OF HORSES AND MULES
"_Johnson.--'Pity is not natural to man. Children are always
cruel. Savages are always cruel. Pity is acquired and
improved by the cultivation of reason. We may have uneasy
sensations from seeing a creature in distress, without pity;
for we have not pity unless we wish to relieve them. When I
am on my way to dine with a friend, and finding it late have
bid the coachman make haste, if I happen to attend when he
whips his horses, I may feel unpleasantly that the animals
are put to pain, but I do not wish him to desist. No, Sir, I
wish him to drive on.'_"--Boswell's _Life of Johnson_.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR THE WAZIR]
India has been described by a European as the Paradise of horses, and from
his point of view the phrase is not unfitting. The natural affinity between
horses and Englishmen becomes a closer bond by residence in India, where
everybody rides--or ought to ride--where horses and horse-keep are cheap,
and where large castes of stable servants, contented with a low wage, are
capable under careful superintendence of keeping their animals in a state
of luxurious comfort. The horses, however, which serve native masters are
born to Purgatory rather than to Paradise. Those in the hands of the upper
classes suffer from antiquated and barbarous systems of treatment, and are
often killed by mistaken kindness or crippled by bad training, while those
of low degree are liable to cruel ill-usage, over-work, neglect, and
unrelieved bondage.
I have not always thought it worthwhile in previous notes to dwell on the
frequent appearance of notions on animals once current in Europe. But in
the matter of the horse, there is no escape from this suggestive subject.
The Oriental conception of a horse may be gathered from pictures and
current sayings as well as from an inspection of princely stables. In many
respects it recalls that of our forefathers before the introduction of Arab
blood into Europe and the systematic cultivation of speed. No Eastern horse
has anything like the substance of the "grete horse," "the gambaldyne
horse," or "the grete doble trottynge hors called a curtal" of old
England,--but that kind of animal is plainly the ideal in the Oriental
mind. Its artificial paces, air-fighting attitudes, and slow rate of speed
are still the model of the high-class Indian trainer when left to himself.
This ideal is somewhat contrary to nature, for the climate is not
favourable to the pig-like roundness of form shown in all modern Indian
pictures as in European representations of a bygone time. For the animals
that take their chance with the poor are always light in form and often of
spectral slenderness. But by rigorous confinement and careful stuffing
with rich food even this condition is approached. Many horses belonging to
persons of rank are fattened like fowls in France, by the grooms thrusting
balls of food mixed with ghi, boiled goats' brains, and other rich messes
down their throats. And, as might be expected, very many die of diseases of
the digestion and liver under the process. The difference between East and
West, between old and new, between feudal and free conditions, is shown in
few things more clearly than in a comparison of the horse of the Indian
Raja with the scientifically treated animal of Europe and America. The
latter is carefully fed during the all-important period of its growth, so
that its strength and substance are fully developed, while it is made to
take regular exercise. Year by year, too, a humane appreciation of its
natural timidity leads to a more considerate and merciful training, which
is accomplished without cruel constraint, harsh confinement, violence, or
nervous shock.
The horse of the Indian noble, on the other hand, is imperfectly nourished
in its early youth. Not always in the West will an ordinary farmer
understand the requirements of a young horse after weaning, but in India it
seems impossible to persuade people that money spent on a growing beast is
money invested. All they see is a present loss. Then it is tied up during
the greater part of its life, not merely secured by the head but tethered
by heel-ropes. No innovation has been more obstinately fought against by
native servants of English masters than the loose box, for Orientals have a
passion for tying things up. A group of young horses in a pasture, free to
exult in their strength, is a sight not seen in India, with a few
exceptions to be presently noted. If you watch such a group and note their
God-given delight in motion and freedom, the birthright and wild desire of
all young things, you must admit that this is a custom of cruelty. But the
pedantry of horse-folk, everywhere inclined to stupidity, is inflexible in
India.
Some of the foregoing may appear incredible to Western readers. I quote
from the _India in 1887_ of Mr. R. Wallace, Professor of Agriculture and
Rural Economy in the University of Edinburgh,--a witness who writes from
first-hand observation, and who, throughout his book, is inclined to the
not unreasonable contention that a native custom is _primâ facie_ likely to
be right:--
"The pampering and over-feeding of favourite animals in the
stables of wealthy native princes cannot be too strongly
condemned and reprobated, as cruel to the beasts themselves
and injurious to the best interests of the country. I spent
some hours in one stable where over one hundred of the
finest horses--Arabs, Barbs, Marwars, and Kathiawars--that
India could produce were tied up and actually fed as fat as
pigs. Horses that had cost Rs.18,000 and Rs.20,000 were kept
in close boxes with most imperfect ventilation, and were
taken out only for show at rare intervals, and not at all
for regular exercise. In addition to ordinary food, they got
mixed with it 2 lbs. of sugar and from 1 to 2 lbs. of ghi
daily. The first result of this feeding would be a rapidly
thriving condition, accompanied with a sleek and glossy coat
and an increase of fat; but the ultimate and most natural
consequence proved to be the gradual breaking down of the
system in each case at its weakest point through
over-pressure. This accounted for the variety of diseases
that appeared and developed and were running their course at
the time referred to--_e.g._ broken wind, founder
(_laminitis_), weed (_lymphangitis_), skin eruptions or
diseases, and fatty degenerations of the liver. All these, I
noticed, were present, and no doubt there were others
besides.
"I was informed that a considerable number died annually of
an unknown disease, and I was able to satisfy myself by
examining what existed of it at the moment, and from the
accounts of the two native veterinary attendants, that this
unknown and fatal malady was fatty degeneration of the
liver, which seemed to carry off most of those horses that
escaped the other more rapid and better-known forms of
disease.
"The injury to the community lies in this, that the best
horses of the best breeds in the country are picked up--even
those bred by government sires--and brought to these
stables; and if an animal finds favour in the eyes of the
Prince or Sahib, it is supplied with the food of the
favourites already described, and whether it is a male or
female it soon becomes barren; consequently, the best horses
are withdrawn from breeding, and the artificial selection of
man is made to act in the wrong direction--the race being
reproduced from the poorer specimens.
"I saw a horse suffering from a disease said to be produced
by excess of moisture. It took the form of large blotches or
swollen raw sores, which may occur on any part of the body,
but most abundantly about the legs.... There is an
extraordinary confusion in the minds of natives of the lower
orders, such as grooms, in their ideas of kindness and
cruelty to the lower animals. While some were being
literally killed by over-feeding and care, I found the one
suffering from this loathsome disease tied out in the open,
and exposed without shelter to the sun or rain, as the case
might be, and to the constant and irritating action of flies
which swarmed about and lived on the skinless parts.
Although the disease was well developed, no effort had been
made to treat it in any way. The animal was suffering
severely, but my drawing attention to the fact was received
with the greatest astonishment and indifference."
With reference to the last case quoted by Mr. Wallace, a native groom would
say that _barsáti_, which seems to be the disease indicated, is incurable
and contagious. So the animal must be kept apart from the rest, but it may
not be killed--and--"he is only a poor man and what can be done?" But in
reality, it has never occurred to him to think that creatures can suffer.
The distinctively native methods of training, which are corruptions of the
manège formerly popular in Europe, involve unnecessary cruelty. It is true
that even in England, which is, relatively speaking, the true horse
paradise, carriage horses are still made to learn certain artificial
tricks, relics of unwise old fashions, indefensible because interferences
with nature. To teach the outstretched, flying-buttress attitude which is
considered good form, the animal is set to stand and the inside of the fore
legs is tapped with a whip till he covers the proper extent of ground. The
French take more pains to exaggerate this position than the English, but
during the season in the Park you may often see an English coachman, on
pulling up, fidget with reins and whip till his animals are outstretched
like wooden rocking-horses. This is considered quite beautiful, but it is
the worst possible attitude for a horse to move forward from, since it may
cause strain in back or loins. But it is only done while the animal is at
work. In India the poor brute is tied tightly in this posture and left for
many hours together without possibility of relief.
[Illustration: IN TRAINING]
When a carriage horse carries his head too low for good form, an English
head-groom fits him with a dumb-jockey, on which is an iron standard with a
movable hook. To this hook a bridle is fastened at the desired height and
left for half an hour at a time,--seldom for longer and not often more than
twice a day, usually only once, because the groom knows that nothing is so
bad for a horse's temper as this kind of confinement. Sometimes the bridle
is fitted with india-rubber pieces, which stretch and allow a little play,
but this contrivance seems likely to teach boring. Some grooms tie a wisp
of hay round the bit, with intent to keep the mouth occupied, so that the
beast does not sulkily hang in his bit all the time and spoil his mouth. At
its best, however, there is not much to be said in favour of the plan, for
if a horse's head is not meant by nature to be carried handsomely, no
amount of training will teach him. But the lesson lasts for a very brief
period of time, nor is it physically more severe than that undergone by
recruits in a drill-yard. Moreover, the head is tied up and not down.
Another kind of dumb-jockey is used in England as the horse's first lesson
in bit and bridle. But its use is intermittent, and when compared with the
Indian practice, it allows comparatively free play to the head. The
bearing-rein still holds its own and is warmly supported against common
sense by the pedants of the English stable, but at its worst it is a tender
mercy when compared with the Indian practice of tying the poor brute's head
tightly back and down for weeks at a time until a monstrous exaggeration of
the natural curve of the neck is produced. A diagram shows how this is
done. A poor brute thus treated for the greater part of his life has
naturally a heavy grudge against all mankind. So good temper is the last
thing to expect from the horse of an Indian person of quality. The physical
effects of the practice are no less deplorable. The neck of the horse, a
wonderful piece of construction, plays a most important part in all his
movements. It is one of the first parts to show fatigue, seeing that like
a pendulum it balances every movement. The gait of an animal with a
crippled neck becomes mincing and constrained. But it is precisely this
rickety, rocking, all-of-a-piece action that most pleases the Oriental,
since it is supposed to resemble the dainty stepping and wanton prancing in
which young horses indulge at times. A sort of high-stepping caper is
taught; the _chābūk_ _sowār_ (whip-rider) or breaker, holding, in addition
to the bridle, cords tied to the fore fetlocks, with which he gives a jerk,
crying Ho! This brings the foot up with a flourish and, one would think,
should occasionally bring the horse on his nose.
Some people say high-stepping is taught to horses in England by making them
tread on hot iron plates, or among logs of timber, or in soft fallows, or
in a very deep layer of straw. But if I wanted to believe in things of this
kind, I should prefer the theory of a rustic at a funeral, watching a pair
of Flemish blacks throwing their fore-legs about. "I _hev_ heard tell as
they teaches 'osses this by practysin' 'em 'over wheel-barrows.'" Now, a
mere man tumbling over a wheel-barrow is in for a most complex catastrophe,
but the idea of horses waltzing round a yard full of wheel-barrows is
purely fascinating. The truth is that though "dodges" may be practised at
times, the really skilful trainer would be almost as much puzzled to
describe his practice as a skilful painter to describe the way he painted
his picture.
"It's incommunicable, like the cast
That drops the tackle with the gut adry,
Too much, too little,--there's your salmon lost."
Elaborately-ordered curvetings, side movements like those of Western
riding-schools, and progress by slow springs or bounds, are also
practised. From old pictures it is evident that the last was an admired
action of the European manège. A good American or English circus trainer;
who, as their phrase runs, can make a horse canter round a cabbage leaf;
teaches it in less time and by simpler methods than in the old days, and
without the infliction of pain and bondage. The Central Indian idea is that
the rider should appear to sit at ease, languidly controlling the movements
of a restive steed. In reality every action is as measured as the swing of
a wooden rocking-horse, while a touch of the bit suffices to check any
tendency to genuine spirit.
The "thorn bits" here engraved are ordinary specimens of those in use; the
cut requires careful examination before their murderous character can be
made out. Some say the Indian bit is severe because the average horseman,
being of slight build, is physically incapable of holding a horse with a
fair one. There may be something in this, but the weakness is more moral
than physical; nerve is more wanting than muscle, and reason most of all.
The whole process of bringing up and handling is faulty, depending on harsh
constraint and developing bad form, bad temper, and bad manners. There are
of course many fine horsemen in the country, but they have usually been
taught by Englishmen, for by means of the turf, the army, and the
equestrian civilian, English horse notions have been widely spread. It is
no libel to say that the average native horseman is timid, and no timid
rider can afford to be merciful. A Bengali saying counselling caution
expresses this and gives a picture in a line to those who are familiar with
the least equestrian race in the world. "Having taken a firm hold on all
sides, then mount the horse." Perhaps it is unfair to see in this
sagacious counsel the courage of a Bengali rider desperately screwed up to
the sticking place, the convulsive grip, the struggling climb, and the
apprehensive face as if the placid pony were some wild hippogriff.
[Illustration: INDIAN "THORN BITS"]
Possibly, also, it is unkind to see in the adoption of ambling or pacing
another index to the unequestrian character of India. For in America, where
they want no teaching about horses, ambling is a regularly ordained gait.
It is taught in India, as formerly in Europe, by tying together the fore
and hind legs on each side, but this is not always necessary, for the pace
comes naturally to many animals. There are who ride and there are who sit
on a horse and are carried. In a hot climate, where for months the aim of
life is to exist with as little motion as possible, since heat is a mode of
motion, and you are already many degrees hotter than you like, it is
natural that equestrian India should prefer to sit on a horse. Ambling is
the easiest way of doing this. You shall see at a cold weather fête, or
public function, a burly native Inspector of police bumping vigorously in
his saddle, charging round like a General's galloper on a field day, so
that the British tourist admiringly remarks, "Smart officer, that!" But see
that same Inspector in the hot weather, faring to a village away from his
District Superintendent's observation. His legs dangle carelessly, his
body, languidly thrown back, has just as much movement as a jelly on a
footman's tray, while a constable on each side supports him as they run
alongside his lazily ambling charger. When he halts, they reverently lift
him down, and placing him on a bed under a village tree or in a verandah,
undress and shampoo him tenderly while another prepares his hūqqa, and the
village Elders stand before him with joined hands to learn his Lordship's
commands about dinner. The sun is in fact master of the situation, and his
dictates are obeyed in riding as in other matters.
When a native chief goes out, he is accompanied by a _sowāri_, literally a
"riding" of ministers, servants, guards, and attendants of all sorts.
Formerly all rode, but with good roads good carriages have been introduced,
and usually in these days only the horsemen of the guard ride. But on state
occasions, led horses, richly caparisoned, always form part of the show,
and there are many animals in princely stables kept solely for processional
purposes. The animals most liked are the stallions of Marwar or Kathiawar.
White horses with pink points, piebalds, and leopard spotted beasts are
much admired, especially when they have pink Roman noses and light-coloured
eyes with an uncanny expression. Their crippled, highly arched necks, curby
hocks, rocking gait, and paralytic prancing often proclaim them as triumphs
of training.
[Illustration: A PROCESSIONAL HORSE]
The passion for bright colour is strikingly evident in these parades, where
silk and gold are lavishly spread, and the manes and tails and sometimes
the bodies of the animals are dyed magenta, scarlet, or orange. Gold or
silver bangles are clasped round the fetlocks or above the knee, where
they are hung with silk cloths or streamers. No matter how long the
_tamásha_ may last, the animal's head is always pulled tightly back and
down with bridle and silken martingale, and one longs with such an
exceeding great longing to cut them and set the head free that it is hard
to be respectful to the bravery of the show. You feel that as a relic of
the externals of the brave days of old (which must have been mainly bad old
days) it deserves some respect. Yet no writer who has seen the display from
near, and writes honestly, can refrain from noting its seamy side. The late
Mr. Aberigh Mackay (Ali Baba of _Vanity Fair_), one of the brightest and
most original, as well as one of the most generous spirits who ever handled
Indian subjects, has drawn a picture in his _Twenty-one Days in India_, of
a Raja and his Sowāri which could not be bettered by a hair's breadth.
[Illustration: A RAJA'S CHARGER (MARWAR BREED)]
"In the cool of the evening our king emerges from his
palace, and, riding on a prodigiously fat white horse with
pink points, proceeds to the place of carousal. A long train
of horsemen follow him, and footmen run before with guns in
red flannel covers and silver maces, shouting 'Raja Maharaja
Salaamat,' etc. The horsemen immediately around him are
mounted on well-fed and richly caparisoned steeds, with all
the bravery of cloth of gold, yaktails, silver chains, and
strings of shells; behind are troopers in a burlesque of
English uniform; and altogether in the rear is a mob of
caitiffs on skeleton chargers, masquerading in every degree
of shabbiness and rags, down to nakedness and a sword. The
cavalcade passes through the city. The inhabitants pour out
of every door and bend to the ground. Red cloths and white
veils flutter at the casements overhead. You would hardly
think that the spectacle was one daily enjoyed by the city.
There is all the hurrying and eagerness of novelty and
curiosity. Here and there a little shy crowd of women gather
at a door and salute the Chief with a loud, shrill verse of
discordant song. It is some national song of the Chief's
ancestors and of the old heroic days. The place of carousal
is a bare spot near a large and ancient well out of which
grows a vast pipal tree. Hard by is a little temple
surmounted by a red flag on a drooping bamboo. It is here
that the _Gangor_ and _Dasehra_ Solemnities are celebrated.
Arrived on the ground, the Raja slowly circles his horse;
then, jerking the thorn-bit, causes him to advance plunging
and rearing, but dropping first on the near foot and then on
the off foot with admirable precision; and finally, making
the white monster, now in a lather of sweat, rise up and
walk a few steps on his hind legs, the Raja's performance
concludes amid many shouts of wonder and delight from the
smooth-tongued courtiers. The thakores (barons) and sardars
(squires) now exhibit their skill in the _manège_ until the
shades of night fall, when torches are brought, amid much
salaaming, and the cavalcade defiles through the city, back
to the palace."
Is it any wonder that Sir John Malcolm, who had seen so much of this kind
of life and could describe it with humour and spirit, was a congenial
companion to the good Sir Walter? For it belongs to another world, and
another time. Yet, when one knows all about the poor horse and the cruel
bit it seems but a dull parody of ancient chivalry.
The ideas current on the qualities, form, and vices of the animal are as
antiquated as its treatment. Many are tied up in aphoristic bundles for
better preservation. So many parts of the horse should be round, so many
square, so many short, and so many long, and everybody speaks of the five
vices and of the eight lucky white points of Mangal--Mars. There is an
elaborate science of stray hairs with an obstinate twist, of the colour of
the markings and the planting of the hair in the skin. The last is a
curious, and nowadays but little known subject in England. If you paint a
well-groomed, well-conditioned horse in a strong light, you find that the
shimmer and reflections of his coat take forms like those in moire antique
silk or the "figure" in polished satin-wood and tell in your picture more
than the actual form. It is conceivable, indeed, that a sculptor, studying
shape only, might find it convenient to dredge his model over with gray
powder to kill these reflections. We know that the rich and pictorial
effects are partly due to a relatively trivial cause,--the direction in
which the hairs are set in the skin, which varies slightly in different
individuals. But in Indian horse lore the set of these featherings (they
are analogous to the radiating arrangements of birds' feathers), ending
sometimes in circles or whorls, are all mapped out like currents on a
mariner's chart, and each is named and interpreted for luck, temper,
constitution, or quality; but mainly for luck. The "_Zinnat ul Khail_" or
"Beauties of the horse" is an elaborately illustrated text-book of this
absurd science. Absurd enough, but those who have rummaged in old books
will feel that in the American phrase, they "have been here before." Three
hundred years ago, precisely similar notions were current in Europe and
learnedly discoursed upon. Mr. Alfred E. T. Watson, in the _Riding and
Polo_ volume of the "Badminton Library" quotes from an Elizabethan writer,
Maister Thomas Blundevill: "The horse that hath an ostrich feather either
on his forehead, or both sides of his maine, or on the one side, or els
behind on his buttocks, or in any place where he himself cannot see it, can
never be an euill horse."
With reference to colour, we probably have preserved more preferences than
we care to admit, though we say "a good horse is never of a bad colour."
Such a saying is wildly irreverent from the Oriental point of view, whence
colour and colour markings are the first things taken into account. Relics
of the old ideas, however, still linger among us in such sayings as the
doggerel about white feet,--
"One, you may buy him;
Two, you may try him;
Three, you should doubt him;
Four, do without him,"--
but there are many similar rules in the East, complicated by moral and
fatalistic fancies. Thus, Mūnshi Muhammad, Mehindi writes: "If the two hind
and the near fore legs are equally blazed with white, the owner of such a
horse will be happy as long as he lives." In another place: "The owner of a
horse, which, in the centre of a white blaze on its forehead, has curling
dark hairs resembling a scorpion, will be miserly and unreasonable, will
lose his intelligence, will be without influence and will lose his senses."
Again: "When the near fore-foot of a horse is white it is called nosegay
and its owner should never know fear." "When the off fore of a horse is
white, he is to be avoided." Similar ideas are expressed in European books
of the old time.
Among horse folk, unfamiliar with books, spoken lore takes such fantastic
forms that you would think some fabulous creature was being talked of. A
writer is forced to be simple in spite of himself, for the mere process of
setting down a fancy reduces it to orderly shape, whereas in long
rigmaroles of talk round the dreamy hūqqa, old fancies expand and are
distorted. And there is a purpose in elaboration. All craftsmen find it
profitable to shroud their art in mystery. Even in the West the esoteric
science of the horse expert could give points to the newest mystery of
"esoteric Buddhism" and beat it easily. In India it is still more to the
interest of horse people to keep up the mystery; for the Raja, the Nawāb,
and persons of condition must never be allowed to judge for themselves.
"Commission" is one of the High Gods of the country, and always in paying
one you pay many. The most eligible animal can be condemned for a curling
hair or an inauspicious touch of colour by a master of horse whose palm has
not been properly greased. In the West also you hear of commission; but,
though few horse buyers exercise as much independent judgment as they
think, common-sense and reason have some slight share in their
transactions.
[Illustration: A RAJA'S HORSE (WAZIRI BREED)]
There are several varieties of indigenous horses recognisable at once, and
you hear of more than you can discriminate. Many grains of salt must be
taken with horse talk generally and especially with Oriental brag of purity
of breed. The Kathiawar horse is interesting on account of his markings,
which include the asinine stripe along the back, and occasionally
zebra-like stripes on the legs. Marwári horses are prized especially by
native chiefs for their size and form. Among the Biloch, who have strong
Arab characteristics, racing is the national pastime, but only mares are
ridden, colts being killed as soon as they are born--a practice which may
be expected to die out. The Biloch preference for mares is expressed in a
saying: "A man with his saddle on a mare has his saddle on a horse; a man
with his saddle on a horse has his saddle on his head." Their races are a
little wild and irregular if judged by a European standard, but there is no
doubt as to their popularity, nor as to certain good qualities of the
animals. If a Biloch cannot afford a whole mare, he will own as many legs
of one as he can manage; and, as the animal has four legs, will keep her a
quarter of a year for each leg of which he is master, after which she
passes to the owners of the remaining legs. Akin to the Biloch is the
Waziri horse; both remarkable for a lyre-like incurving of the ears, which
is a beauty or a defect as the amateur may choose, and both have good
qualities of their own. In the Himálaya there is a variety of ponies,
sturdy gūnths, and yabus that could carry a church and climb up its
steeple, Bhutia ponies, and many other hill sorts from Peshawar to Pegu.
The Manipur ponies used for polo or _chaugán_ are mostly dun, and are
excellent beasts in their way, playing the game with very little help from
either knee or bridle.
[Illustration: A MONEY-LENDER ON A DECCAN PONY]
The characteristic all-pervading horse of the hot plains is the _tattoo_ or
country pony, a cat-hammed, shadowy animal seldom more than thirteen and a
half hands high. In the south they speak of the Deccan _tattoo_, which is a
better beast than others, but there seems to be no real difference of
breed. Among them you often come across distinctly Arab characteristics,
and most are dashed with the noble Arab blood. Though seldom good to look
at, lean and unkempt, vicious and ill to handle, he is a beast of immense
pluck and endurance. The half-soldier, half-brigand bands of Pindāris who
made a desert of the India to which the English power succeeded, used him
as their sumpter horse; and indeed few but the leaders rode anything else.
The Duke of Wellington made the acquaintance of the Deccan _tattoo_ serving
in this capacity, and briefly described him, mentioning twenty-five rupees
as the average price. Nowadays he is seldom so cheap; he carries the
cultivator, his wife and children, to fair or market, and takes the village
banker and money-lender abroad to view the crops and collect debts. Among
Hindus he is often saddled and bridled without a morsel of leather in the
whole equipment.
In Bengal and Madras, non-equestrian provinces, the animal often shrinks to
a framework caricature of a pony; a heavy head hung on a long weak neck, no
chest to speak of, inconceivably slender in girth, with weak hind legs
working over each other like the blades of a pair of scissors. A little boy
of my acquaintance truthfully described this kind of pony as "a real horse,
but very like a bicycle." In the North-West Provinces and the Punjab the
creature improves, is useful as a pack pony, and draws the ekka and the
_palki gāri_. Cruel over-driving and a heartless disregard of the
creature's thirst are the worst features of the immense ekka traffic of
Northern India. Probably the pedantic rules about drinking cause more
suffering than anything else. The native is always drinking water, for in a
land where to live is to sweat, you frequently want drink. But what is good
for him is thought bad for the pony, foaming and frothing in thirsty
misery.
[Illustration: BOMBAY TRAM-HORSE WEARING HORSE-CAP]
It is easy to see where the Deccan _tattoo_ and the country pony generally
get their quality from. Marco Polo wrote of a regular importation of Arab
horses from the Persian Gulf ports at the end of the thirteenth century. In
those days the vessels went up the Tanna Creek to the King of Callian. The
town of Callian is now a high and dry railway junction and ships cannot
reach it, but the importation has been going on ever since in vessels of
probably identical build with those of the old time. You may see them in
Bombay harbour, the horses standing a-row on the bags of dates that form
part of the cargo, looking exactly like a Noah's Ark with the lid off. From
the countries north of Kábul a constant immigration of the animals we call
Northern horses, or sometimes Kábulis, has been going on for nearly as
long a period, and still continues at the rate of about two thousand
annually, according to the calculation of one of the importers most largely
concerned. Balkh and the adjacent regions are said to be the main source of
the supply of Turkoman horses. The Kafilas or caravans are mostly manned by
natives of Ghazni and arrive in the Punjab from Kábul in the cold weather.
The Amir of Kábul, through whose country they pass, exacts tolls to the
amount of Rs.32 per horse, mares pay seven rupees less, and His Highness is
said to claim the pick of the droves at his own price. Many go to Bombay
and Calcutta for the use of the tram companies, and, with the Walers in the
same stables, are among the few horses in the world that wear hats as a
protection from the sun. Mr. Griffiths of Bombay has been good enough to
sketch for me the horse-cap in use, an eminently sensible contrivance,
which has been found to protect the animals from sunstroke and headache, to
which an animal from a comparatively cold country is liable. The country
pony is seldom affected by the sun, but he has not the shoulders and
substance of the Northern horse.
Many horses are annually imported from Australia, but they are mainly for
the army and wealthy people on the Bengal side of India, and are somewhat
outside my present scope. The British Government has for many years been
trying to improve the horses of the country by importing English
thoroughbreds, Arabs, and Norfolk trotters who stand as sires at the
service of farmers under certain conditions, which include the branding of
approved mares. So it will be seen that the stock of the country is of a
varied nature. The magnificent Shire horse of England is unknown and
probably impossible in India.
[Illustration: PUNJAB FARMER ON A BRANDED MARE]
A controversy has been going on intermittently for many years as to the
merits of the country-bred horse and the question of Indian horse-breeding
generally, which it would be impossible to summarise within reasonable
limits. But while the dispute has been raging, and Government has been
trying experiments and doing as much for horse-rearing as the diverse
counsel of experts seemed to justify (and no experts are quite so positive
in assertion or so cock-sure in contradiction as horse authorities), a
remarkable change has been brought about, and the principle of breeding in
India, declared by some to be unworkable, seems to have vindicated itself.
At all events, within the last quarter of a century a noticeable
improvement has taken place in all sorts and conditions of Indian
horseflesh. It is true that the horse-dealer, the Raja, the turf, and the
public at large have reaped much of the crop sown by Government for its own
army, but, as the Scottish saying has it, "What a neighbour gets is not
lost." It is scarcely in the nature of things for a Government to make
money in a difficult business like horse-breeding; we can only hope that
losing means learning. Nor is it only by the importation of thoroughbred
English and Arab sires, or by the establishment of horse-breeding farms,
that the influence of Government has been felt. Horse-fairs and horse-shows
have been encouraged in the equestrian regions with good effect. Among the
prizes given on these occasions are good English saddlery, including
bridles with merciful bits, which will one day supersede the cruel thorn
bit. But that day is still a long way off.
The Indian turf has played a great part in the improved treatment of
horses. One does not look for the nimbus of a saint over the head of the
average racing man, but in India he also is a missionary, spreading no
ignoble Gospel. For it is impossible to get high speed and quality under
the old conditions of starveling upbringing and crippling bondage. The
demand for ponies suitable for polo has resulted in an immense improvement
in pony breeding. A fair chance for development, good food, and good
training are, after all, the most urgent needs of the country pony. Some
animals of distinction on the polo ground have been taken from the shafts
of the ekka. The high prices given have had their effect, and polo ponies
are now to be had which it would be hard to beat for speed, endurance, and
handiness, though they may not always be equal to the weight of some
players. The prices, in fact, are too high, for the popularity of the game,
its increasing fastness, and the importance given to it by inter-regimental
tournaments, give the Indian dealer, who is as smart as any other
horse-dealer, a great opportunity. Formerly a subaltern of moderate means
could afford to buy and keep a string of tolerable animals, but now he must
pay fancy prices and often has to abandon the game. Combinations against
dealers are frequently discussed, but are scarcely likely to succeed.
Though smaller in size and inferior in substance, some of the best modern
Indian animals of this sort are not unlike the "cocktail" of England in the
early days of English racing, before the final triumph of the thoroughbred;
but they have a more elegant contour than the cocktail pictures show, and
are probably intrinsically better horses.
* * * * *
That the roads built by the English are a most important factor in Indian
progress is one of the notable discoveries of the obvious that I find
myself compelled to announce from time to time. In ancient days sculptures
and paintings show that horse chariots, recalling the ancient racing
chariots of Rome, were largely used, but in more recent times the Prince
and his Queens, as well as the peasant and his produce, were drawn by oxen
through the deep ruts and mires. There is no evidence of springs until the
early Englishman in Calcutta or Madras put a _palki_ on springs and four
wheels, where it has remained ever since, as the _dāk gāri_ or posting
carriage. The _ekka_, a single-horse, springless gig, seems to be an
indigenous carriage, and has the half-organic air that suggests antiquity.
Unknown in the Deccan, Western India, and Sind as far north as Mooltan, it
is the people's own "trap" from Peshawar through the Punjab, Hindustan, and
parts of Bengal nearly to Calcutta. Nothing could be more characteristic
than the primitive, useful, and cheaply-built machine here sketched.
The tea-tray is the top of an inverted three-sided prism resting on the
axle, so that every jolt is transmitted straight to the spines of the
occupants, who sit doubled up in the "two-foot-rule" fold which the Indian
frame seems to take by nature. A long _ekka_ drive is sharp discomfort to a
European, even when he has the tea-tray to himself; but natives to the
manner born pack themselves up like compressed capital N's, occupying but
little more floor space when sitting than when standing, and for hours
tranquilly maintain a position that would make a European die in an agony
of "pins and needles."
It is easy to sketch an _ekka_, but the appearance of the machine is only
part of the impression it makes. Noise is a necessity of the Oriental
nature; loud, continuous, strident din. So the horse is hung with bells,
and the cart has rows of loose plates that clash like cymbals. The
maddening din is supposed to cheer the horse as the sheep-bell "keeps a
stout heart in the ram with its tinkle." In the dark the jingle may be
useful, for lamps do not enter into the _ekka_ scheme, as many an
Englishman has found to his cost.
[Illustration:]
_The ekka, a tea-tray on wheels, dear,
Flies past as its occupants sit,
--For a pony you know never feels, dear--
All five pulling hard at one bit._
The _tonga_ is supposed by some to be an indigenous native of Western
India. It is a low, hooded, two-wheeled dog-cart on strong springs, with a
centre pole to which a pair of ponies are harnessed by an iron yoke bar,
curricle fashion. It is much used in the Deccan, and is now the Himálayan
post-cart running to Simla, Murree, and along the new Kashmir road. The
vehicle has good points of its own, but its springs proclaim it a modern
invention; according to some an importation from the Cape of Good Hope.
Travellers by _tonga_ often sit behind animals that are simply first-rate
of their kind, and perfectly suited to their work.
On the lines under Government control the horses are fairly dealt by, but
on routes where the native contractor has his own way sickening examples of
barbarity are often seen. A large proportion of _dāk gāri_, or post horses,
cannot be started without torture. Some have ears permanently broken and
torn by a savage trick of wringing them with the hands and a piece of cord,
the twitch is mercilessly applied to the noses of others, the inside of the
legs is chafed with a rough rope vigorously pulled with a sawing motion;
sometimes fire is applied, while whips and sticks ring like flails on a
threshing floor, and all the stable men of the stage yell and swear like
demons. The bad temper produced by stupid upbringing is partly to blame,
the mysterious nervous affection resulting in jibbing has something to do
with it; but dread of the pain of a collar chafing a sore is the usual
cause of the trouble.
Many of the _palki gāris_ used as hack cabs in Calcutta and other large
towns, owned by speculators who know nothing of their business, including
liquor-sellers, table-servants, and even priestesses of Venus retired from
business, are drawn by scare-crows that recall in a reduced and shadowy
form the outlines of Bewick's grim woodcut,--"Waiting for death." But the
mercy of death is denied to them.
Though the North-West _ekka_, the Deccan _tonga_, the Madras _bandy_, the
Bombay and Bengal _shigram_, and other variants of the _palki gāri_ may be
considered characteristically Indian, they by no means exhaust the number
of vehicles in use; for, since the days when the craftsmen of Delhi copied
the English carriages sent as presents to the Great Mogul, there has been a
continuous importation of the best and the worst coach work that Long Acre
can produce.
One of the first steps taken in technical progress was the
carriage-building trade, now gradually spreading over the country. Oil
painting and varnishing, carpentry, smith's work and leather dressing, owe
much to this craft. Dog-carts and numerous varieties of one-horse spring
carts seem to be supplanting the once universal buggy or hooded gig. The
_brum gāri_, brougham; the _fitton gāri_, phaeton or barouche; the
_vāgnit_, waggonette, are now built in most large towns by native
craftsmen, springs and axle-boxes being of European make. It is of no use
to protest against these barbarous words, for, like _bōtel_ for bottle, and
_kitli_ for kettle, with other travesties of our tongue, they are fixed in
popular speech. The _vāgnit_ seems likely to be the carriage of the future,
because of its capacity. The Oriental, like the ant, goes forth in bands,
and is capable of piling more people in, on, or about a carriage than would
be believed in Europe.
Not only does an improvement in the vehicles in use testify to increased
prosperity, but it ought to mean an amelioration in the condition of the
horse. One would like to write confidently of the future, but considering
all that has been done by our veterinary colleges and hospitals
(missionary efforts of the highest value), and all the influence of the
British power, it must be confessed that though there is enough for an
official triumph, much remains to be done before the horse of the Indian
people can be reckoned to have a fair chance. Nor can one who knows the
country escape from the reflection that we underrate the apathy and
indifference of its various races; alike in this, that they are and must be
constitutionally disinclined to take the trouble that merciful and just
treatment of animals in servitude involves.
The Indian farrier has some sound notions and is acquainted with a few
valuable remedies for disease, but he has a passion for long prescriptions,
esteemed according to the number and nastiness of their ingredients.
Mixtures of lucky numbers of substances (always odd) must include inert or
noxious matter. But the mere number is part of the charm. Like the farriers
of Britain, he is given to an abuse of the firing-iron, but cherishes a
faith in the pattern of the brand unknown to the Western world. He does his
best to make a mystery of his lore and practice, but everybody about an
Indian stable seems to have a taste for medicine. Even in England many
grooms dabble in quackery and "know of a rare fine thing for a 'oss,"
which, as a rule, were better let alone. The education of the farrier and
of the shoeing-smith is a duty which the Government has undertaken with
some success. But the Oriental has a faculty of learning with seeming
eagerness and then of laying his lesson aside as one folds a garment and
puts it away.
* * * * *
In the West the horse goes to the smith to be shod, in the East the smith
comes to the horse; bringing with him a wallet full of tools, a bellows
made to work in a hole in the ground, and an apprentice to help him. And
the animal's feet are held for him in turn as shown in the accompanying
sketch.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN FARRIER]
Reference has been made at some length to the typical method of dealing
with the horses of persons of quality. It is only fair to say that in this
field better notions are spreading. H.H. The Maharaja of Ulwar, the
Maharaja (late Thakore) of Bhaonagar, the Maharaja of Jodhpur, and
doubtless other princes, could be cited whose stables and studs, sometimes
managed by English experts, show a very different picture from that usually
presented. From a series of letters written to the _Pioneer_ by my son,
describing a tour in Rajputana, I extract a description of a visit he paid
to the establishment of a native prince well known on the Indian turf,
premising that Colonel Parrott mentioned therein is one of the most
successful breeders of horses in India.
"The Maharaja led on from horse-box to horse-box, pointing
out each horse of note, and Jodhpur has many. 'There's Raja,
twice winner of the Civil Service Cup.' Close to him stood
Autocrat, the gray with nutmeg marks on the off shoulder,--a
picture of a horse. Next to him was a chestnut Arab, a
hopeless cripple, for one of his knees had been smashed and
the leg was doubled up under him. It was Turquoise, who six
or eight years ago rewarded good feeding by getting away
from his groom, falling down, and ruining himself, but who,
none the less, has lived an honoured pensioner on the
Maharaja's bounty ever since. No horses are shot in Jodhpur
stables, and when one dies his funeral is an event. He is
wrapped in a white sheet, which is strewn with flowers, and
amid the weeping of the grooms is borne away to the burial
ground. After doing the honours for half an hour the
Maharaja left me, and as I had not seen more than forty
horses I felt justified in demanding more. And I got them.
Eclipse and Young Revenge were out, down country, but
Sherwood, Shere Ali, Conqueror, Tynedale, Sherwood II., a
maiden of Abdul Rahman's, and many others of note were in
and were brought out. Among the veterans, a wrathful,
rampant, red horse still, came Brian Boru, whose name has
been written large in the chronicles of the Indian turf,
jerking his groom across the road. His near fore is
altogether gone, but as a pensioner he condescends to go in
harness and is said to be a handful. He certainly looks it.
At the two hundred and fifty-seventh horse and perhaps the
twentieth block of stables, my brain began to reel, and I
demanded rest and information on a certain point. I had gone
into some fifty stalls and looked into all the rest, and in
the looking had searchingly sniffed. But, as truly as I was
then standing far below Brian Boru's bony withers, never the
ghost of a stench had polluted the keen morning air. This
city of the Houyhnhnms was specklessly clean, cleaner than
any stable, racing or private, that I had been into. How was
it done? The pure white sand accounted for a good deal, and
the rest was explained by one of the Masters of Horse. 'Each
horse has one groom at least; Old Ringwood he had four, and
we make 'em work. If we didn't we'd be mucked up to the
horses' bellies in no time. Everything is cleaned off at
once; and whenever the sand's tainted it's renewed. There's
quite enough sand, you see, hereabouts. Of course we can't
keep their coats so bright as in other stables, by reason of
the rolling; but we can keep 'em pretty clean.' This
immaculate purity was very striking, and quite as impressive
was the condition of the horses, which was English, quite
English. Naturally, none of them were in any training beyond
daily exercise, but they were fit and in good fettle. Many
of them were out on the various tracks, and many were coming
in. Roughly, two hundred go out of a morning.
"It was pleasant to sit and watch the rush of the horses
through the great opening--gates are not affected--going on
to the countryside where they take the air. Here a
boisterous unschooled Arab, his flag spun silk in the
sunlight, shot out across the road and cried ha! ha! in the
scriptural manner, before trying to rid himself of the
grinning black imp on his back. Behind him a Kábuli--(surely
all Kábulis must have been born with Pelhams in their
mouths)--bored sulkily across the road or threw himself
across the path of a tall, mild-eyed Kurnál-bred youngster,
whose cocked ears and swinging head showed that though he
was so sedate, he was thoroughly taking in his surroundings,
and would very much like to know if there were anybody
better than himself on the course that morning. Impetuous as
a schoolboy and irresponsible as a monkey, one of the
Prince's polo ponies, not above racing in his own set, would
answer the query by rioting past the sedate pupil of Colonel
Parrott, his body cloth flapping free in the wind and his
head and banged tail in the air. The youngster would swing
himself round and polka-mazurka for a few paces, till his
attention would be caught by some dainty Child of the
Desert, an Arab fresh from the Bombay stables, sweating at
every sound, backing and filling like a rudderless ship.
Then, thanking his stars that he was wiser than some people,
No. 177 would lob on to the track and settle down to his
spin like the gentleman he was.
"Elsewhere, the eye fell upon a cloud of nameless ones,
whose worth will be proved next hot weather when they are
seriously taken in hand--skirmishing over the face of the
land and enjoying themselves immensely. High above
everything else, like a collier among barges, screaming
shrilly, a black, flamboyant Marwári stallion, with a crest
like the crest of a barb, barrel-bellied, goose-rumped, and
river-maned, pranced through the press, while the slow
pacing Waler carriage horses eyed him with deep disfavour,
and the young prince's tiny mount capered under his pink
Roman nose, kicking up as much dust as the Foxhall colt,
dancing a saraband on a lovely patch of sand. In and out of
the tangle, going to or coming back from the courses, ran,
shuffled, rocketed, plunged, sulked, or stampeded countless
horses of all kinds, shapes, and descriptions--so that the
eye at last failed to see what they were, and retained only
a general impression of a whirl of bays, grays, iron-grays,
and chestnuts with white stockings, some as good as could be
desired, others average, but not one distinctly bad.
"'We have no downright bad 'uns in this stable. What's the
use?' said the English Master of Horse calmly. 'They are all
good beasts, and one with another must cost more than a
thousand each. This year's new ones brought from Bombay, and
the pick of our own studs, are a hundred strong, about.
Maybe more. Yes, they look all right enough; but you can
never know what they are going to turn out. Live stock is
very uncertain.'
"'And how are the stables managed; how do you make room for
the fresh stock?'
"'Something this way. Here are all the new ones and Colonel
Parrott's lot and the English colts that Maharaja Pertáb
Singh brought out with him from home. Winterlake, out o'
Queen Consort, that chestnut with the two white stockings
you're looking at now. Well, next hot weather we shall see
what they are made of, and which is who. There's so many
that the trainer hardly knows 'em one from another till they
begin to be a good deal forward. Those that haven't got the
pace, or that the Maharaja don't fancy, they're taken out
and sold for what they'll bring. The man who takes the
horses out has a good job of it. He comes back and says: "I
sold such and such for so much and here's the money." That's
all. Well, our rejections are worth having. They have taken
prizes at the Poona horse show. See for yourself. Is there
one of those there you wouldn't be glad to take for a hack,
and look well after, too? Only, they're no use to us, and so
out they go by the score. We've got sixty riding boys,
perhaps more, and they've got their work cut out to keep 'em
all going. What you've seen are only the stables. We've got
one stud at Bellara, eighty miles out, and they come in
sometimes in droves of three or four hundred from the stud.
They raise Marwáris there too, but that's entirely under
native management. We've got nothing to do with that. The
natives reckon a Marwári the best country-bred you can lay
your hands on, and some of them are beauties! Crests on 'em
like the top of a wave. Well, there's that stud and another
stud, and, reckoning one with another, I should say the
Maharaja has nearer twelve hundred than a thousand horses of
his own. For this place here two waggon loads of grass come
in every day from Marwar Junction. Lord knows how many
saddles and bridles we've got! I never counted. I suppose
we've about forty carriages, not counting the ones that get
shabby and are stacked in places in the city, as I suppose
you've seen. We take 'em out in the morning, a regular
string all together, brakes and all; but the prettiest
turn-out we ever turned out was Lady Dufferin's pony
four-in-hand. Walers, thirteen two the wheelers and thirteen
one the leaders. They took prizes at Poona. That _was_ a
pretty turn-out. The prettiest in India. Lady Dufferin, she
drove it when the Viceroy was down here last year. There are
bicycles and tricycles in the carriage department too. I
don't know how many, but when the Viceroy's camp was held,
there was about one a-piece for the gentlemen with remounts.
How do we manage to keep the horses so quiet? You'll find
some of the youngsters play the goat a good deal when they
come out o' stable, but, as you say, there's no vice
generally. It's this way. We don't allow any curry-combs. If
we did the men would be wearing out their brushes on the
combs. It's all elbow-grease here. They've got to go over
the horses with their hands. They must handle 'em, and a
native, he's afraid of a horse. Now an English groom, when
the horse is playing the fool, clips him over the head with
a curry-comb, or punches him in the belly; and that hurts
the horse's feelings. A native, he just stands back till the
trouble is over. He _must_ handle the horse, or he'd get
into trouble for not dressing him, so it comes to all
handling and no licking, and that's why you won't get hold
of a really vicious brute in these stables. Old Ringwood, he
had four grooms, and he wanted 'em, every one, but the other
horses haven't more than one man a-piece. The Maharaja, he
keeps fourteen or fifteen horses for his own riding. Not
that he cares to ride now, but he likes to have his horses
and no one else can touch 'em. Then, there's the horses he
mounts his visitors on when they go out pig-sticking
(boar-hunting) and such like, and there's a lot of horses
that go to Maharaja Pertáb Singh's new cavalry regiment. So
you see a horse can go through all three degrees sometimes
before he is sold and be a good horse at the end of it. And
I think that's about all.'"
While speaking of the horse as he is, we are forgetting the popular
estimate of him. In spite of ill-usage, he stands for honour and state both
among Hindus and Muhammadans. Centuries have passed since the Aswamheda or
great Hindu horse-sacrifice was celebrated, but the tradition lingers even
among unlettered folk. As associated with _Sūrya_, the Sun God, he is held
in esteem. Our analytical way of explaining the inner meaning of such
associations is not congenial to the blandly receptive Oriental mind, which
does not take its stories to pieces as if they were clocks. There may be
astronomical facts hidden in the horses harnessed to the chariot of the
sun, but so far as the Hindu at large is concerned, they are inventions of
European Scholars.
Muhammadans unite to praise him, for the Prophet himself, who at one
critical time had but two horses in his whole army, and knew his value, has
left a formal benediction: "Thou shalt be to man a source of happiness and
wealth, thy back shall be a seat of honour and thy belly of riches, every
grain of barley given to thee shall purchase indulgence for the sinner."
Also, from the winged horses of Persian invention, akin to Pegasus, and
Borak the mystic steed of Muhammad, he stands for fancy and imagination. A
dreamer or a poetical person "rides the horse of the winds." Swiftness and
despatch have for long been associated with the horse. The rapid
transmission of news by the horse post of the first Darius was one of the
wonders of the ancient world, so the Persians said that the great King's
post-riders flew faster than the cranes. Eastern proverbs and stories never
die, but are handed down from age to age, from hero to hero, and in recent
times the Emperor Akbar's similar post still further helped to connect the
diffusion of news,--literature and intelligence,--with horses in the
popular mind. Written words are still said to "gallop on a paper horse,"
the order of Government goes forth "on a steed of air." The postcards of
the Nepal State have a little black horse stamped upon them.
Then, in addition to many esoteric sayings of stable lore, there are homely
words in everybody's mouth. "You can't find out the jokes of a horse, nor
the ailments of a baby" hints that spirited horses have more to set them
capering and kicking than the human knows of. Of an old woman in gay attire
they say, "An old mare in a red rein." Our brutal saw says, "Old ewe, lamb
fashion." The Bengalis say, "You tell a horse by his ears and a generous
man by his gifts," an inconclusive saying. _Do_ you tell a horse by his
ears, except perhaps in Bengal? "When the horse's tail grows longer he'll
brush his own flies off," is a saying with a reference to the access of
influence consequent on official promotion. The Persians say, and the
saying is current in India, "It is too late to give barley when you are at
the foot of the hill." "The Governor's (or Government officer's) mare eats
sixty pounds of corn," is a common and warrantable complaint of the
exactions of official underlings in the name of their masters.
Horses take a great part in most Indian weddings, Both Hindu and Muhammadan
bridegrooms ride in procession, while the bride is borne in a canopied
litter. In Bengal, however, all go on wheels, caparisoned horses being led
to swell the show. In some hill regions both bride and bridegroom are
carried in litters. The equestrian marriage parade is probably an ancient
custom based, it may be, on the marriage by capture of which we hear so
much. In Western India the bridegroom rides, covered with tinsel and gay
clothing, in the midst of a moving square of artificial flowers and bushes,
counterfeiting a garden, borne on long platforms on the heads of coolies.
In the case of the trading Hindus of the cities this ride is often the
first and last occasion of crossing a horse. The child bridegroom begins
his progress with a light heart, but the weight of his finery, the smoke of
the torches, the din of the throbbing, screaming music, and the ceaseless
clamour soon tell, and you may see the poor little man crying as he is held
in the saddle, or lifted off, half dead with sleep, and put into a litter.
When the bridegroom is of mature age the effect is often absurdly quaint.
Part of the wedding finery is a veil, which has come to be a dropping-well
arrangement of tinsel or cut paper fringes through which the most sensible
face alive looks foolish. But one of the peculiarities of India is that
nothing there is absurd. Disguises that would be grotesque and laughable in
the West are accepted in the East without comment.
Some religious mendicants habitually ride, especially on the Punjab
frontier. You may also see strings of them entering the towns of the plains
in picturesque procession. Mendicancy is an honourable profession,
practised by many men of admirable character, and by a host of ruffians who
lead vagabond lives, diversified by drunkenness, thieving, and debauchery.
Some _Bairágis_, as distinguished from other ascetics, are gathered into
monasteries, nor would it be easy for a purist in morals to find fault with
their lives and conduct. Other sects that wander and beg have houses and
lands; but there is no escape from the conclusion that the country,
notwithstanding its hidden wealth, is too poor to keep vast armies of
able-bodied priests and beggars. The wonder is that though the respectable
classes complain bitterly of sanctified loaferdom, there is scarcely a
house that does not periodically receive and entertain more or less godly
loafers.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK (HINDU DEVOTEE)]
Concerning the mule there is not much that can be said with propriety, for
his mixed descent points salt and perpetual gibes at ill-assorted marriages
and bastards, whereon native opinion is very severe. As in Æsop, when the
mule boasts of his mother's high family, he is asked for news of his
father, whereupon the poor wretch is silent and ashamed. There is a strong
prejudice in the minds of many Hindus against mule breeding as unnatural
and improper. The degradation of the ass, the offscouring of all things, is
probably at the root of this. It is wicked to couple a noble creature of
good caste with the ignoble, impure, small-pox-defiled donkey. As to mere
differences of kind, it is not likely that the Hindu would trouble his
incurious mind; for stranger unions than this are recorded with approval.
Thus, in a countryside saying current in the Deccan, the beauty of a breed
of cows is popularly attributed to the interference of an antelope sire. So
one might class the mule as a European introduction (he really is a
Government institution); while the Hindu smiles complacently, seeing in the
creature a type of the irregularity and inferiority of the mixed lineages
of the West.
The mule, however, is bred in increasing numbers, for he is an ideal pack
animal, born and made to carry the burdens of armies over difficult
countries, and good at draught. Sure of foot, hard of hide, strong in
constitution, frugal in diet, a first-rate weight carrier, indifferent to
heat and cold, he combines the best, if the most homely characteristics of
both the noble houses from which he is descended. He fails in beauty, and
his infertility is a reproach, but even ugliness has its advantages. The
heavy head of the mule is a mercy to him, for both in practice and the
written orders of Government it is ordained that he is not to be bothered
with bearing-reins. So that big _chef_ serves its natural purposes and is
an index, unerring as a steam engine's dial, to how much is left in him.
When tired the ears droop back, losing the alert forward tilt of the
morning, and the head drops lower and lower. This freedom of the head gives
additional play to his heels, for he is a superb kicker. A spirited mule in
full fling radiates a rainbow of kicks, an aurora made splendid by the
flash and flicker of his iron hoofs. With his fore-feet as a centre he
clears for himself a sacred inviolable circle. And there are mules as handy
with a swift fore-foot as ever was Tom Sayers with his left. So it is
written in Major Burn's official manual: "Examining a mule's mouth with
the view of ascertaining his age is at times a risky operation, and the
following method is recommended: Put a halter on the mule's head and
blind-fold him; stand well in against the near fore-shoulder, pass the hand
gently up the neck, patting the animal as it goes, and take a firm grip of
the root of the ear with the right hand. Seize the upper lip and nose
quickly and lightly with the left hand. This must be done quickly and
resolutely, guarding against a blow from the fore-foot. In this way a
glance at the incisors will be obtained, and it will be seen whether the
corner tooth is temporary or permanent." It is to no common animal that a
careful Government inscribes so respectful a tribute.
[Illustration: THE WHEELS OF A MOUNTAIN BATTERY]
Perhaps the finest mules in the service of the Indian Government are those
which carry its mountain artillery, an arm in which equipment, adaptation
to work, smartness and efficiency in action seem to have reached their
highest point. Some animals carry the guns, others ammunition chests, and
others the wheels of the batteries, and all are able to go anywhere. In
pictures by amateur artists you may see them represented in action on a
mountain summit boldly outlined against the sky. But in practice this most
picturesque position is not the best for the health of either gunners or
mules, nor for efficient attack. There is a special science of mountain
gunnery akin to good deer-stalking or ibex hunting. While watching a
mountain battery at work, and studying the hill contours, you may gain some
hint of the powers of an arm which delivers its fire from the most
unexpected places, and seems to arrive by unseen and sheltered ways at
exactly the proper point of attack. It is natural that the officers and men
of so highly specialised a service should cherish an _esprit de corps_
which is perhaps not exaggerated in a verse from my son's barrack-room
ballad, "Screw-Guns"--
"They send us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they
ain't;
We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the
paint;
We've chivied the Naga an' Lushai, we've give the Afreedee man fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two
bits."