through Southern India, there
appears to have been no progress there for thousands of years. A
lethargy of the most hopeless character seems to possess the common
people. Their mud cabins are not suitable abodes for human beings, and
are distanced in neatness by the ant-hills. Such a degraded condition of
humanity can hardly be found elsewhere among semi-civilized races. The
women are worn by hardships. The men are cadaverous and listless.
Clothing among them is the exception; nudity is the rule. It seems
strange, but it is true, that one-quarter of the human race goes naked
in this nineteenth century.
A day's journey northward by railroad brings us to Madras, situated upon
the Bay of Bengal. The city is spread out over a very large territory,
with a number of broad, open fields and squares, designed for drilling
of troops, some for ball-players, and some for ordinary parks. There is
an abundant and handsome growth of trees all about the city, lining the
main streets and testifying to the judicious attention given by the
authorities to this species of ornamental shade so necessary in a warm
climate. The wide streets are admirably kept, and are all macadamized.
This applies, however, to the European portion of the town, with its
fine, large public buildings, consisting of literary and scientific
institutions as well as various educational and charitable ones. The
native portion of Madras is contracted and dirty in the extreme, no
attention being given to cleanliness or decency. The extensive English
fort--Fort George--is one of the best constructed in the East, forming a
most prominent feature of the city, and crowning a moderate rise of
ground near the shore. Its attractive though warlike surroundings, white
walls, flower plats, and green, sloping banks present a charming
picture. Fort George was the original name of the city. A noble
lighthouse is situated within the fortifications. Near this spot, along
the coast to the northward, are the rock-cut temples of Mahabulihuram
rendered familiar by Southey's admirable verses.
Dancing-girls are to be seen here, on the streets. They are attached to
some native temple, as no religious ceremony or gala day is considered
complete without them; and the same may be said of all large private
entertainments, no guests ever dancing in the East. They prefer to hire
it done for them. These Indian dancing-girls, with a musical
accompaniment, tell a story by their performance, expressing grief, joy,
jealousy, and other passions so well portrayed, that one easily
interprets the pantomime. They preserve strict propriety in their
dances, which are curious to witness, their ankles being covered with
silver bells, and their wrists and arms similarly decked.
No more unprotected spot could be found on the surf-beaten shore of the
Coromandel coast than this where stands Madras. It is so completely
exposed to the northeast monsoons as to be inaccessible for
sailing-vessels from October to January, and yet it was the first
British capital in India. There is usually such a surf on the shore
that nothing but the native boats can weather it; and when high winds
prevail, it is too much even for them. We embark by steamship from
Madras, and after a voyage of nearly a thousand miles up the coast and
Hoogly River, land at Calcutta, which is the political capital of India,
though since the Suez Canal has been opened, Bombay rivals it
commercially.
Calcutta is a very interesting city, very Indian, notwithstanding that
so many Europeans live here, and that it has so long been under English
rule, but it is by no means entitled to the designation so often given
to it, namely, the "City of Palaces." It is quite modern, having no
remains of antiquity about it, and in 1686 was but a mud village. As
seen from the Hoogly, when one first arrives, it exhibits a strong array
of fine public buildings; but a passage of a few rods, diverging from
the main thoroughfare, brings the visitor upon the dirty streets, the
mean and narrow houses, and general squalor of the native population.
The Burning Ghat, where cremation is going on at all hours of the day,
is the first place the stranger visits. The bodies are brought in and
placed upon a square pile of wood, raised to a height of four feet, in
the open yard. Under the wood there is plenty of combustible material;
the torch is applied, and instantly all is hidden by the flames. In
three hours nothing but calcined bones and ashes are left. These are
carefully gathered and cast into the river. The Ghat is open to the sky,
so that the ventilation is perfect, but the atmosphere is nevertheless
impregnated with an unpleasant odor. The Hoogly River being one of the
outlets of the much-revered Ganges, is considered to be equally sacred.
Close by the Burning Ghat, along the river's front, there is a number of
sheds, with only partial shelter from the street, where poor dying
Hindoos are brought to breathe their last, believing that if they pass
away close to the sacred water, their spirits will be instantly wafted
to the regions of bliss. Here they are attended by people who make this
their business, and it is believed that they often hasten the demise of
the sufferers by convenient means. Human life is held of very little
account among these people, whose faith bridges the gulf of death, and
who were at one time so prone to suicide by drowning in the Ganges, as
to render it necessary on the part of the English to establish watchmen
every night along the city shore of the sacred river to prevent it.
At the close of each day, about an hour before sunset, all fashionable
Calcutta turns out in state for a drive on the Maiden,--the Hindoostanee
name for esplanade,--a broad and finely macadamized roadway, extending
along the river's bank by the fort and cricket grounds. It is the Indian
Hyde Park, or Bengal Champs Elysées (the famous Parisian boulevard). The
variety, elegance, and costliness of the equipages in grand livery are
surprising. The whole scene is enlivened by the beautiful dresses of the
ladies, the dashing costumes and gold lace of the nabobs, the quaint
Oriental dress of their barefooted attendants, and the spirited music of
the military band. The superb horses in their gold-mounted harnesses
dash over the course at a spirited gait; the twilight hour is brief, the
shadows lengthen, when a hundred electric lamps flash upon the scene,
rivalling the light of day. Then the occupants of the open vehicles, and
the equestrians, gather about the Eden Garden, in rows, six or eight
deep, and listen to the popular airs, or chat merrily in the intervals.
The Cascine at Florence, the Pincio at Rome, the Chiaja at Naples, the
Prado at Madrid--none of these famous drives can compare with the Maiden
of Calcutta for gayety, variety, and attractiveness.
Calcutta is said to contain a population of a million. It is sometimes
visited by cyclones, and the fierceness of these warrings of the
elements may be judged by the fact that at the last occurrence of the
sort thirty thousand native houses were totally destroyed in half an
hour. The Hoogly River often experiences the effect of tidal waves
during the monsoons, which dash up from the sea at a speed of twenty
miles an hour, causing much destruction. Ships lying off the city on
such occasions often part their cables and are driven on shore, while
many of the small craft along the eighty miles of river course are
entirely destroyed.
[Illustration: A GREAT BANYAN TREE AT CALCUTTA.]
A journey of four hundred miles to the northward, the last half of which
is performed by narrow-gauge railway, which climbs zigzag fashion over a
very hilly country, will enable us to reach Darjeeling, nearly nine
thousand feet above the level of the sea. Here we are in proximity to
and in full view of the Himalayan range of mountains, the loftiest on
the globe. The lowest peak is over twenty thousand feet in height; the
highest exceeds twenty-eight thousand. Upon the range rest eleven
thousand feet of perpetual snow. There can be no animal life in that
Arctic region--only the snow and ice rest there in endless sleep. The
Himalayas--meaning the "Halls of Snow"--form the northern boundary of
India, and shut out the country from the rest of Asia. Thibet, which
lies just over the range, whence we view it, is virtually inaccessible
by this route, the wild region between being nearly impassable. Bold
parties of traders, wrapped in sheepskins, do sometimes force their way
over the mountains at an elevation of eighteen thousand feet, but it is
a most hazardous thing to do, and the bones of worn-out mules mark the
frozen way, telling of suffering and abandonment. The little yak cow,
whose bushy tail is manufactured into lace, has been found to be the
best and most enduring animal to depend upon when such journeys are
performed. She will patiently toil up the steep gorges with a load on
her back, and will drop dead in her tracks before she will show any
stubbornness or want of courage. The culminating point of the range, and
the highest mountain peak in the world, is Mount Everest, which is a
little over twenty-nine thousand feet in height above the level of the
sea.
Darjeeling is becoming the centre of a great tea-producing district, and
thus India bids fair to rival China in a product which has seemed to
belong almost exclusively to China from time immemorial. English
capitalists are largely embarking in this enterprise, and extensive
tea-plantations are already in full process of successful yielding,
sending tea annually to the London market. At first it seems strange to
see the tea-plant flourishing at such an altitude, covering hundreds of
acres of the mountain's sides, on the road descending from Darjeeling,
towards the plains of Hindoostan, but it must be remembered that the
latitude of this region is just about that of Florida and the West
Indies. As to the product of these tea-fields, one realizes no
difference in its flavor from that of the Chinese leaf. In England it is
known as Assam tea.
As we descend towards the level country, amid many other flowering
trees, the magnolia is most prominent. The wild and abundant growth of
the rhododendron, which here becomes a forest tree, mingles with a
handsome species of cedar, which rises in dark and stately groups and
forms a marked feature in the landscape. The general luxuriance of the
vegetation is conspicuous, thickly clothing the branches of the trees
with mosses, ferns, and creeping vines. Here we observe the cotton-tree,
with its red blossoms, which yields a coarse material for native use.
Also a species of lotus called "Queen of the Forest," the leaves of
which are used by the common people in place of tea. Many bright and
exquisitely delicate ferns spring up among the damp undergrowth about
the places where we stop to take water for our little, noisy,
spluttering engine. Brilliant butterflies float like motes in the
sunshine, contrasting with the repulsive whip-snakes seen hanging from
the low branches of the trees. Vegetation and animal life seem to be
singularly abundant and prolific in these foot-hills of the famous
mountain range.
Our course now lies towards Benares, over the plains of Middle India,
some five hundred miles from Calcutta. The people on the route seem to
be wretchedly poor, living in the most primitive mud cabins thatched
with straw. Such squalor and visible poverty can be found nowhere else
in any country outside of Ireland, and yet we are passing through a
famous agricultural district which ought to support thrifty farmhouses
and smiling villages. It abounds in productive rice, wheat, sugar-cane,
and vast poppy fields,--these last treacherously beautiful,--and from
which the opium of commerce is derived. The presence of such abundance
makes the contrast in the condition of the peasantry all the more
puzzling. There must be something radically wrong in the modes of the
governing power. This part of India is noted for the excellence and
prolific yield of its sugar crops. From here, also, indigo and saltpetre
are exported in large quantities. Along the route traversed by the
railway we see fruit-trees of various sorts native to this section, such
as tamarinds, almonds, mangos, oranges, cocoanuts, and other products of
the palm family. Temples, centuries in age and quite in ruins, come into
view now and again, often adjacent to a cluster of low mud hovels. From
the branches of the trees flit birds of such fantastic colors as to
cause exclamations of surprise. Occasional specimens of the
bird-of-paradise are seen, with its long and graceful tail-feathers
glittering in the sunshine and presenting an array of bright colors
which are not preserved upon this bird in captivity. Tall flamingoes in
snowy plumage, just touched with scarlet on either wing, fly lazily over
the ponds, or stand by the banks resting quietly upon one long, slim
leg. Parrots abound in carnival hues, and buff-colored doves, with soft
white rings of feathers about their necks, coquet lovingly together.
Benares, the first large city on the united Ganges and Jumna, may be
called the citadel of Hindooism, containing about a hundred and fifty
thousand permanent inhabitants and as many more floating population,
composed of pilgrims constantly coming and going. What Jerusalem is to
the Jew, Rome to the Roman Catholic, Mecca to the Mohammedan, Benares is
to the Hindoo. It is supposed by many to be the oldest known habitation
of man. Twenty-five centuries ago, when Rome was unknown and Athens was
in its youth, Benares was already famous. It is situated on the left
bank of the Ganges, to bathe in which river insures to the devout Hindoo
forgiveness of all sins and an easy passport to the regions of the
blest. Here, as in Calcutta, cremation is constantly going on beside the
river. While we are looking at the scene there comes a family group
bearing a body to the funeral pile. It is covered by a linen sheet. In
the folded hands are white rosebuds, and orange blossoms encircle the
marble brow. There is no apparent lack of heart-felt grief. It is the
body of a young maiden decked for her bridal with death. After a few
moments the red flames wind themselves ravenously about the youthful
body, and quickly all is blackness and ashes.
Benares is mostly supported by the presence of pilgrims, but there is
manufactured here a brass ware of such exquisite finish as to defy
competition. In her dark alleys and narrow lanes they also produce a
fine article of silver embroidery of marvellous delicacy and beauty,
greatly prized by travellers as a souvenir. The pilgrims who participate
in the river scenes are by no means all of the lower classes; now and
then a gorgeously dressed official may be seen, with a long line of
attendants, wending his steps towards the river's front. Infirm old men
and little children, crazy-looking devotees and comely youths, boys and
girls, people of all ages and degrees, are represented in the motley
groups who come to these muddy waters for moral purification. There is a
singular mingling of races also, for these people do not all speak one
tongue. They are from the extreme north and the extreme south of India,
while the half-starved vagrants seen among them, and who come from
Middle India, could not make themselves understood by people from either
extreme. A common purpose moves them, but they cannot express themselves
in a common language. Pilgrims are here from Thibet and Cashmere, from
the far-off Himalayan country, as well as from Tuticorin, on the Indian
Ocean. Numberless idols and symbols of the most vulgar character abound
all over the town, in small temples, before which men and women bow down
in silent devotion. Idolatry is here seen in its most repulsive form.
The delusion, however, is perfect, and these poor creatures are terribly
in earnest.
Animals are worshipped, such as bulls, snakes, monkeys, and pigeons. One
of the peculiar temples of the city is devoted solely to the worship of
monkeys, where hundreds of these mischievous animals find a luxurious
home, no one ever interfering with their whims except to pet and to feed
them. This temple contains a singular altar, before which devotional
rites are performed by believing visitors. On the Ghats, beside the
river, these Hindoos pass the happiest hours of their sad lives, coming
from the confined, dirty, unwholesome streets and alleys in which they
sleep and eat, to pray and to bathe, as well as to breathe the fresh air
and to bask in the sun. The hideous fakirs, or begging Oriental monks,
make their fixed abode here, living entirely in the open air, most of
them diseased, and all misshapen by voluntarily acquired deformity.
Their distorted limbs are fixed in attitudes of penance until they
become set and immovable. There are pious believers enough to kneel
before them and to give them food and money by which means to support
their strange and fanatical self-immolation.
We visit at Benares an ancient observatory of more than ordinary
interest, erected by a famous Hindoo patron of science, Rajah Manu.
Though it is now quite neglected and in partial ruins, a sun-dial, a
zodiac, meridian lines, and astronomical appliances are still
distinctly traced upon heavy stones arranged for celestial observations.
This proves that astronomy was well advanced at Benares hundreds of
years before Galileo was born, and it will be remembered that the
astronomers of India first settled the fact of the rotation of the
earth. The Man-Mundil, as this observatory is called, forms a most
important historic link between the days of the Pharaohs and the
nineteenth century.
[Illustration: MOSQUE AT DELHI, INDIA.]
Five hundred miles of travel by way of Cawnpore will bring us to Delhi,
where a visit to the crumbling palace of the late king will show us the
remains of that famous Peacock Throne, the marvel of the world when the
Mogul dynasty was at its zenith--a throne of solid gold, ornamented with
rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, the aggregate value of which was thirty
million dollars. It was six feet long and four feet broad, surmounted by
a gold canopy supported by twelve pillars composed of the same precious
metal. The back of the throne was so constructed as to represent a
peacock with expanded tail, the natural colors of which were exactly
imitated with rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious stones.
Delhi was for centuries the proudest metropolis of India; within a
circle of twenty miles of the present locality, one city after another
has established its capital, ruled in splendor, and passed away. One
monument, which we find in the environs, has thus far defied the
destructive finger of time,--the Katub-Minar, which stands alone amid
hoary ruins, the loftiest single column in the world, but of which there
is no satisfactory record. It is not inappropriately considered one of
the greatest architectural marvels of India, and whoever erected it
achieved a triumph of gracefulness and skill. It is built of red stone
elaborately ornamented in the form of a minaret, measuring about fifty
feet in diameter at the base and ten at the top, with a height from the
ground of two hundred and fifty feet, divided into five stories, each
fitted with an outer gallery and adorned with colossal inscriptions. The
whole exterior is fluted from base to top, narrowing gradually towards
the summit.
In the broad main thoroughfare of Delhi--the Chandni Chowk--one
constantly meets ponderous elephants, solemn and awkward camels, fine
Arabian horses, and the diminutive, toy-like ponies of Cashmere. Daily
marriage processions of the most fantastic description crowd the
roadway, with the animals just named caparisoned in a gaudy, harlequin
style, accompanied by unskilled musicians on foot, whose qualifications
evidently consist in being able to make the greatest amount of noise
upon a drum, fife, or horn, which are the three instruments employed on
these occasions. Some of the white horses in the processions are painted
in parts, sky-blue, and some are decked with saffron-yellow. In the
ranks are covered bullock-carts with peep-holes, in which ride the women
of the harem. Mingled with these are men bearing banners with Hindoo
mottoes and ludicrous caricatures, half human and half animal. This is
called a marriage procession, but upon careful inquiry it is found to be
only a betrothal of children too young to marry. The boy-bridegroom
appears upon an elephant, and is dressed like a circus rider; but the
future bride, probably a little girl of six or eight years, does not
appear: she remains at home to be called upon by this motley crowd, when
a brief ceremony takes place,--presents being duly exchanged,--and the
farce is then ended.
A journey of nine hundred miles, still over these broad plains of
India, will bring us to the city of Agra, which, like Delhi, stands not
on the Ganges, but on its great tributary, the Jumna. It is an important
city, containing over forty thousand inhabitants. To all who visit this
place the first object of interest will be the Taj (pronounced _Tahj_)
Mahal, or tomb of the wife of the Emperor Shah-Jehan. It is the most
interesting edifice in India and one of the most beautiful in the world.
A tomb in this country means a magnificent structure of marble, with
domes and minarets, the walls inlaid with precious stones, and the whole
surrounded by gardens, fountains, and artificial lakes, covering from
ten to twenty acres. Cheap as labor is in India, the Taj must have cost
some fifteen millions of dollars, and was seventeen years in building.
The Mogul Emperor resolved to erect the most superb monument ever reared
to commemorate a woman's name, and he succeeded, for herein Mohammedan
architecture reached its height. The mausoleum is situated in a spacious
garden, the equal of which can hardly be found elsewhere, beautiful to
the eye and delightful to the senses, with fragrant flowers, exotic and
indigenous. This grand structure, with the ripeness of centuries upon
it, is no ruin; all is fragrant and fresh as at the hour when it was
completed. It is of white marble, three hundred feet in height, the
principal dome being eighty feet high, and of such exquisite form and
harmony is the whole that it seems almost to float in the air.
In the centre of the Taj, beneath the glorious dome, are two raised and
ornamented marble frames, covering the resting-place of the emperor and
his wife. How appropriate is the inscription at the threshold: "To the
memory of an undying love." As we stand beneath the cupola, let us
repeat in a low tone of voice a verse from Longfellow's "Psalm of Life";
instantly there will roll through the dimly lighted vault above a soft
and solemn repetition, which will sound as though voices were repeating
the psalm in the skies. Nothing finer or more lovely in architecture
exists than this faultless monument, this ideal of Saracenic art.
By consulting a map of India it will be seen that few regions in the
world present such an array of remarkable cities as have sprung up and
flourished in the Ganges-Jumna valley. Here we have Agra, Delhi,
Cawnpore, Lucknow, Allahabad, Benares, Mirozapur, Patna, Decca, and
Murshedabad. What historic associations arise at the bare mention of
these Indian cities!