BENARES, THE HOLY CITY.
We had begun to feel ourselves at home in India. A stranger takes root
quickly, as foreign plants take root in the soil, and spring up under
the sun and rain of the tropics. A traveller makes acquaintances that
ripen into friendship and bind him so fast that it is a real pain when
he has to break away and leave these new friends behind. Thus
Allahabad had become our Indian home. The missionary community was so
delightful, and everybody was so kind and hospitable, that we had come
to feel as if we were only in an outlying corner of America. The
missionary bungalow was like a parsonage in New England; and when we
left all, and the train rolled across the long bridge over the Jumna,
from which we saw Miss Seward and Miss Wilson standing on their
veranda, and waving us farewell, it seemed as if we were leaving home.
But the holy city was before us. Some seventy miles from Allahabad
stands a city which, to the devout Hindoo, is the most sacred place on
earth--one which overtops all others, as the Himalayas overtop all
other mountains on the globe. There are holy shrines in different
countries, which are held sacred by the devotees of different
religions; but there are four chief holy cities--Rome, Jerusalem,
Mecca, and Benares. As the devout Catholic makes a pilgrimage to Rome,
to receive the blessing of the Holy Father; as the Jew traverses land
and sea, that his feet may stand within the gates of Jerusalem, where
he weeps at the place of wailing under the walls of the ancient
temple; as the caravan of the Arab still crosses the desert to Mecca;
so does the devout Hindoo come to Benares, and count it his supreme
joy if he can but see its domes and towers; and eternal felicity to
die on the banks of the sacred river.
A couple of hours brought us to the Ganges, from which we had a full
view of the city on the other side of the river. If the first sight
did not awaken in us the same emotions as in the mind of the Hindoo,
the scene was picturesque enough to excite our admiration. The
appearance of Benares is very striking. For two miles it presents a
succession of palaces and temples which are built not only on, but
almost in, the river, as Venice is built in the sea; the huge
structures crowding each other on the bank, and flights of steps going
down into the water, as if they would receive the baptism of the
sacred river as it flowed gently by; as if the people listened fondly
to its murmurs, and when wakened in their dreams, were soothed to hear
its waters lapping the very stones of their palaces.
We crossed the river on a bridge of boats, and drove out to the
English quarter, which is two or three miles distant, and here rested
an hour or two before we took a courier and plunged into the labyrinth
of the city, in which a stranger would soon be lost who should attempt
to explore it without a guide. Benares would be well worth a visit if
it were only for its Oriental character. It is peculiarly an Indian
city, with every feature of Asiatic and of Indian life strongly
marked. Its bazaars are as curious and as rich as any in Asia, with
shawls of cashmere, and silks wrought by fine needlework into every
article of costly array. It has also cunning workmen in precious
metals and precious stones--in gold and silver and diamonds. One
special industry is workmanship in brass. We brought away a number of
large trays, curiously wrought like shields. One contains a lesson in
Hindoo mythology for those who are able to read it, as on it are
traced all the incarnations of Vishnu.
While thus rambling about the city, we had an opportunity to see
something of the marriage customs of the Hindoos, as we met in the
streets a number of wedding processions. The heavenly influences were
favorable to such unions. The Hindoos are great astrologers, and give
high importance to the conjunction of the stars, and do not marry
except when Jupiter is in the ascendant. Just now he rides high in the
heavens, and this is the favored time of love. The processions were
very curious. The bridegroom was mounted on horseback, tricked out in
the dress of a harlequin, with a crowd on horses and on foot, going
before and following after, waving flags, beating drums, and making
all manner of noises, to testify their joy; while the bride, who was
commonly a mere child, was borne in a palanquin, covered with ribbons
and trinkets and jewelry, looking, as she sat upright in her doll's
house, much more as if she were a piece of frosted cake being carried
to the wedding, than a living piece of flesh and blood that had any
part therein. Altogether the scene was more like a Punch-and-Judy
show, than any part of the serious business of life. Engagements are
often made when the parties are in childhood, or even in infancy; and
the marriage consummated at twelve. These child-marriages are a great
curse to the country, as they fill the land with their puny offspring,
that wither like weeds in the hot sun of India. It is a pity that they
could not be prohibited; that marriages could not be forbidden until
the parties had reached at least sixteen years of age.
Another thing which greatly amused us was to see how the people made
way for us wherever we came. The streets are very narrow, and there is
not room for a jostling crowd. But their politeness stopped at no
obstacle. They meant to give us a free passage. They drew to one side,
making themselves very small, and even hugging the wall, to get out of
our way. We accepted this delicate attention as a mark of respect,
which we thought a touching proof of Oriental courtesy; and with the
modesty of our countrymen, regarded it as an homage to our greatness.
We were a little taken aback at being informed that, on the contrary,
it was to avoid pollution; that if they but touched the hem of our
garments, they would have had to run to the Ganges to wash away the
stain!
But we need not make merry with these strict observances of the
people, for with them Religion is the great business of life, and it
is as the Mecca of their faith that Benares has such interest for the
intelligent traveller. No city in India, perhaps none in all Asia,
dates back its origin to a more remote antiquity. It is the very
cradle of history and of religion. Here Buddha preached his new faith
centuries before Christ was born in Judea--a faith which still sways a
larger part of mankind than any other, though it has lost its dominion
in the place where it began. Here Hindooism, once driven out, still
fought and conquered, and here it still has its seat, from which it
rules its vast and populous empire.
It is always interesting to study a country or a religion in its
capital. As we go to Rome to see Romanism, we come to Benares to see
Hindooism, expecting to find it in its purest form. Whether that is
anything to boast of, we can tell better after we have seen a little
of this, its most holy city. Benares is full of temples and shrines.
Of course we could only visit a few of the more sacred. The first that
we entered was like a menagerie. It was called the Monkey Temple; and
rightly so, for the place was full of the little creatures. It fairly
swarmed with them. They were overhead and all around us, chattering as
if they were holding a council in the heart of a tropical forest. The
place was for all the world like the monkey-house in the Zoological
Gardens in London, or in our Central Park in New York, and would be an
amusing resort for children were it not regarded as a place for
religious worship. Perhaps some innocent traveller thinks this a
touching proof of the charming simplicity of the Hindoos, that they
wish to call on all animated nature to unite in devotion, and that
thus monkeys (speaking the language which monkeys understand) are
permitted to join with devout Hindoos in the worship of their common
Creator. But a glance shows the stranger that the monkeys are here,
not to worship, but to be worshipped. According to the Pantheism of
the Hindoos, all things are a part of God. Not only is he the author
of life, but he lives in his creatures, so that they partake of his
divinity; and therefore whatsoever thing liveth and moveth on the
earth--beast, or bird, or reptile--is a proper object of worship.
But the monkeys were respectable compared with the hideous idol which
is enthroned in this place. In the court of the Temple is a shrine, a
Holy of Holies, where, as the gilded doors are swung open, one sees a
black divinity, with thick, sensual lips, that are red with blood, and
eyes that glare fiendishly. This is the goddess Doorgha, whose sacred
presence is guarded by Brahmin priests, so that no profane foot may
come near her. While they kept us back with holy horror from
approaching, they had no scruples about reaching out their hands to
receive our money. It is the habit of strangers to drop some small
coin in the outstretched palms. But I was too much disgusted to give
to the beggars. They were importunate, and said the Prince of Wales,
who was there a few days before, had given them a hundred rupees.
Perhaps he felt under a necessity of paying such a mark of respect to
the religion of the great Empire he was to rule. But ordinary
travellers are under no such obligation. The rascals trade in the
curiosity of strangers. It might be well if they did not find it such
a source of revenue. So I would not give them a penny; though I
confess to spending a few pice on nuts and "sweets" for the monkeys,
who are the only ones entitled to "tribute" from visitors; and then,
returning to the gharri, we rode disgusted away. In another part of
the city is the Golden Temple, devoted to the god Shiva, which
divides with that of the monkeys the homage of the Hindoos. Here are
no chattering apes, though the place is profaned with the presence of
beasts and birds. Some dozen cows were standing or lying down in the
court, making it seem more like a stable or a barnyard than a holy
place. Yet here was a fakir rapt in the ecstasies of devotion, with
one arm uplifted, rigid as a pillar of iron. He was looked upon with
awe by the faithful who crowded around him, and who rewarded his
sanctity by giving him money; but to our profane eyes he was a figure
of pride (though disguised under the pretence of spirituality), as
palpable to the sight as the peacock who spread his tail and strutted
about in the filthy enclosure.
But perhaps the reader will think that we have had enough of this, and
will gladly turn to a less revolting form of superstition. The great
sight of Benares is the bathing in the Ganges. This takes place in the
morning. We rose early the next day, and drove down to the river, and
getting a boat, were rowed slowly for hours up and down the stream. It
is lined with temples and palaces, which descend to the water by
flights of steps, or _ghauts_, which at this hour are thronged with
devout Hindoos. By hundreds and thousands they come down to the
river's brink, men, women, and children, and wade in, not swimming,
but standing in the water, plunging their heads and mumbling their
prayers, and performing their libations, by taking the water in their
hands, and casting it towards the points of the compass, as an act of
worship to the celestial powers, especially to the sun.
As the boatmen rested on their oars, that we might observe the strange
scene, C---- started with horror to see a corpse in the water. It was
already half decayed, and obscene birds were fluttering over it. But
this is too common a sight in Benares to raise any emotion in the
breast of the Hindoo, whose prayer is that he may die on the banks of
the Ganges. Does his body drift down with the stream, or become food
for the fowls of the air, his soul floats to its final rest in the
Deity, as surely as the Ganges rolls onward to the sea.
But look! here is another scene. We are approaching the Burning Ghaut,
and I see piles of wood, and human bodies, and smoke and flame. I bade
the boatmen draw to the shore, that we might have a clearer view of
this strange sight. Walking along the bank, we came close to the
funeral piles. Several were waiting to be lighted. When all is ready,
the nearest male relative walks round and round the pile, and then
applies to it a lighted withe of straw. Here was a body just dressed
for the last rites. It was wrapped in coarse garments, perhaps all
that affection could give. Beside it stood a woman, watching it with
eager eyes, lest any rude hand should touch the form which, though
dead, was still beloved. I looked with pity into her sad, sorrowful
face. What a tale of affection was there!--of love for the life that
was ended, and the form that was cherished, that was soon to be but
ashes, and to float away upon the bosom of the sacred river.
Another pile was already lighted, and burning fiercely. I stood close
to it, till driven away by the heat and smoke. As the flames closed
round the form, portions of the body were exposed. Now the hair was
consumed in a flash, leaving the bare skull; now the feet showed from
the other end of the pile. It was a ghastly sight. Now a horrid smell
filled the air, and still the pile glowed like a furnace, crackling
with the intense heat, and shot out tongues of flame that seemed eager
to lick up every drop of blood.
In this disposal of the dead there is nothing to soothe the mourner
like a Christian burial, when the body is committed to the earth,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust, when a beloved form is laid down under
the green turf gently, as on a mother's breast.
The spectacle of this morning, with the similar one at Allahabad, have
set me a-thinking. I ask, What idea do the Hindoos attach to bathing
in the Ganges? Is it purification or expiation, or both? Is it the
putting away of sin by the washing of water; the cleansing of the body
for the sins of the soul? Or is there in it some idea of atonement?
What is the fascination of this religious observance? Perhaps no
stranger can fully understand it, or enter into the feeling with which
the devout Hindoo regards the sacred river. The problem grows the more
we study it. However we approach the great river of India, we find a
wealth of associations gathering around it such as belongs to no other
river on the face of the earth. No other is so intimately connected
with the history and the whole life of a people. Other rivers have
poetical or patriotic associations. The ancient Romans kept watch on
the Tiber, as the modern Germans keep watch on the Rhine. But these
are associations of country and of patriotic pride--not of life, not
of existence, not of religion. In these respects the only river in the
world which approaches the Ganges is the Nile, which, coming down from
the Highlands of Central Africa, floods the long valley, which it has
itself made in the desert, turning the very sands into fertility, and
thus becoming the creator and life-giver of Egypt.
What the Nile is to Egypt, the Ganges is to a part of India, giving
life and verdure to plains that but for it were a desert. As it bursts
through the gates of the Himalayas, and sweeps along with resistless
current, cooling with its icy breath the hot plains of India, and
giving fertility to the rice fields of Bengal, it may well seem to the
Hindoo the greatest visible emblem of Almighty power and Infinite
beneficence.
But it is more than an emblem. The ancient Egyptians worshipped the
Nile as a god, and in this they had the same feeling which now exists
among the Hindoos in regard to the Ganges. It is not only a sacred
river because of its associations; it is itself Divine, flowing, like
the River of Life in the Book of Revelation, out of the throne of God.
It descends out of heaven, rising in mountains whose tops touch the
clouds--the sacred mountains which form the Hindoo Kylas, or Heaven,
the abode of the Hindoo Trinity--of Brahma and Shiva and Vishnu.
Rushing from under a glacier in the region of everlasting snow, it
seems as if it gushed from the very heart of the Dweller on that holy
mount; as if that flowing stream were the life-blood of the Creator.
When the Hindoo has seized this idea, it takes strong hold of his
imagination. As he stands on the banks of the Ganges at night, and
sees its broad current quivering under the rays of the full moon, it
seems indeed as if it were the clear stream flowing through the calm
breast of God himself, bearing life from Him to give life to the
world. Hence in his creed it has all the virtue and the "divine power
that belongs in the Christian system to the blood of Christ. It makes
atonement for sins that are past." "He that but looks on the Ganges,"
says the Hindoo proverb, "or that drinks of it, washes away the stains
of a hundred births; but he that bathes in it washes away the stains
of a thousand births." This is a virtue beyond that of the Nile, or
the rivers of Damascus, or of the Jordan, or even of
Siloa's brook
That flowed fast by the oracle of God.
It is a virtue which can be found alone in that blood which "cleanseth
from all sin."
The spectacle of such superstition produced a strong revulsion of
feeling, and made me turn away from these waters that cannot cleanse
the guilty soul, nor save the dying, to the Mighty Sufferer, whose
blood was shed for the sins of the world, and I seemed to hear voices
in far-off Christian lands singing:
E'er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
But I do not sit in judgment on the Hindoos, nor include a whole
people in one general condemnation. Some of them are as noble
specimens of humanity, with as much "natural goodness" as can be found
anywhere; and are even religious in their way, and in zeal and
devotion an example to their Christian neighbors. Of this, a very
striking instance can be given here.
On the other side of the Ganges lives a grand old Hindoo, the
Maharajah of Benares, and as he is famed for his hospitality to
strangers, we sent him a letter by a messenger (being assured that
that was the proper thing to do), saying that we should be happy to
pay our respects to my lord in his castle; and in a few hours received
a reply that his carriage should be sent to our hotel for us the next
morning, and that his boat would convey us across the river. We did
not wait for the carriage, as we were in haste to depart for Calcutta
the same forenoon, but rode down in our own gharri to the river side,
where we found the boat awaiting us. On the other bank stood a couple
of elephants of extraordinary size, that knelt down and took us on
their broad backs, and rolled off at a swinging pace to a pleasant
retreat of the Maharajah a mile or two from the river, where he had a
temple of his own, situated in the midst of beautiful gardens.
On our return we were marched into the courtyard of the castle, where
the attendants received us, and escorted us within. The Maharajah did
not make his appearance, as it was still early, but his secretary
presented himself to do the honors, giving his master's respects with
his photograph, and showing us every possible courtesy. We were shown
through the rooms of state, where the Prince of Wales had been
received a few weeks before. The view from the terrace on the river
side is enchanting. It is directly on the water, and commands a view
up and down the Ganges for miles, while across the smooth expanse rise
the temples and palaces of the Holy City. What a place for a Brahmin
to live or to die!
This Maharajah of Benares is well known all over India. He is a member
of the Viceroy's Council at Calcutta, and held in universal respect by
the English community. Sir William Muir, who is one of the most
pronounced Christian men in India, whom some would even call a Puritan
for his strictness, told me that the Maharajah was one of the best of
men. And yet he is of the straitest sect of the Hindoos, who bathes in
the Ganges every morning, and "does his pooja." In all religious
observances he is most exemplary, often spending hours in prayer. The
secretary, in excusing his master's absence, said that he had been up
nearly all night engaged in his devotions. How this earnest faith in a
religion so vile can consist with a life so pure and so good, is one
of the mysteries of this Asiatic world which I leave to those wiser
than I am to explain.
We had lingered so long that it was near the hour of our departure for
Calcutta, and we were three miles up the river. The secretary
accompanied us to the boat of the Maharajah, which was waiting for us,
and bade us farewell, with many kind wishes that we might have a
prosperous journey. Lying against the bank was the gilded barge in
which the Maharajah had received and escorted the Prince of Wales.
Waving our adieu, we gave the signal, and the boatmen pushed off into
the stream. It was now a race against time. We had a long stretch to
make in a very few minutes. I offered the men a reward if they should
reach the place in time. The stalwart rowers bent to their oars, their
swarthy limbs making swift strokes, and the boat shot like an arrow
down the stream. I stood up in the eagerness and excitement of the
chase, taking a last look at the sacred temples as we shot swiftly by.
It wanted but two or three minutes of the hour as our little pinnace
struck against the goal by the bridge of boats, and throwing the
rupees to the boatmen, we hurried up the bank, and had just time to
get fairly bestowed in the roomy first-class carriage, which we had
all to ourselves, when the train started for Calcutta, and the towers
and domes and minarets of the holy city of India faded from our sight.
Thinking! Still thinking! What does it all mean? Who can understand
Hindooism--where it begins and where it ends? It is like the fabled
tree that had its roots down in the Kingdom of Death, and spread its
branches over the world. Behind it, or beneath it, is a deep
philosophy, which goes down to the very beginnings of existence, and
touches the most vital problems of life and death, of endless dying
and living. Out of millions of ages, after a million births, following
each other in long succession, at last man is cast upon the earth, but
only as a bird of passage, darting swiftly through life, and then, in
an endless transmigration of souls, passing through other stages of
being, till he is absorbed in the Eternal All. Thus does man find his
way at last back to God, as the drop of water, caught up by the sun,
lifted into the cloud, descends in the rain, trickles in streams down
the mountain side, and finds its way back to the ocean. So does the
human soul complete the endless cycle of existence, coming from God
and returning to God, to be swallowed up and lost in that Boundless
Sea.
Much might be said, by way of argument, in support of this pantheistic
philosophy. But whatever may be urged in favor of Hindooism in the
abstract, its practical results are terrible. By a logic as close and
irresistible as it is fatal, it takes away the foundation of all
morality, and strikes down all goodness and virtue--all that is the
glory of man, and all that is the beauty of woman. It is nothing to
the purpose to quote the example of such a man as the Maharajah of
Benares, for there is a strange alchemy in virtue, by which a pure
nature, a high intelligence, and right moral instincts, will convert
even the most pernicious doctrines to the purpose of a spiritual life.
But with the mass of Hindoos it is only a system of abject
superstition and terror. As we rolled along the banks of the Ganges,
I thought what tales that stream could tell. Could we but listen in
the dead of night, what sounds we might hear! Hush! hark! There is a
footstep on the shore. The rushes on the bank are parted, and a Hindoo
mother comes to the water's edge. Look! she holds a child in her arms.
She starts back, and with a shriek casts it to the river monsters.
Such scenes are not frequent now, because the government has repressed
them by law, though infanticide is fearfully common in other ways. But
even yet in secret--"darkly at dead of night"--does fanaticism
sometimes pay its offering to the river which is worshipped as a god.
This is what Hindooism does for the mother and for her child. Thus it
wrongs at once childhood and motherhood and womanhood. Who that thinks
of such scenes can but pray that a better faith may be given to the
women of India, that the mother may no longer look with anguish into
the face of her own child, as one doomed to destruction, but like any
Christian mother, clasp her baby to her breast, thanking God who has
given it to her, and bidden her keep it, and train it up for life, for
virtue and for happiness.
But is there any hope of seeing Hindooism destroyed? I fear not very
soon. When I think how many ages it has stood, and what mighty forces
it has resisted, the task seems almost hopeless. For centuries it
fought with Buddhism for the conquest of India, and remained master of
the field. Then came Mohammedanism in the days of the Mogul Empire. It
gained a foothold, and reared its mosques even in the Holy City of the
Hindoos. To this day the most splendid structure in Benares is the
great Mosque of Aurungzebe. As I climbed its tall minaret, and looked
over the city, I saw here and there the gilded domes and slender
spires that mark the temples of Islam. But these fierce iconoclasts,
who set out from Arabia to break the idols in pieces, could not
destroy them here. The fanatical Aurungzebe could build his mosque,
with its minaret so lofty as to overtop all the temples of Paganism;
but he could not convert the idolaters. With such tenacity did they
cling to their faith, that even the religion of the Prophet could make
little impression, though armed with all the power of the sword.
And now come modern civilization and Christianity. The work of
"tearing down" is not left to Missions alone. There is in India a
vast system of National Education. In Benares there is an University
whose stately halls would not look out of place among the piles of
Oxford. In the teaching there is a rigid--I had almost said a
religious--abstinence from religion. But science is taught, and
science confutes the Hindoo cosmogony. When it is written in the
Puranas that the world rests on the back of an elephant, and that the
elephant stands on the back of a tortoise, and the tortoise on the
back of the great serpent Naga, it needs but a very little learning to
convince the young Hindoo that his sacred books are a mass of fables.
But this does not make him a Christian. It lands him in infidelity,
and leaves him there. And this is the state of the educated mind of
India, of what is sometimes designated as Young India, or Young
Bengal. Here they stand--deep in the mire of unbelief, as if they had
tried to plant their feet on the low-lying Delta of the Ganges, and
found it sink beneath them, with danger of being buried in Gangetic
ooze and slime. But even this is better than calling to gods that
cannot help them; for at least it may give them a sense of their
weakness and danger. It may be that the educated mind of India has to
go through this stage of infidelity before it can come into the light
of a clearer faith. At present they believe nothing, yet conform to
Hindoo customs for social reasons, for fear of losing caste. This is
all-powerful. It is hard for men to break away from it in detail. But
once that a breach is made in their ranks, the same social tyranny may
carry them over _en masse_, so that a nation shall be born in a day.
At present the work that is going on is that of sapping and mining,
of boring holes into the foundation of Hindooism; and this is done as
industriously, and perhaps as effectively, by Government schools and
colleges as by Missions.
At Benares we observed, in sailing up and down the Ganges, that the
river had undermined a number of temples built upon its banks, and
that they had fallen with their huge columns and massive architecture,
and were lying in broken and shapeless masses, half covered by the
water. What a spectacle of ruin and decay in the Holy City of the
Hindoos! This is a fit illustration of the process which has been
going on for the last half century in regard to Hindooism. The waters
are washing it away, and by and by the whole colossal fabric, built up
in ages of ignorance and superstition, will come crashing to the
earth. Hindooism will fall, and great will be the fall of it.