Fishing in India.--Hereditary trades.--The boatmen and fishermen of
India.--Their villages.--Nets.--Modes of fishing.--Curiosities
relating thereto.--Catching an alligator with a hook.--Exciting
capture.-Crocodiles.--Shooting an alligator.--Death of the man-eater.
Not only in the wild jungles, on the undulating plains, and among the
withered brown stubbles, does animal life abound in India; but the
rivers, lakes, and creeks teem with fish of every conceivable size,
shape, and colour. The varieties are legion. From the huge black
porpoise, tumbling through the turgid stream of the Ganges, to the
bright, sparkling, silvery shoals of delicate _chillooahs_ or
_poteeahs_, which one sees darting in and out among the rice stubbles
in every paddy field during the rains. Here a huge _bhowarree_ (pike),
or ravenous _coira_, comes to the surface with a splash; there a
_raho_, the Indian salmon, with its round sucker-like mouth, rises
slowly to the surface, sucks in a fly and disappears as slowly as it
rose; or a _pachgutchea_, a long sharp-nosed fish, darts rapidly by; a
shoal of mullet with their heads out of the water swim athwart the
stream, and far down in the cool depths of the tank or lake, a thousand
different varieties disport themselves among the mazy labyrinths of the
broad-leaved weeds.
During the middle, and about the end of the rains, is the best time for
fishing; the whole country is then a perfect network of streams. Every
rice field is a shallow lake, with countless thousands of tiny fish
darting here and there among the rice stalks. Every ditch teems with
fish, and every hollow in every field is a well stocked aquarium.
Round the edge of every lake or tank in the early morning, or when the
fierce heat of the day begins to get tempered by the approaching shades
of evening, one sees numbers of boys and men of the poorer classes,
each with a couple of rough bamboo rods stuck in the ground in front of
him, watching his primitive float with the greatest eagerness, and
whipping out at intervals some luckless fish of about three or four
ounces in weight with a tremendous haul, fit for the capture of a
forty-pounder. They get a coarse sort of hook in the bazaar, rig up a
roughly-twisted line, tie on a small piece of hollow reed for a float,
and with a lively earth-worm for a bait, they can generally manage in a
very short time to secure enough fish for a meal.
With a short light rod, a good silk line, and an English hook attached
to fine gut, I have enjoyed many a good hour's sport at Parewah. I used
to have a cane chair sent down to the bank of the stream, a _punkah_,
or hand fan, plenty of cooling drinks, and two coolie boys in
attendance to remove the fish, renew baits, and keep the punkah in
constant swing. There I used to sit enjoying my cigar, and pulling in
little fish at the rate sometimes of a couple a minute.
I remember hooking a turtle once, and a terrible job it was to land
him. My light rod bent like a willow, but the tackle was good, and
after ten minutes' hard work I got the turtle to the side, where my
boys soon secured him. He weighed thirteen pounds. Sometimes you get
among a colony of freshwater crabs.
They are little brown brutes, and strip your hooks of the bait as fast
as you fling them in. There is nothing for it in such a case but to
shift your station. Many of the bottom fish--the _ghurai_, the
_saourie_, the _barnee_ (eel), and others, make no effort to escape the
hook. You see them resting at the bottom, and drop the bait at their
very nose. On the whole, the hand fishing is uninteresting, but it
serves to wile away an odd hour when hunting and shooting are hardly
practicable.
Particular occupations in India are restricted to particular castes.
All trades are hereditary. For example, a _tatmah_, or weaver, is
always a weaver. He cannot become a blacksmith or carpenter. He has no
choice. He must follow the hereditary trade. The peculiar system of
land-tenure in India, which secures as far as possible a bit of land
for every one, tends to perpetuate this hereditary selection of trades,
by enabling every cultivator to be so far independent of his
handicraft, thus restricting competition. There may be twenty _lohars_,
or blacksmiths, in a village, but they do not all follow their calling.
They till their lands, and are _de facto_ petty farmers. They know the
rudiments of their handicraft, but the actual blacksmith's work is done
by the hereditary smith of the village, whose son in turn will succeed
him when he dies, or if he leave no son, his fellow caste men will put
in a successor.
Nearly every villager during the rains may be found on the banks of the
stream or lake, angling in an amateur sort of way, but the fishermen
of Behar _par excellence_ are the _mull[=a]hs_; they are also called
_Gouhree, Beeu_, or _Muchooah_. In Bengal they are called _Nikaree_,
and in some parts _Baeharee_, from the Persian word for a boat. In the
same way _muchooah_ is derived from _much_, a fish, and _mullah_ means
boatman, strictly speaking, rather than fisherman. All boatmen and
fishermen belong to this caste, and their villages can be recognised at
once by the instruments of their calling lying all around.
Perched high on some bank overlooking the stream or lake, you see
innumerable festoons of nets hanging out to dry on tall bamboo poles,
or hanging like lace curtains of very coarse texture from the roofs and
eaves of the huts. Hauled up on the beach are a whole fleet of boats of
different sizes, from the small _dugout_, which will hold only one man,
to the huge _dinghy_, in which the big nets and a dozen men can be
stowed with ease. Great heaps of shells of the freshwater mussel show
the source of great supplies of bait; while overhead a great hovering
army of kites and vultures are constantly circling round, eagerly
watching for the slightest scrap of offal from the nets. When the rains
have fairly set in, and the fishermen have got their rice fields all
planted out, they are at liberty to follow their hereditary avocation.
A day is fixed for a drag, and the big nets are overhauled and got in
readiness. The head _mullah_, a wary grizzled old veteran, gives the
orders. The big drag-net is bundled into the boat, which is quickly
pushed off into the stream, and at a certain distance from shore the
net is cast from the boat. Being weighted at the lower end it rapidly
sinks, and, buoyed on the upper side with pieces of cork, it makes a
perpendicular wall in the water. Several long bamboo poles are now run
through the ropes along the upper side of the net, to prevent the net
being dragged under water altogether by the weight of the fish in a
great haul. The little boats, a crowd of which are in attendance, now
dart out, surrounding the net on all sides, and the boatmen beating
their oars on the sides of the boats, create such a clatter as to
frighten, the fish into the circumference of the big net. This is now
being dragged slowly to shore by strong and willing arms. The women and
children watch eagerly on the bank. At length the glittering haul is
pulled up high and dry on the beach, the fish are divided among the
men, the women fill their baskets, and away they hie to the nearest
_bazaar_, or if it be not _bazaar_ or market day, they hawk the fish
through the nearest villages, like our fish-wives at home.
There is another common mode of fishing adopted in narrow lakes and
small streams, which are let out to the fishermen by the Zemindars or
landholders. A barricade made of light reeds, all matted together by
string, is stuck into the stream, and a portion of the water is fenced
in, generally in a circular form. The reed fence being quite flexible
is gradually moved in, narrowing the circle. As the circle narrows, the
agitation inside is indescribable; fish jumping in all directions--a
moving mass of glittering scales and fins. The larger ones try to leap
the barrier, and are caught by the attendant _mullahs_, who pounce on
them with swift dexterity. Eagles and kites dart and swoop down,
bearing off a captive fish in their talons. The reed fence is doubled
back on itself, and gradually pushed on till the whole of the fish
inside are jammed together in a moving mass. The weeds and dirt are
then removed, and the fish put into baskets and carried off to market.
Others, again, use circular casting nets, which they throw with very
great dexterity. Gathering the net into a bunch they rest it on the
shoulder, then with a circular sweep round the head, they fling it far
out. Being loaded, it sinks down rapidly in the water. A string is
attached to the centre of the net, and the fisherman hauls it in with
whatever prey he may be lucky enough to secure.
As the waters recede during October, after the rains have ended, each
runlet and purling stream becomes a scene of slaughter on a most
reckless and improvident scale. The innumerable shoals of spawn and
small fish that have been feeding in the rice fields, warned by some
instinct seek the lakes and main streams. As they try to get their way
back, however, they find at each outlet in each ditch and field a
deadly wicker trap, in the shape of a square basket with a V-shaped
opening leading into it, through which the stream makes its way. After
entering this basket there is no egress except through the narrow
opening, and they are trapped thus in countless thousands. Others of
the natives in mere wantonness put a shelf of reeds or rushes in the
bed of the stream, with an upward slope. As the water rushes along, the
little fish are left high and dry on this shelf or screen, and the
water runs off below. In this way scarcely a fish escapes, and as
millions are too small to be eaten, it is a most serious waste. The
attention of Government has been directed to the subject, and steps may
be taken to stop such a reckless and wholesale destruction of a
valuable food supply.
In some parts of Purneah and Bhaugulpore I have seen a most ingenious
method adopted by the _mullahs_. A gang of four or five enter the
stream and travel slowly downwards, stirring up the mud at the bottom
with their feet. The fish, ascending the stream to escape the mud, get
entangled in the weeds. The fishermen feel them with their feet amongst
the weeds, and immediately pounce on them with their hands. Each man
has a _gila_ or earthen pot attached by a string to his waist and
floating behind him in the water. I have seen four men fill their
earthen pots in less than an hour by this ingenious but primitive mode
of fishing. Some of them can use their feet almost as well for grasping
purposes as their hands.
Another mode of capture is by a small net. A flat piece of netting is
spread over a hoop, to which four or five pieces of bamboo are
attached, rising up and meeting in the centre, so as to form a sort of
miniature skeleton tent-like frame over the net. The hoop with the net
stretched tight across is then pressed down flat on the bottom of the
tank or stream. If any fish are beneath, their efforts to escape
agitate the net. The motion is communicated to the fisherman by a
string from the centre of the net which is rolled round the fisherman's
thumb. When the jerking of his thumb announces a captive fish, he puts
down his left hand and secures his victim. The _Banturs_, _Nepaulees_,
and other jungle tribes, also often use the bow and arrow as a means of
securing fish.
Seated on the branch of some overhanging tree, while his keen eye scans
the depths below, he watches for a large fish, and as it passes, he
lets fly his arrow with unerring aim, and impales the luckless victim.
Some tribes fish at night, by torchlight, spearing the fish who are
attracted by the light. In Nepaul the bark of the _Hill Sirres_ is
often used to poison a stream or piece of water. Pounded up and thrown
in, it seems to have some uncommon effect on the fish. After water has
been treated in this way, the fish, seemingly quite stupefied, rise to
the surface, on which they float in great numbers, and allow themselves
to be caught. The strangest part of it is that they are perfectly
innocuous as food, notwithstanding this treatment.
Fish forms a very favourite article of diet with both Mussulmans and
Hindoos. Many of the latter take a vow to touch no flesh of any kind.
They are called _Kunthees_ or _Boghuts_, but a _Boghut_ is more of an
ascetic than a _Kunthee_. However, the _Kunthee_ is glad of a fish
dinner when he can get it. They are restricted to no particular sect or
caste, but all who have taken the vow wear a peculiar necklace, made
generally of sandal-wood beads or _neem_ beads round their throats.
Hence the name, from _kunth_ meaning the throat.
The right to fish in any particular piece of water, is let out by the
proprietor on whose land the water lies, or through which it flows. The
letting is generally done by auction yearly. The fishing is called a
_shilkur_; from _shal_, a net. It is generally taken by some rich
_Bunneah_ (grain seller) or village banker, who sub-lets it in turn to
the fishermen.
In some of the tanks which are not so let, and where the native
proprietor preserves the fish, first-class sport can be had. A common
native poaching dodge is this: if some oil cake be thrown into the
water a few hours previous to your fishing, or better still, balls made
of roasted linseed meal, mixed with bruised leaves of the 'sweet
basil,' or _toolsee_ plant, the fish assemble in hundreds round the
spot, and devour the bait greedily. With a good eighteen-foot rod, fish
of from twelve to twenty pounds are not uncommonly caught, and will
give good play too. Fishing in the plains of India is, however, rather
tame sport at the best of times.
You have heard of the famous _mahseer_--some of them over eighty or a
hundred pounds weight? We have none of these in Behar, but the huge
porpoise gives splendid rifle or carbine practice as he rolls through
the turgid streams. They are difficult to hit, but I have seen several
killed with ball; and the oil extracted from their bodies is a splendid
dressing for harness. But the most exciting fishing I have ever seen
was--What do you think?--Alligator fishing! Yes, the formidable scaly
monster, with his square snout and terrible jaws, his ponderous body
covered with armour, and his serrated tail, with which he could break
the leg of a bullock, or smash an outrigger as easily as a whale could
smash a jolly-boat.
I must try to describe one day's alligator fishing.
When I was down in Bhaugulpore, I went out frequently fishing in the
various tanks and streams near my factory. My friend Pat, who is a keen
sportsman and very fond of angling, wrote to me one day when he and his
brother Willie were going out to the Teljuga, asking me to join their
party. The Teljuga is the boundary stream between Tirhoot and
Bhaugulpore, and its sluggish muddy waters teem with alligators--the
regular square-nosed _mugger_, the terrible man-eater. The _nakar_ or
long-nosed species may be seen in countless numbers in any of the large
streams, stretched out on the banks basking in the noonday sun. Going
down the Koosee particularly, you come across hundreds sometimes lying
on one bank. As the boat nears them, they slide noiselessly and slowly
into the stream. A large excrescence forms on the tip of the long
snout, like a huge sponge; and this is often all that is seen on the
surface of the water as the huge brute swims about waiting for his
prey. These _nakars_, or long-nosed specimens, never attack human
beings--at least such cases are very very rare--but live almost
entirely on fish. I remember seeing one catch a paddy-bird on one
occasion near the junction of the Koosee with the Ganges. My boat was
fastened to the shore near a slimy creek, that came oozing into the
river from some dense jungle near. I was washing my hands and face on
the bank, and the boatmen were fishing with a small hand-net, for our
breakfast. Numbers of attenuated melancholy-looking paddy-birds were
stalking solemnly and stiltedly along the bank, also fishing for
_theirs_. I noticed one who was particularly greedy, with his long legs
half immersed in the water, constantly darting out his long bill and
bringing up a hapless struggling fish. All of a sudden a long snout and
the ugly serrated ridgy back of a _nakar_ was shot like lightning at
the hapless bird, and right before our eyes the poor paddy was crunched
up. As a rule, however, alligators confine themselves to a fish diet,
and are glad of any refuse or dead animal that may float their way. But
with the _mugger_, the _boach_, or square-nosed variety, 'all is fish
that comes to his net.' His soul delights in young dog or live pork. A
fat duck comes not amiss; and impelled by hunger he hesitates not to
attack man. Once regaled with the flavour of human flesh, he takes up
his stand near some ferry, or bathing ghaut, where many hapless women
and children often fall victims to his unholy appetite, before his
career is cut short.
I remember shooting one ghastly old scaly villain in a tank near
Ryseree. He had made this tank his home, and with that fatalism which
is so characteristic of the Hindoo, the usual ablutions and bathings
went on as if no such monster existed. Several woman having been
carried off, however, at short intervals, the villagers asked me to try
and rid them of their foe. I took a ride down to the tank one Friday
morning, and found the banks a scene of great excitement. A woman had
been carried off some hours before as she was filling her water jar,
and the monster was now reposing at the bottom of the tank digesting
his horrible meal. The tank was covered with crimson water-lilies in
full bloom, their broad brown and green leaves showing off the crimson
beauty of the open flower. At the north corner some wild rose bushes
dropped over the water, casting a dense matted shade. Here was the
haunt of the _mugger_. He had excavated a huge gloomy-looking hole,
into which he retired when gorged with prey. My first care was to cut
away some of these bushes, and then, finding he was not at home, we
drove some bamboo stakes through the bank to prevent him getting into
his _manu_, which is what the natives term the den or hole. I then sat
down under a _goolar_ tree, to wait for his appearance. The _goolar_ is
a species of fig, and the leaves are much relished by cattle and goats.
Gradually the village boys and young men went off to their ploughing,
or grass cutting for the cows' evening meal. A woman came down
occasionally to fill her waterpot in evident fear and trembling. A
swarm of _minas_ (the Indian starling) hopped and twittered round my
feet. The cooing of a pair of amatory pigeons overhead nearly lulled me
to slumber. A flock of green parrots came swiftly circling overhead,
making for the fig-tree at the south end of the tank. An occasional
_raho_ lazily rose among the water-lilies, and disappeared with an
indolent flap of his tail. The brilliant kingfisher, resplendent in
crimson and emerald, sat on the withered branch of a prostrate
mango-tree close by, pluming his feathers and doubtless meditating on
the vanity of life. Suddenly, close by the massive post which marks the
centre of every Hindoo tank, a huge scaly snout slowly and almost
imperceptibly rose to the surface, then a broad, flat, forbidding
forehead, topped by two grey fishy eyes with warty-looking callosities
for eyebrows. Just then an eager urchin who had been squatted by me for
hours, pointed to the brute. It was enough. Down sank the loathsome
creature, and we had to resume our attitude of expectation and patient
waiting. Another hour passed slowly. It was the middle of the
afternoon, and very hot. I had sent my _tokedar_ off for a 'peg' to the
factory, and was beginning to get very drowsy, when, right in the same
spot, the repulsive head again rose slowly to the surface. I had my
trusty No. 12 to my shoulder on the instant, glanced carefully along
the barrels, but just then only the eyes of the brute were invisible. A
moment of intense excitement followed, and then, emboldened by the
extreme stillness, he showed his whole head above the surface. I pulled
the trigger, and a Meade shell crashed through the monster's skull,
scattering his brains in the water and actually sending one splinter of
the skull to the opposite edge of the tank, where my little Hindoo boy
picked it up and brought it to me.
There was a mighty agitation in the water; the water-lilies rocked to
and fro, and the broad leaves glittered with the water drops thrown on
them; then all was still. Hearing the report of my gun, the natives
came flocking to the spot, and, telling them their enemy was slain, I
departed, leaving instructions to let me know when the body came to the
surface. It did so three days later. Getting some _chumars_ and _domes_
(two of the lowest castes, as none of the higher castes will touch a
dead body under pain of losing caste), we hauled the putrid carcase to
shore, and on cutting it open, found the glass armlets and brass
ornaments of no less than five women and the silver ornaments of three
children, all in a lump in the brute's stomach. Its skull was
completely smashed and shattered to pieces by my shot. Its teeth were
crusted with tartar, and worn almost to the very stumps. It measured
nineteen feet.
But during this digression my friends Pat and Willie have been waiting
on the banks of the 'Teljuga.' I reached their tents late at night,
found them both in high spirits after a good day's execution among the
ducks and teal, and preparations being made for catching an alligator
next day. Up early in the morning, we beat some grass close by the
stream, and roused out an enormous boar that gave us a three mile spin
and a good fight, after Pat had given him first spear. After breakfast
we got our tackle ready.
This was a large iron hook with a strong shank, to which was attached a
stout iron ring. To this ring a long thick rope was fastened, and I
noticed for several yards the strands were all loose and detached, and
only knotted at intervals. I asked Pat the reason of this curious
arrangement, and was told that if we were lucky enough to secure a
_mugger_, the loose strands would entangle themselves amongst his
formidable teeth, whereas were the rope in one strand only he might
bite it through; the knottings at intervals were to give greater
strength to the line. We now got our bait ready. On this occasion it
was a live tame duck. Passing the bend of the hook round its neck, and
the shank under its right wing, we tied the hook in this position with
thread. We then made a small raft of the soft pith of the
plantain-tree, tied the duck to the raft and committed it to the
stream. Holding the rope as clear of the water as we could, the poor
quacking duck floated slowly down the muddy current, making an
occasional vain effort to get free. We saw at a distance an ugly snout
rise to the surface for an instant and then noiselessly disappear.
'There's one!' says Pat in a whisper.
'Be sure and not strike too soon,' says Willie.
'Look out there, you lazy rascals!' This in Hindostanee to the grooms
and servants who were with us.
Again the black mass rises to the surface, but this time nearer to the
fated duck. As if aware of its peril it now struggles and quacks most
vociferously. Nearer and nearer each time the black snout rises, and
then each time silently disappears beneath the turgid muddy stream. Now
it appears again; this time there are two, and there is another at a
distance attracted by the quacking of the duck. We on the bank cower
down and go as noiselessly as we can. Sometimes the rope dips on the
water, and the huge snout and staring eyes immediately disappear. At
length it rises within a few yards of the duck; then there is a mighty
rush, two huge jaws open and shut with a snap like factory shears, and
amid a whirl of foam and water and surging mud the poor duck and the
hideous reptile disappear, and but for the eddying swirl and dense
volumes of mud that rise from the bottom, nothing gives evidence of the
tragedy that has been enacted. The other two disappointed monsters swim
to and fro still further disturbing the muddy current.
'Give him lots of time to swallow,' yells Pat, now fairly mad with
excitement.
The grooms and grass-cutters howl and dance. Willie and I dig each
other in the ribs, and all generally act in an excited and insane way.
Pat now puts the rope over his shoulder, we all take hold, and with a
'one, two, three!' we make a simultaneous rush from the bank, and as
the rope suddenly tightens with a pull and strain that nearly jerks us
all on our backs, we feel that we have hooked the monster, and our
excitement reaches its culminating point.
What a commotion now in the black depths of the muddy stream! The
water, lashed by his powerful tail, surges and dashes in eddying
whirls. He rises and darts backwards and forwards, snapping his
horrible jaws, moving his head from side to side, his eyes glaring with
fury. We hold stoutly on to the rope, although our wrists are strained
and our arms ache. At length he begins to feel our steady pull, and
inch by inch, struggling demoniacally, he nears the bank. When once he
reaches it, however, the united efforts of twice our number would fail
to bring him farther. Bleeding and foaming at the mouth, his horrid
teeth glistening amid the frothy, blood-flecked foam, he plants his
strong curved fore-legs against the shelving bank, and tugs and strains
at the rope with devilish force and fury. It is no use--the rope has
been tested, and answers bravely to the strain; and now with a long
boar spear, Pat cautiously descends the bank, and gives him a deadly
thrust under the fore arm. With a last fiendish glare of hate and
defiance, he springs forward; we haul in the rope, Pat nimbly jumps
back, and a pistol shot through the eye settles the monster for ever.
This was the first alligator I ever saw hooked; he measured sixteen and
a half feet exactly, but words can give no idea of half the excitement
that attended the capture.