CALCUTTA-FAREWELL TO INDIA.
It is a good rule in travelling, as in rhetoric, to keep the best to
the last, and wind up with a climax. But it would be hard to find a
climax in India after seeing the old Mogul capitals, whose palaces and
tombs outshine the Alhambra; after climbing the Himalayas, and making
a pilgrimage to the holy city. And yet one feels a _crescendo_ of
interest in approaching the capital. India has three capitals--Delhi,
where once reigned the Great Mogul, and which is still the centre of
the Mohammedan faith; Benares, the Mecca of the Hindoos; and Calcutta,
the capital of the modern British Empire. The two former we have seen;
it is the last which is now before us.
Our route was southeast, along the valley of the Ganges, and through
the province of Bengal. What is the magic of a name? From childhood
the most vivid association I had with this part of India, was that of
Bengal tigers, which were the wonder of every menagerie; and it was
not strange if we almost expected to see them crouching in the forest,
or gliding away in the long grass of the jungle. But Bengal has other
attractions to one who rides over it. This single province of India is
five times as large as the State of New York. It is a vast alluvial
plain, through which the Ganges pours by a hundred mouths to the sea,
its overflow giving to the soil a richness and fertility like that of
the valley of the Nile, so that it supports a population equal to that
of the whole of the United States. The cultivated fields that we pass
show the natural wealth of the country, as the frequent towns show the
density of the population. Of these the largest is Patna, the centre
of the opium culture. But we did not stop anywhere, for the way was
long. From Benares to Calcutta is over four hundred miles, or about as
far as from New York city to Niagara Falls. We started at eleven
o'clock, and kept steadily travelling all day. Night fell, and the
moon rose over the plains and the palm groves, and still we fled on
and on, as if pursued by the storm spirits of the Hindoo Kylas, till
the morning broke, and found us on the banks of a great river filled
with shipping, and opposite to a great city. This was the Hoogly, one
of the mouths of the Ganges, and there was Calcutta! A carriage
whirled us swiftly across the bridge, and up to the Great Eastern
Hotel, where we were glad to rest, after travelling three thousand
miles in India, and to exchange even the most luxurious railway
carriage for beds and baths, and the comforts of civilization. The
hotel stands opposite the Government House, the residence of the
Viceroy of India, and supplies everything necessary to the dignity of
a "burra Sahib." Soft-footed Hindoos glided silently about, watching
our every motion, and profoundly anxious for the honor of being our
servants. A stalwart native slept on the mat before my door, and
attended on my going out and my coming in, as if I had been a grand
dignitary of the Empire.
Calcutta bears a proud name in the East--that of the City of
Palaces--from which a traveller is apt to experience a feeling of
disappointment. And yet the English portion of the city is
sufficiently grand to make it worthy to rank with the second class of
European capitals. The Government House, from its very size, has a
massive and stately appearance, and the other public buildings are of
corresponding proportions. The principal street, called the
Chowringhee road, is lined for two miles with the handsome houses of
government officials or wealthy English residents. But the beauty of
Calcutta is the grand esplanade, called the Maidan--an open space as
large as our Central Park in New York; beginning at the Government
House, and reaching to Fort William, and beyond it; stretching for two
or three miles along the river, and a mile back from it to the
mansions of the Chowringhee Road. This is an immense parade-ground for
military and other displays. Here and there are statues of men who
have distinguished themselves in the history of British India.
Tropical plants and trees give to the landscape their rich masses of
color and of shade, while under them and around them is spread that
carpet of green so dear to the eyes of an Englishman in any part of
the world--a wide sweep of soft and smooth English turf. Here at
sunset one may witness a scene nowhere equalled except in the great
capitals of Europe. In the middle of the day the place is deserted,
except by natives, whom, being "children of the sun," he does not
"smite by day," though the moon may smite them by night. The English
residents are shut closely within doors, where they seek, by the
waving of punkas, and by admitting the air only through mats dripping
with water, to mitigate the terrible heat. But as the sun declines,
and the palms begin to cast their shadows across the plain, and a cool
breeze comes in from the sea, the whole English world pours forth. The
carriage of the Viceroy rolls out from under the arches of the
Government House, and the other officials are abroad. A stranger is
surprised at the number of dashing equipages, with postilions and
servants in liveries, furnished by this foreign city. These are not
all English. Native princes and wealthy baboos vie with Englishmen in
the bravery of their equipages, and give to the scene a touch of
Oriental splendor. Officers on horseback dash by, accompanied often by
fair English faces; while the band from Fort William plays the martial
airs of England. It is indeed a brilliant spectacle, which, but for
the turbans and the swarthy faces under them, would make the traveller
imagine himself in Hyde Park.
From this single picture it is easy to see why Calcutta is to an
Englishman the most attractive place of residence in India, or in all
the East. It is more like London. It is a great capital--the capital
of the Indian Empire; the seat of government; the residence of the
Viceroy, around whom is assembled a kind of viceregal court, composed
of all the high officials, both civil and military. There is an Army
and Navy Club, where one may meet many old soldiers who have seen
service in the Indian wars, or who hold high appointments in the
present force. The assemblage of such a number of notable men makes a
large and brilliant English society.
Nor is it confined to army officers or government officials. Connected
with the different colleges are men who are distinguished Oriental
scholars. Then there is a Bishop of Calcutta, who is the Primate of
India, with his clergy, and English and American missionaries, who
make altogether a very miscellaneous society.[8] Here Macaulay lived
for three years as a member of the Governor's Council, and was the
centre of a society which, if it lacked other attractions, must have
found a constant stimulus in his marvellous conversation.
And yet with all these attractions of Calcutta, English residents
still pine for England. One can hardly converse with an English
officer, without finding that it is his dream to get through with his
term of service as soon as he may, and return to spend the rest of his
days in his dear native island. Even Macaulay--with all the resources
that he had in himself, with all that he found Anglo-Indian society,
and all that he made it--regarded life in India as only a splendid
exile.
The climate is a terrible drawback. Think of a country, where in the
hot season the mercury rises to 117-120 deg. in the shade; while if the
thermometer be exposed to the sun, it quickly mounts to 150, 160, or
even 170 deg.!--a heat to which no European can be exposed for half an
hour without danger of sunstroke. Such is the heat that it drives the
government out of Calcutta for half the year. For six months the
Viceroy and his staff emigrate, bag and baggage, going up the country
twelve hundred miles to Simla, on the first range of the Himalayas,
which is about as if the President of the United States and his
Cabinet should leave Washington on the first of May, and transfer the
seat of government to some high point in the Rocky Mountains.
But the climate is not the only, nor the chief, drawback to life in
India. It is the absence from home, from one's country and people,
which makes it seem indeed like exile. Make the best of it, Calcutta
is not London. What a man like Macaulay misses, is not the English
climate, with its rains and fogs, but the intellectual life, which
centres in the British capital. It was this which made him write to
his sister that "A lodgings up three pairs of stairs in London was
better than a palace in a compound at Chowringhee." I confess I cannot
understand how any man, who has a respectable position in his own
country, should choose Calcutta, or any other part of India, as a
place of residence, except for a time; as a merchant goes abroad for a
few years, in the hope of such gain as shall enable him to return and
live in independence in England or America; or as a soldier goes to a
post of duty ("Not his to ask the reason why"); or as a missionary,
with the purely benevolent desire of doing good, for which he accepts
this voluntary exile.
But if a man has grown, by any mental or moral process, to the idea
that life is not given him merely for enjoyment; that its chief end is
not to make himself comfortable--to sit at home in England, and hear
the storm roar around the British Islands, and thank God that he is
safe, though all the rest of the world should perish; if he but once
recognize the fact that he has duties, not only to himself, but to
mankind; then for such a man there is not on the round globe a broader
or nobler field of labor than India. For an English statesman, however
great his talents or boundless his ambition, one cannot conceive of a
higher place on the earth than that of the Viceroy of India. He is a
ruler over more than two hundred millions of human beings, to whose
welfare he may contribute by a wise and just administration. What
immeasurable good may be wrought by a Governor-General like Lord
William Bentinck, of whom it was said that "he was William Penn on the
throne of the Great Mogul." A share in this beneficent rule belongs to
every Englishman who holds a place in the government of India. He is
in a position of power, and therefore of responsibility. To such men
is entrusted the protection, the safety, the comfort, and the
happiness of multitudes of their fellow-men, to whom they are bound,
if not by national ties, yet by the ties of a common humanity.
And for those who have no official position, who have neither place
nor power, but who have intelligence and a desire to do good on a wide
scale, India offers a field as broad as their ambition, where, either
as moral or intellectual instructors, as professors of science or
teachers of religion, they may contribute to the welfare of a great
people. India is a country where, more than in almost any other in the
world, European civilization comes in contact with Asiatic barbarism.
Its geographical position illustrates its moral and intellectual
position. It is a peninsula stretched out from the lower part of Asia
into the Indian Ocean, and great seas dash against it on one side and
on the other. So, intellectually and morally, is it placed "where two
seas meet," where modern science attacks Hindooism on one side, and
Christianity attacks it on the other.
In this conflict English intelligence has already done much for the
intellectual emancipation of the people from childish ignorance and
folly. In Calcutta there are a number of English schools and colleges,
which are thronged with young Bengalees, the flower of the city and
the province, who are instructed in the principles of modern science
and philosophy. The effect on the mind of Young Bengal has been very
great. An English education has accomplished all that was expected
from it, _except_ the overthrow of idolatry, and here it has
conspicuously failed.
When Macaulay was in India, he devoted much of his time to perfecting
the system of National Education, from which he expected the greatest
results; which he believed would not only fill the ignorant and vacant
minds of the Hindoos with the knowledge of modern science, but would
uproot the old idolatry. In the recently published volumes of his
letters is one to his father, dated Calcutta, Oct. 12, 1836, in which
he says:
"Our English schools are flourishing wonderfully. We find it
difficult--in some places impossible--to provide instruction
for all who want it. At the single town of Hoogly 1400 boys
are learning English. The effect of this education on the
Hindoos is prodigious. No Hindoo who has received an English
education ever remains sincerely attached to his religion.
Some continue to profess it as a matter of policy; but many
profess themselves pure Deists, and some embrace
Christianity. It is my firm belief that, if our plans of
education are followed up, there will not be a single
idolater among the reputable classes in Bengal thirty years
hence. And this will be effected without any efforts to
proselytize; without the smallest interference with
religious liberty; merely by the natural operation of
knowledge and reflection."
These sanguine expectations have been utterly disappointed. Since that
letter was written, forty years have passed, and every year has turned
out great numbers of educated young men, instructed in all the
principles of modern science; and yet the hold of Hindooism seems as
strong as ever. I find it here in the capital, as well as in the
provinces, and I do not find that it is any better by coming in
contact with modern civilization. Nothing at Benares was more
repulsive and disgusting than what one sees here. The deity most
worshipped in Calcutta is the goddess Kali, who indeed gives name to
the city, which is Anglicized from Kali-ghat. She delights in blood,
and is propitiated only by constant sacrifices. As one takes his
morning drive along the streets leading to her shrine, he sees them
filled with young goats, who are driven to the sacred enclosure, which
is like a butcher's shambles, so constantly are the heads dropping on
the pavement, which is kept wet with blood. She is the patron of
thieves and robbers, the one to whom the Thugs always made offerings,
in setting out on their expeditions for murder. No doubt the young men
educated in the English colleges despise this horrid worship. Yet in
their indifference to all religion, they think it better to keep up an
outward show of conformity, to retain the respect, or at least the
good will, of their Hindoo countrymen, among whom it is the very first
condition of any social recognition whatever, that they shall not
break away from the religion of their ancestors.
How then are they to be reached? The Christian schools educate the
very young; and the orphanages take neglected children and train them
from the beginning. But for young men who are already educated in the
government colleges, is there any way of reaching _them_? None, except
that of open, direct, manly argument. Several years since President
Seelye of Amherst College visited India, and here addressed the
educated Hindoos, both in Calcutta and Bombay, on the claims of the
Christian religion. He was received with perfect courtesy. Large
audiences assembled to hear him, and listened with the utmost respect.
What impression he produced, I cannot say; but it seems to me that
this is "the way to do it," or at least one way, and a way which gives
good hope of success.
In fighting this battle against idolatry, I think we should welcome
aid from any quarter, whether it be evangelical or not. While in
Calcutta, I paid a visit to Keshoob Chunder Sen, whose name is well
known in England from a visit which he made some years ago, as the
leader of the Brahmo Somaj. I found him surrounded by his pupils, to
whom he was giving instruction. He at once interrupted his teaching
for the pleasure of a conversation, to which all listened apparently
with great interest. He is in his creed an Unitarian, so far as he
adopts the Christian faith. He recognizes the unity of God, and gives
supreme importance to _prayer_. The interview impressed me both with
his ability and his sincerity. I cannot agree with some of my
missionary friends who look upon him with suspicion, because he does
not go far enough. On the contrary, I think it a matter of
congratulation that he has come as far as he has, and I should be glad
if he could get Young Bengal to follow him. But I do not think the
Brahmo Somaj has made great progress. It has scattered adherents in
different parts of India, but the whole number of followers is small
compared with the masses that cling to their idols. He frankly
confessed that the struggle was very unequal, that the power of the
old idolatry was tremendous, and especially that the despotism of
caste was terrific. To break away from it, required a degree of moral
courage that was very rare. The great obstacle to its overthrow was a
social one, and grew out of the extreme anxiety of Hindoo parents for
the marriage of their children. If they once broke away from caste, it
was all over with them. They were literally outcasts. Nobody would
speak to them, and they and their children were delivered over to one
common curse. This social ostracism impending over them, is a terror
which even educated Hindoos dare not face. And so they conform
outwardly, while they despise inwardly. Hence, Keshoob Chunder Sen
deserves all honor for the stand he has taken, and ought to receive
the cordial support of the English and Christian community.
What I have seen in Calcutta and elsewhere satisfies me that in all
wise plans for the regeneration of India, Christian missions must be a
necessary part. One cannot remember but with a feeling of shame, how
slow was England to receive missionaries into her Indian Empire. The
first attempt of the English Church to send a few men to India was met
with an outcry of disapprobation. Sydney Smith hoped the Government
would send the missionaries home. When Carey first landed on these
shores, he could not stay in British territory, but had to take refuge
at Serampore, a Danish settlement a few miles from Calcutta, where he
wrought a work which makes that a place of pilgrimage to every
Christian traveller in India. We spent a day there, going over the
field of his labor. He is dead, but his work survives. There he opened
schools and founded a college, the first of its kind in India (unless
it were the government college of Fort William in Calcutta, in which
he was also a professor), and which led the way for the establishment
of that magnificent system of National Education which is now the
glory of India.
What Carey was in his day, Dr. Duff in Calcutta and Dr. Wilson in
Bombay were a generation later, vigorous advocates of education as an
indispensable means to quicken the torpid mind of India. They were the
trusted advisers and counsellors of the government in organizing the
present system of National Education. This is but one of many benefits
for which this country has to thank missionaries. And if ever India is
to be so renovated as to enter into the family of civilized and
Christian nations, it will be largely by their labors. One thing is
certain, that mere education will not convert the Hindoo. The
experiment has been tried and failed. Some other and more powerful
means must be taken to quicken the conscience of a nation deadened by
ages of false religion--a religion utterly fatal to spiritual life.
That such a change may come speedily, is devoutly to be wished. No
intelligent traveller can visit India, and spend here two months,
without feeling the deepest interest in the country and its people.
Our interest grew with every week of our stay, and was strongest as we
were about to leave.
The last night that we were in Calcutta, it was my privilege to
address the students at one of the Scotch colleges. The hall was
crowded, and I have seldom, if ever, spoken to a finer body of young
men. These young Bengalees had many of them heads of an almost
classical beauty; and with their grace of person heightened by their
flowing white robes, they presented a beautiful array of young
scholars, such as might delight the eyes of any instructor who should
have to teach them "Divine philosophy." My heart "went out" to them
very warmly, and as that was my last impression of India, I left it
with a very different feeling from that with which I entered it--with
a degree of respect for its people, and of interest in them, which I
humbly conceive is the very first condition of doing them any good.
It was Sunday evening: the ship on which we were to embark for Burmah
was to sail at daybreak, and it was necessary to go on board at once.
So hardly had we returned from our evening service, before we drove
down to the river. The steamer lay off in the stream, the tide was
out, and even the native boats could not come up to where we could
step on board. But the inevitable coolies were there, their long naked
legs sinking in the mud, who took us on their brawny backs, and
carried us to the boats, and in this dignified manner we took our
departure from India.
The next morning, as we went on deck, the steamer was dropping down
the river. The guns of Fort William were firing a salute; at Garden
Reach we passed the palace of the King of Oude, where this deposed
Indian sovereign still keeps his royal state among his serpents and
his tigers. We were all day long steaming down the Hoogly. The country
is very flat; there is nothing to break the monotony of its swamps and
jungles, its villages of mud standing amid rice fields and palm
groves. As we approach the sea the river divides into many channels,
like the lagoons of Venice. All around are low lying islands, which
now and then are swept by terrible cyclones that come up from the Bay
of Bengal. At present their shores are overgrown with jungles, the
home of wild beasts, of serpents, and crocodiles, of all slimy and
deadly things, the monsters of the land and sea. Through a net-work of
such lagoons, we glide out into the deep; slowly the receding shores
sink till they are submerged, as if they were drowned; we have left
India behind, and all around is only a watery horizon.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] There are not many Americans in Calcutta, and as they are few, we
are the more concerned that they should be respectable, and not
dishonor our national character. Sometimes I am told we have had
representatives of whom we had no reason to be proud. We are now most
fortunate in our Consul, General Litchfield, a gentleman of excellent
character, who is very obliging to his countrymen, and commands in a
high degree the respect of the English community. There is here also
an American pastor, Dr. Thorburn, who is very popular, and whose
people are building him a new church while he is absent on a visit to
his own country; and what attracts a stranger still more, an excellent
family of American ladies, engaged in the Zenana Mission, which is
designed to reach Hindoo women, who, as they live in strict seclusion,
can never hear of Christianity except through those of their own sex.
This hospitable "Home" was made ours for a part of the time that we
were in Calcutta, for which, and for all the kindness of these
excellent ladies, we hold it in grateful remembrance.