OF MONKEYS
"His hide was very mangy, and his face was very red,
And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head.
His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried
To be an artless _Bandar_ loose upon the mountain side!"
R. K.
[Illustration: MONKEY GOD]
Some of the respect in which these animals are held by Hindus is a
reflection of the popularity of Hanumān, or (in Southern India) of Mâruti,
the monkey general of the great Hindu epic--the devoted henchman of Ram
Chandra, and a marvel of valour and address combined with gentleness. He
has now become a god, and is one of the most widely worshipped of Hindu
deities. Pictures and rude images are to be seen of him everywhere, but he
is not represented in the more ancient Hindu sculptures. A notion exists
among Hindus that the English may be his descendants through a female
servant of the demon king, who had charge of Sita in captivity, and who
treated the prisoner so well that Rama blessed her, prophesying that she
should become the mother of a race that would possess the land, and whom
Hanumān took to wife. This can scarcely be made out from the poem, but the
tradition exists. Others, again, say that the English came from the "monkey
army," which unlovely phrase is occasionally used to describe the British
nation.
But, while the enthusiastic cult of Hanumān as a divinity is a
comparatively modern development of Hinduism, the fondness of Hindus for
monkeys is of very ancient date. Ælian describes the offerings of rice
which are still customary, and at sacred places, as Benares, Ajodhia, and
Muttra, they are regularly fed, and it is regarded as an abominable act of
sacrilege to kill one. A large temple at Benares under the invocation of
Durga (Devi, Kali, etc.) has swarms of monkeys attached to it, but they do
not appear, as might be expected, to be usually attendant on shrines of the
Monkey God himself. They naturally cluster round groves frequented by
devotees of various kinds for the sake of scraps of food which they are
sure to receive there, and because they are safe from molestation.
Muhammadan saints as well as Hindu _sâdhus_ show kindness to these
creatures, and it is quite intelligible that their gambols should serve to
amuse the large and languid leisure of professional holiness.
[Illustration: LANGŪRS AT HOME]
The brown _macacus rhesus_ is the commonest type and most frequently seen
both in the hills and plains. Ælian in his description mixes up the Macaque
with the true Hanumān, the tall, long-tailed, black-faced, white-whiskered
_langūr_ (_Presbytes illiger_), clad in an overcoat of silver gray. The
latter has a face that reminds one of Mr. Joel Harris's "Uncle Remus," and
is, in his way, a king of the jungle, nor is he so frequently met with in
confinement as his brown brother. In some parts of India troops of langūrs
come bounding with a mighty air of interest and curiosity to see the
railway trains pass, their long tails uplifted like notes of interrogation;
but frequently, when fairly perched on wall or tree alongside, they seem to
forget all about it, and avert their heads as you go by with an affectation
of languid indifference. This may be a mark of the superiority of the
monkey mind, or a sign that some threads were dropped when its fabric was
woven. The black gibbon or _hooluck_ (_hylobates hooluck_) is better known
in Bengal and Assam, and is well adapted for captivity, if a pair can be
secured, and the keeper does not object to a gentle, mournful, and timid
animal, the spirit of the complaining dove in the form of a black djinn or
demon with a voice like a pack of hounds in full cry. The hooluck is
monogamous, and seems to have few of the vulgar monkey vices, but is a
depressing companion. In Assam, too, is found a dainty little monkey
familiarly known as "the shame-faced one"--a gentle, bashful, large-eyed
creature, with a quaint trick of hiding its face in its hands and hanging
its head like a timid child. It has a peculiarly soft and lustrous pelage
of fine colour and texture.
Under a benign rule of protection the monkey increases rapidly, and, being
a daring and mischievous pilferer, becomes a serious nuisance. One may hold
a creature sacred and yet be thoroughly alive to all the faults of its
character, and the monkey in ordinary talk is used pretty much as it is in
Europe to point morals against wanton mischief, helplessness, and evil
behaviour generally. Nor is it only in field and garden that its
depredations are felt. Indian shops have no doors or windows, but are like
large cupboards open to the street, in which food grains and other articles
are exposed for sale; and in towns where Hindus preponderate and a busy
current of trade has not swept the streets, bulls, calves, parakeets,
sparrows, and monkeys take tolls which the dealer would fain prevent, but
that he is few and fat, while the depredators are many and active. A stout
grocer nodding among his store baskets, while a monkey, intently watching
the sleeper's face, rapidly stuffs his cheek pouches with grain, is a
common sight, as well as a comical one. Of late years the tradesmen who
form the bulk of the members of our municipalities have felt that there
are too many Hanumāns abroad, and have ventured on proceedings that would
not have been tolerated in the days of complete Brahmanical ascendency.
Numbers of the marauders have been caught, caged, and despatched on bullock
carts to places many miles distant. There they have been let loose, but, as
the empty carts returned, the monkeys, quick to perceive and defeat the
plan of their enemies, bounded gaily alongside, and trooped in through the
city gates with the air of a holiday party returning from a picnic. From
some river-side towns boat-loads have been taken across the Ganges; but
they dislike being marooned, and when they have failed to board the
returning boats, have found others to carry them back. Railways, which have
done much for Indian progress, offer facilities for deportation which
monkey-ridden municipalities have been glad to seize. The stationmaster at
Saharunpore was recently troubled by a telegram advising him of the
despatch of cars laden with monkeys, which he was requested to send out to
be freed on the adjacent Sewalik hills. But the cages were broken in
unloading the freight and the crowd got loose. Saharunpore is an Indian
Crewe or Swindon in a small way, with a railway establishment, a Government
Botanical garden and large private fruit gardens. The exiles invaded the
busy workshops and lost their tempers, monkey fashion, among the driving
bands and machinery, nor were they easily driven out. A large male was seen
pulling the point-levers of a siding with the sudden petulance of his kind;
and another established himself between the double roofs of one of the
inspection carriages used by railway officers on tour as houses, stealing
from the pantry such trifles as legs of mutton, corkscrews, lamp glasses
and dusters,--articles for which a monkey can have but little use. The bulk
of the company trooped into the gardens of the town, where the proprietors,
being mainly Muhammadans with no respect for Hanumān, took measures of
their own against the invasion.
An amusing case of monkey plunder occurred some years ago at Simla. The
chief confectioner of the place had prepared a magnificent bride-cake,
which was safely put by in a room that, like most Simla rooms, looked on
the steep hillside. It is of little use, however, locking a door when the
window is left open. So when they came to fetch the cake, the last piece of
it was being handed out of the window by a chain of monkeys who had
whitened the hillside with its fragments. A theft of this kind is mainly
mischievous, for the wild monkey dislikes food mixed with butter, nor does
he greatly care for sugar. A bride-cake, too, looks (and is to my humble
taste) about as edible as a plaster cast, and one can scarcely understand
how they discovered it was meant to be eaten. The creature has a passion
for picking things to pieces. A flower or a fragile toy will amuse a monkey
for a long time. If a bird falls into its hands it will not be released
till it is plucked of every feather. If the bird resents the process, the
monkey with an unconcerned air rubs its head vigorously on the ground. It
would not be difficult to train a monkey to pluck fowls for use in the
kitchen. It is often said that the monkey kills snakes by grinding the head
on a stone, occasionally spitting on it, nor is the feat incredible to one
who has observed the constant habit of rubbing things on the ground and
holding them up for inspection. Yet in spite of this belief, a popular
saying, expressing a dilemma or an opportunity that cannot be turned to
profit, is--"Like a snake in a monkey's hand." He is afraid of it, but he
will not let go. Natives also say that monkeys rob birds' nests and destroy
eggs and young in pure malice. The fastidiousness of the wild monkey's
taste is curious, considering the precarious existence it leads. Daily for
some months my family and myself were interested in a troop of wild
monkeys, which we regularly fed, trying them with very various food. Once
we gave them biscuits which, from lying in a dealer's shop, had acquired
that peculiarly stale, tinny flavour which Anglo-Indians know too well.
They had been accustomed to eat the same kind of biscuit when fresh, and
scrambled as usual for the fragments, but after the first bite they made
comical mouths of dislike, spat out vigorously, rubbed the biscuit on their
sides, on the ground, examined it carefully, and seemed to conclude,--"Yes,
it's the same as yesterday," tried again, and then chattered and grinned in
wrath and disgust. But they soon learned to discriminate by smell merely.
Like the over-wise crow, which is apt to outwit itself by futile cunning,
the monkey is most ingeniously suspicious. Our friends grew bold with
encouragement, but their manners were never friendly; with the exception of
one which had evidently escaped from confinement. We managed to entrap the
creature, and having removed its hateful collar, set it free again. My
daughter could coax this experienced person into a room and it would open
her hand to take grain, keeping a sharp look-out on the open door. All the
rest were keenly suspicious, and irritable. They seemed to circumvent each
morsel and, having won it, defied us with angry eyes to take it back
again, regarding our free gift as a triumph of their own finesse. This is
natural enough when we consider that for generations the monkey folk have
been chased from field and garden plot with shouting. They were in no fear
for their lives, and had learned the very human satisfaction of defying an
enemy from a safe distance.
This shallow cunning has deeply impressed the minds of the people. They say
it is absolutely impossible to poison a monkey. For ages this belief has
been rooted in the minds of Orientals. Al Masudi, who compiled his Arabic
encyclopædia--"meadows of gold and mines of gems"--in the tenth century,
wrote that most Chinese and Hindu kings keep wise but dumb monkeys as
tasters for their tables, relying implicitly on their judgment of what is
poisoned and what is wholesome. A native gentleman told me of a cultivator
in the hills whose crops and garden were so seriously injured that he
determined to get rid of his enemies. So he daily set out platters of
boiled rice which they greedily ate. When they had learned the habit of
coming in crowds, he one day set out rice poisoned with a tasteless drug.
He heard a great chatter and whining round his treacherous platters, and
saw a council sitting round the untasted food in earnest debate. Presently
they rose and scampered away, but soon returned, each bearing twigs and
leaves of a plant which their instinct taught them was an antidote to the
poison. With these they stirred and mixed the rice, which they afterwards
ate with their usual relish, returning the next morning for more,
absolutely unharmed. This story is also told, _mutatis mutandis_, of an
attempt made by a Sikh noble, Sirdar Lehna Singh Majithia, to poison
troublesome monkeys at the sacred town of Hurdwar. When you believe that
monkeys are capable of speech and only refrain from speaking for fear that
they would be made to work, it is easy to credit them with a knowledge of
chemistry. Belief in their ability to speak is widely current in India, and
the notion is not unknown in the West.
But while native credulity will swallow the impossible with ease, native
observation is not without keenness. The inability of the monkey to make
for itself a shelter against the heavy rains of the country is noted in
proverbs. It is really curious that in the Simla region, where are many
built-out roads forming dry refuges of quite natural aspect, they are never
resorted to. Troops of monkeys will sit shivering for hours in driving
storms within a few yards of covered spaces, which seem as if specially
provided for their shelter and comfort.
Their daily life is interesting to watch. The scheme seems to be
patriarchal with a touch of military organisation, for they move and
plunder in a sort of formation, and the patriarch is at once
commander-in-chief and effective fighting force. Its main fact is the
tyranny of the leading male of each troop, who grows to a great size, with
immensely powerful shoulders. He develops large canine teeth, which some
observant Hindu draughtsmen take care to grace their pictures of Hanumān
withal. These are used unsparingly on the younger male members of the
troop, in fighting for his place of power, and on disobedient females. "The
demon" was the familiar name we gave to a leader with whom we were well
acquainted. He seemed to be always angry and was easily moved to a paroxysm
of rage, when he used worse language than any permitted to man, for there
was a savage force and variety in his grunting fury which made one
thankful he was untranslatable. He took the lion's share of everything,
especially resenting that the rising bachelors of the troop should have a
chance. Mothers and babies were merely cuffed aside from a morsel, but
there was ruthless war between him and all who might become his rivals. No
more perfect picture of headlong, desperate terror can be imagined than a
young man-monkey plunging and bounding in reckless flight down the
hillside, pursued as he screams by a livid and grunting elder. Natives may
well call the monkey sire _Maharaja_, for he is the very type and
incarnation of savage and sensual despotism. They are right, too, in making
their Hanumān red, for the old male's face is of the dusky red you see in
some elderly, over-fed, human faces.
Like human Maharajas, they have their tragedies and mayhap their romances.
One morning there came a monkey chieftain, weak and limping, having
evidently been worsted in a severe fight with another of his own kind. One
hand hung powerless, his face and eyes bore terrible traces of battle, and
he hirpled slowly along with a pathetic air of suffering, supporting
himself on the shoulder of a female,--a wife, the only member of his clan
who had remained faithful to him after his defeat. We threw them bread and
raisins, and the wounded warrior carefully stowed the greater part away in
his cheek pouch. The faithful wife, seeing her opportunity, sprang on him,
holding fast his one sound hand, and opening his mouth she deftly scooped
out the store of raisins. Then she sat and ate them very calmly at a safe
distance, while he mowed and chattered in impotent rage. He knew that
without her help he could not reach home, and was fain to wait with what
patience he might till the raisins were finished. It was a sad sight, but,
like more sad sights, touched with the light of comedy. This was probably
her first chance of disobedience or of self-assertion in her whole life,
and I am afraid she thoroughly enjoyed it. Then she led him away,--possibly
to teach him more salutary lessons of this modern and "advanced" sort, so
that at the last he would go to another life with a meek and chastened
soul.
Monkey mothers are tender to their little ones, with a care that endears
them to the child-loving Oriental. The babies are quaint little mites with
the brown hair that afterwards stands up crest-wise, parted in the middle
of their brows; their wistful faces are full of wrinkles, and their mild
hazel eyes have a quick glancing timidity, that well suits their pathetic,
lost, kitten-like cry. Yet even in the forest there are frisky matrons. I
have seen a mother monkey, disturbed in her gambols on the ground by the
whining of a tiny baby left half-way up an adjacent tree, suddenly break
off, and hastily shinning up the tree, snatch up the baby, hurry to the
very topmost branch, where she plumped it down as who should
say,--"Tiresome little wretch!" and then come down to resume her play. Thus
is a mischievous midshipman mast-headed, and thus is the British baby sent
up to the nursery while mamma amuses herself. Natives say that when monkey
babies die the mothers often go mad, and that in the excess of their
affection they occasionally squeeze their offspring to death. It is at
least certain that a mother monkey will carry with her for weeks the dried
and dead body of her little one, nursing and petting it as if it were
alive. In defence of the little ones the sires will fight savagely, as is
their duty. I knew a fat fox terrier, the dream of whose life was to catch
a monkey. Once it came true, and for half a minute, said a man who saw, he
held a baby monkey. I was indoors at the time, but as the dog passed me to
take refuge under a chair, I knew from his solemn silence that something
had happened. The leader monkey had fallen upon him and inflicted three
frightful bites--more like deep knife-cuts than the work of teeth--which
seemed likely to prove fatal; but first-rate surgical skill was available,
and Bob was saved to carefully avoid monkeys in future.
A quaint episode of our acquaintanceship with monkey folk was the arrival
during one of our levees of one of the wandering performers who lead about
tame monkeys with a goat that serves them as charger. The wild monkeys drew
off at first suspiciously, but when the man sat down to his performance and
made their tame brethren dance, put on strange raiment, and mount the goat,
they crept closer with horrified curiosity and evident disgust. The tame
monkeys off duty regarded their free kinsmen with listless indifference,
and the artiste at work never seemed to glance at them, though they watched
him with jealous and angry eyes, much, I imagine, as labourers on strike
watch blacklegs.
There is a belief that during severe winters wild monkeys, instead of
furtively hanging about the grocers' shops and watching their chance to
steal, come into Simla streets in bands and stand whining like beggars
asking for alms. But there is only native authority for this story. It is
just possible they may have been so hard pressed as to seek human help, but
it is an immense step for such wild and distrustful creatures to take. Some
shopkeepers habitually feed them, and they may have whined at a place where
they missed their daily dole.
A wistful, watchful melancholy seems to be the normal mood of the mature
monkey, broken by sudden flashes of interest which change as suddenly into
indifference or abstraction. Few animals seem to spend so much time in
sitting and looking about them, while only the birds can command more lofty
posts of observation. Among men, some sailors and many Orientals have a
similar faculty of tranquil outlooking. But the sudden flash of interest in
a triviality and its abrupt cessation remind one more of lunacy than of
sane humanity. Their life is hard and hungry, and as the creatures lope
disconsolately along in the rain, or crouch on branches with dripping backs
set against the tree trunk as a shelter from the driving storm, they have
the air of being very sorry for themselves. Consumption is not unknown
among them, and a monkey's cough, heard through the drip of the forest on a
wet night, is a dismal sound. But when the sun shines the younger ones play
like schoolboys. They have a game like the English boys' cock of the
dung-hill or king of the castle, but instead of pushing each other from the
top of a knoll or dust-heap, the castle is a pendent branch of a tree. The
game is to keep a place on the bough, which swings with their weight as
with a cluster of fruit while the players struggle to dislodge one another,
each, as he drops, running round and climbing up again to begin anew. This
sport is kept up for an hour at a time with keen enjoyment, and when one is
nimble as a monkey it must be splendid fun.
[Illustration: YOUNG MONKEYS AT PLAY]
The way of a ship on the sea may be strange, but the path of a monkey
through tree-land is no less surprising. At one moment a creature is in
tranquil meditation on the creation of the world or the origin of evil, at
the next it has thrown itself backward apparently into illimitable space,
but at the right instant a bough is seized and the animal swings to
another and another with infallible certainty. The larger langūr does not
seem to play concerted games, and his movements have a bolder sweep and
abandonment. He travels on a more lofty story of the tree-terraces,
progressing through the pines in a succession of leaping feats, performed
with the ease, deliberation, and precision of perfect gymnastic art. The
scenery which nature has assigned to this performance gives an impression
of freedom which makes the thought of confinement infamous.
On the plains life would appear to be easier, for there is an almost
constant succession of fruits and edible leaves in the jungles, and the
crops are more accessible. Thievish monkeys sometimes haunt the
halting-places of travellers. A friend of mine halted at a _parao_ or stage
where was a grove of mango-trees affording grateful shade to travellers,
and while resting, he watched a little comedy. Apart from the others, a
Hindu was preparing his evening meal. In one pot over the fire a stew of
pulse was boiling, while he kneaded dough and baked the invariable wheaten
flap-jacks. As each cake is taken from the iron griddle plate it is stuck
edgewise in the hot embers till all are ready, when they are piled
together. This was done, and the Hindu turned to set the ghi pot and
drinking vessels in order and to hail his companion to come to dinner.
While his back was turned, a big monkey dropped from the boughs overhead,
seized the pile of cakes, and was off in a flash. Now the baking of bread
is a semi-ritualistic business, involving a good deal of labour, and it was
a very angry Hindu who received in his face one of the hot flap-jacks
dropped by the monkey clutching his prize with awkward fingers above. Then
the other man came and swore too, but the monkey swore the worst, irritated
by the heat of his plunder, which, however, he was determined not to let
go. The watchman of the stage assured my friend that this trick was a
frequent occurrence, for that particular monkey was "as cunning as a
_baniya_ (or tradesman) and as daring as a _thug_ (highway robber)--a very
demon of a monkey." Yet it had never occurred to him or to the robbed
travellers to take measures against it.
It may be that "advanced India" will in time give up the protection of the
monkey, but there are hitherto no signs of a change in popular feeling. In
April 1886, in the highly civilised and cosmopolitan city of Bombay, a
Hindu of good position was in danger of losing every social privilege of
his caste and of undergoing an ostracism more complete than any imagined by
Athenian citizen or Irish Land-leaguer, because he was said to have allowed
a European officer of police to shoot a troublesome monkey from the window
of his house. The officer had been invited by the people to rid them of the
creature, and its death was frankly acknowledged as a relief, but the
letter of the law forbade the murder. Officers of government are careful
not to wound the feelings of the people with reference both to monkeys and
peacocks, a delicacy which does not always restrain the hungry low-caste
man.
A collector and magistrate of a district in Hindustan proper had been out
shooting, and was returning to camp. On a tree on the other side of the
Ganges Canal, along which he was walking, sat a monkey. The animal seemed
almost out of range, and my friend idly pointed his gun and fired in its
direction with intent to startle it, but, to his dismay, the monkey fell
and lay dead. Fortunately no one was near, and at night this worshipful
magistrate, whose word was law for leagues round, stole out alone with a
lantern, taking a long round to the nearest bridge, to look for his victim.
It was not easily found, and never, even on the judicial bench, did he so
keenly realise the feelings of a murderer trying to hide the evidences of
his guilt. He succeeded in disposing of the body, and returned to camp
determined never to point a gun at a monkey again. Another friend of mine
had for neighbour a Hindu devotee of great repute and sanctity, whose hut,
besides being a resort of gamblers and bad characters, had a large retinue
of monkeys that were fed by visitors. The animals wrought great havoc in my
friend's garden, whereupon in his irritation he threatened to shoot them.
The Sâdhu took the will for the deed, and fulminated a curse against the
Englishman as terrible as that which the Archbishop of Rheims inflicted on
the jackdaw. He was filled with a holy joy when my friend fell ill, and
desponded when he recovered.
St. Francis de Sales wrote:--"I am despised and I grow angry;--so does the
peacock or the monkey." This is more like an Oriental than a Western word.
The irritable monkey is ready to be angry at anything. The Oriental,
however, considers the monkey--apart from his sacred affinity with Hanumān,
a type, not so much of petulance, as of untrustworthiness. "What is a
monkey's friendship worth?" he asks, and he says in scorn of a trivial and
foolish person--"a tailless monkey." "A cocoa-nut in a monkey's hand,"
stands for ill-bestowed gifts or gear and for ineptitude, for the creature
cannot get at the kernel, having neither strength nor wit to break the
shell. "A flower in a monkey's hand" is a common Malay expression to a
similar purpose. "One monkey does not tell another monkey that his buttocks
are red" is a homely word with obvious uses. There are ten things, says a
proverb, which may not be depended upon--"A courtesan, a monkey, fire,
water, a procuress, an army, a distiller, a tailor, a parrot, and a
goldsmith." The selection is significant, and--in India--just. In the
stables of the wealthy a monkey is often kept to attract to itself stray
influences of the evil eye, that ever-present bogy of the East. So there is
a saying,--"What goes wrong in the stable falls on the monkey's head." This
can be used in daily life by those frequent persons who habitually fancy
themselves wrongly accused. It is unlucky to utter the word monkey in the
morning, but lucky to see one before breakfast. "Speak of a monkey or an
owl in the morning and you'll get no breakfast."
In the Rāmāyana of Tūlsi Dass, (a relatively modern version of the great
epic poem in which the Hindus delight) a method of catching monkeys by
means of a bait of grain in a narrow-mouthed jar is spoken of as an example
of the metaphysical principle of illusion which makes so great a figure in
Hindu cobweb philosophy. The monkey is supposed to fill his fist so full
that he is unable to withdraw it, and has not the wit to let go his spoil
and release himself. This is quite reasonable enough for a metaphysical
illustration. A more practical form of illusion is to put some grain in a
clear glass bottle and hand it to a monkey. It tries to seize the grain,
then, concluding the distance was not properly judged, it takes a careful
sight along the bottle, and, with a diverting air of great astuteness,
passes a slow hand down and gives a sudden clutch. After one or two
attempts it loses temper and interest. Similarly, the illusion of a mirror
puzzles a young dog when he is first introduced to it, and, according to
his character and temper, interests and excites him, but after a short time
he gives it up and waits for more facts, like the philosopher he is. A
foolish cock-sparrow, on the other hand, will nearly kill himself in
fighting his reflection.
Does the survival of respect for monkeys, amounting at times to a definite
acknowledgment of kinship, indicate the early arrival of Hindu philosophers
at the latest conclusion of European Evolutionists? Modern Hindu students
of the Vedas and other ancient records draw from those vague depths
material to support such theories as the Hindu discovery of America and the
founding of the ruined cities of its central region; with the use of
balloons, railways, and contrivances like the electric telegraph. A slender
verbal hint suffices to give a complacent sense of having once at least
marched in the foremost files of time. But they would be on more plausible,
if not more solid ground in essaying to show that the Hindu respect for
life, the admission of the essential unity of the life-spark, whether in
man or moss, and the special regard for the ancestral monkey, its
deification, and the traditions of its aptitude for speech, labour, and
war, were proofs that the philosophy of the East has for ages sat in
tranquil occupation of a peak of discovery to which the vanguard of Western
science has but now attained.