Jungle wild fruits.--Curious method of catching quail.--Quail nets.
--Quail caught in a blacksmith's shop.--Native wrestling.--The
trainer.--How they train for a match.--Rules of wrestling.--Grips.
--A wrestling match.--Incidents of the struggle.--Description of a
match between a Brahmin and a blacksmith.--Sparring for the grip.--The
blacksmith has it.--The struggle.--The Brahmin getting the worst of
it.--Two to one on the little 'un!--The Brahmin plays the waiting
game, turns the tables _and_ the blacksmith.--Remarks on wrestling.
A peculiarity in the sombre sal jungles is the scarcity of wild fruit.
At home the woods are filled with berries and fruit-bearing bushes.
Who among my readers has not a lively recollection of bramble hunting,
nutting, or merry expeditions for blueberries, wild strawberries,
raspberries, and other wild fruits? You might walk many a mile through
the sal jungles without meeting fruit of any kind, save the dry and
tasteless wild fig, or the sickly mhowa.
There are indeed very few jungle fruits that I have ever come across.
There is one acid sort of plum called the _Omra_, which makes a good
preserve, but is not very nice to eat raw. The _Gorkah_ is a small red
berry, very sweet and pleasant, slightly acid, not unlike a red
currant in fact, and with two small pips or stones. The Nepaulese call
it _Bunchooree_. It grows on a small stunted-looking bush, with few
branches, and a pointed leaf, in form resembling the acacia leaf, but
not so large.
The _Glaphur_ is a brown, round fruit; the skin rather crisp and hard,
and of a dull earthy colour, not unlike that of a common boiled
potato. The inside is a stringy, spongy-looking mass, with small seeds
embedded in a gummy viscid substance. The taste is exactly like an
almond, and it forms a pleasant mouthful if one is thirsty.
Travelling one day along one of the glades I have mentioned as
dividing the strips of jungle, I was surprised to see a man before me
in a field of long stubble, with a cloth spread over his head, and two
sticks projecting in front at an obtuse angle to his body, forming
horn-like projections, on which the ends of his cloth twisted
spirally, were tied. I thought from his curious antics and movements,
that he must be mad, but I soon discovered that there was method in
his madness. He was catching quail. The quail are often very numerous
in the stubble fields, and the natives adopt very ingenious devices
for their capture. This was one I was now witnessing. Covering
themselves with their cloth as I have described, the projecting ends
of the two sticks representing the horns, they simulate all the
movements of a cow or bull. They pretend to paw up the earth, toss
their make-believe horns, turn round and pretend to scratch
themselves, and in fact identify themselves with the animal they are
representing; and it is irresistibly comic to watch a solitary
performer go through this _al fresco_ comedy. I have laughed often at
some cunning old herdsman, or shekarry. When they see you watching
them, they will redouble their efforts, and try to represent an old
bull, going through all his pranks and practices, and throw you into
convulsions of laughter.
Round two sides of the field, they have previously put fine nets, and
at the apex they have a large cage with a decoy quail inside, or
perhaps a pair. The quail is a running bird, disinclined for flight
except at night; in the day-time they prefer running to using their
wings. The idiotic looking old cow, as we will call the hunter, has
all his wits about him. He proceeds very slowly and warily, his keen
eye detects the coveys of quail, which way they are running; his ruse
generally succeeds wonderfully. He is no more like a cow, than that
respectable animal is like a cucumber; but he paws, and tosses, and
moves about, pretends to eat, to nibble here, and switch his tail
there, and so manoeuvres as to keep the running quail away from the
unprotected edges of the field. When they get to the verge protected
by the net, they begin to take alarm; they are probably not very
certain about the peculiar looking 'old cow' behind them, and running
along the net, they see the decoy quails evidently feeding in great
security and freedom. The V shaped mouth of the large basket cage
looks invitingly open. The puzzling nets are barring the way, and the
'old cow' is gradually closing up behind. As the hunter moves along, I
should have told you, he rubs two pieces of dry hard sticks gently up
and down his thigh with one hand, producing a peculiar crepitation, a
crackling sound, not sufficient to startle the birds into flight, but
alarming them enough to make them get out of the way of the 'old cow.'
One bolder than the others, possibly the most timid of the covey,
irritated by the queer crackling sound, now enters the basket, the
others follow like a flock of sheep; and once in, the puzzling shape
of the entrance prevents their exit. Not unfrequently the hunter bags
twenty or even thirty brace of quail in one field, by this ridiculous
looking but ingenious method.
The small quail net is also sometimes used for the capture of hares.
The natives stretch the net in the jungle, much as they do the large
nets for deer described in a former chapter; forming a line, they then
beat up the hares, of which there are no stint. My friend Pat once
made a novel haul. His _lobarkhanna_ or blacksmith's shop was close to
a patch of jungle, and Pat often noticed numbers of quail running
through the loose chinks and crevices of the walls, in the morning
when anyone went into the place for the first time; this was at a
factory called Rajpore. Pat came to the conclusion, that as the
blacksmith's fires smouldered some time after work was discontinued at
night, and as the atmosphere of the hut was warmer and more genial
than the cold, foggy, outside air, for it was in the cold season, the
quail probably took up their quarters in the hut for the night, on
account of the warmth and shelter. One night therefore he got some of
his servants, and with great caution and as much silence as possible,
they let down a quantity of nets all round the lobarkhanna, and in the
morning they captured about twenty quails.
The quail is very pugnacious, and as they are easily trained to fight,
they are very common pets with the natives, who train and keep them to
pit them against each other, and bet what they can afford on the
result. A quail fight, a battle between two trained rams, a cock
fight, even an encounter between trained tamed buffaloes, are very
common spectacles in the villages; but the most popular sport is a
good wrestling match.
The dwellers in the Presidency towns, and indeed in most of the large
stations, seldom see an exhibition of this kind; but away in the
remote interior, near the frontier, it is very popular pastime, and
wrestling is a favourite with all classes. Such manly sport is rather
opposed to the commonly received idea at home, of the mild Hindoo. In
nearly every village of Behar however, and all along the borders of
Nepaul, there is, as a rule, a bit of land attached to the residence
of some head man, or the common property of the commune, set apart for
the practice of athletic sports, chief of which is the favourite
_khoosthee_ or wrestling. There is generally some wary old veteran,
who has won his spurs, or laurels, or belt, or whatever you choose to
call it, in many a hard fought and well contested tussle for the
championship of his little world; he is 'up to every dodge,' and knows
every feint and guard, every wile and tactic of the wrestling ground.
It is generally in some shady grove, secluded and cool; here of an
evening when the labours of the day are over, the most stalwart sons
of the hamlet meet, to test each others skill and endurance in a
friendly _shake_. The old man puts them through the preliminary
practice, shows them every trick at his command, and attends strictly
to their training and various trials. The ground is dug knee deep, and
forms a soft, good holding stand. I have often looked on at this
evening practice, and it would astonish a stranger, who cannot
understand strength, endurance, and activity being attributed to a
'mere nigger,' to see the severe training these young lads impose upon
themselves. They leap into the air, and suddenly assume a sitting
position, then leap up again and squat down with a force that would
seem to jerk every bone in their bodies out of its place; this gets up
the muscles of the thighs. Some lie down at full length, only touching
the ground with the extreme tips of their toes, their arms doubled up
under them, and sustaining the full weight of the body on the extended
palms of the hands. They then sway themselves backwards and forwards
to their full length, never shifting hand or toe, till they are bathed
in perspiration; they keep up a uniform steady backward and forward
movement, so as to develop the muscles of the arms, chest, and back.
They practice leaping, running, and lifting weights. Some standing at
their full height, brace up the muscles of the shoulder and upper arm,
and then leaping up, allow themselves to fall to earth on the tensely
strung muscles of the shoulder. This severe exercise gets the muscles
into perfect form, and few, very few indeed of our untrained youths,
could cope in a dead lock, or fierce struggle, with a good village
Hindoo or Mussulman in active training, and having any knowledge of
the tricks of the wrestling school. No hitting is allowed. The Hindoo
system of wrestling is the perfection of science and skill; mere dead
weight of course will always tell in a close grip, but the catches,
the holds, the twists and dodges that are practised, allow for the
fullest development of cultivated skill, as against mere brute force.
The system is purely a scientific one. The fundamental rule is 'catch
where you can,' only you must not clutch the hair or strike with the
fists.
The loins are tightly girt with a long waist-belt or _kummerbund_ of
cloth, which, passed repeatedly between the limbs and round the loins,
sufficiently braces up and protects that part of the body. In some
matches you are not allowed to clutch this waist cloth or belt, in
some villages it is allowed; the custom varies in various places, but
what is a fair grip, and what is not, is always made known before the
competitors engage. A twist, or grip, or dodge, is known as a
_paench_. This literally means a screw or twist, but in wrestling
phraseology, means any grip by which you can get such an advantage
over your opponent as to defeat him. For every paench there is a
counter paench. A throw is considered satisfactory when BOTH shoulders
of your opponent touch the ground simultaneously. The old _khalifa_ or
trainer takes a great interest in the progress of his _chailas_ or
pupils. _Chaila_ really means disciple or follower. Every khalifa has
his favourite paenches or grips, which have stood him in good stead in
his old battling days; he teaches these paenches to his pupils, so
that when you get young fellows from different villages to meet, you
see a really fine exhibition of wrestling skill. There is little
tripping, as amongst our wrestlers at home; a dead-lock is uncommon.
The rival wrestlers generally bound into the ring, slapping their
thighs and arms with a loud resounding slap. They lift their legs high
up from the ground with every step, and scheme and manoeuvre sometimes
for a long while to get the best corner; they try to get the sun into
their adversaries eyes; they scan the appearance and every movement of
their opponent. The old wary fellows take it very coolly, and if they
can't get the desired side of the ground, they keep hopping about like
a solemn old ostrich, till the impetuosity or impatience of their foe
leads him to attack. They remind you for all the world of a pair of
game cocks, their bodies are bent, their heads almost touching. There
is a deal of light play with the hands, each trying to get the other
by the wrist or elbow, or at the back of the head round the neck. If
one gets the other by a finger even, it is a great advantage, as he
would whip nimbly round, and threaten to break the impounded finger;
this would be considered quite fair. One will often suddenly drop on
his knees and try to reach the ankles of his adversary. I have seen a
slippery customer, stoop suddenly down, grasp up a handful of dust,
and throw it into the eyes of his opponent. It was done with the
quickness of thought, but it was detected, and on an appeal by the
sufferer, the knave was well thrashed by the onlookers.
There are many professionals who follow no other calling. Wrestlers
are kept by Rajahs and wealthy men, who get up matches. Frequently one
village will challenge another, like our village cricket clubs. The
villagers often get up small subscriptions, and purchase a silver
armlet or bracelet, the prize him who shall hold his own against all
comers. The 'Champion's Belt' scarcely calls forth greater
competition, keener rivalry, or better sport. It is at once the most
manly and most scientific sport in which the native indulges. A
disputed fall sometimes terminates in a general free fight, when the
backers of the respective men lay on the stick to each other with
mutual hate and hearty lustiness.
It is not by any means always the strongest who wins. The man who
knows the most paenches, who is agile, active, cool, and careful, will
not unfrequently overthrow an antagonist twice his weight and
strength. All the wrestlers in the country-side know each other's
qualifications pretty accurately, and at a general match got up by a
Zemindar or planter, or by public subscription, it is generally safe
to let them handicap the men who are ready to compete for the prizes.
We used generally to put down a few of the oldest professors, and let
them pit couples against each other; the sport to the onlookers was
most exciting. Between the men themselves as a rule, the utmost good
humour reigns, they strive hard to win, but they accept a defeat with
smiling resignation. It is only between rival village champions,
different caste men, or worse still, men of differing religions, such
as a Hindoo and a Mahommedan, that there is any danger of a fight. A
disturbance is a rare exception, but I have seen a few wrestling
matches end in a regular general scrimmage, with broken heads, and
even fractured limbs. With good management however, and an efficient
body of men to guard against a breach of the peace, this need never
occur.
It rarely takes much trouble to get up a match. If you tell your head
men that you would like to see one, say on a Saturday afternoon, they
pass the word to the different villages, and at the appointed time,
all the finest young fellows and most of the male population, led by
their head man, with the old trainer in attendance, are at the
appointed place. The competitors are admitted within the enclosure,
and round it the rows of spectators packed twenty deep squat on the
ground, and watch the proceedings with deep interest.
While the _Punchayiet_, a picked council, are taking down the names of
intending competitors, finding out about their form and performances,
and assigning to each his antagonist, the young men throw themselves
with shouts and laughter into the ring, and go through all the
evolutions and postures of the training ground. They bound about, try
all sorts of antics and contortions, display wonderful agility and
activity; it is a pretty sight to see, and one can't help admiring
their vigorous frames, and graceful proportions. They are handsome,
well made, supple, wiry fellows, although they be NIGGERS, and Hodge
and Giles at home would not have a chance with them in a fair
wrestling bout, conducted according to their own laws and customs.
The entries are now all made, places and pairs are arranged, and to
the ear-splitting thunder of two or three tom-toms, two pair of
strapping youngsters step into the ring; they carefully scan each
other, advance, shake hands, or salaam, leisurely tie up their back
hair, slap their muscles, rub a little earth over their shoulders and
arms, so that their adversary may have a fair grip, then step by step
slowly and gradually they near each other. A few quick passages are
now interchanged; the lithe supple fingers twist and intertwine, grips
are formed on arm and neck. The postures change each moment, and are a
study for an anatomist or sculptor. As they warm to their work they
get more reckless; they are only the raw material, the untrained lads.
There is a quick scuffle, heaving, swaying, rocking, and struggling,
and the two victors, leaping into the air, and slapping their chests,
bound back into the gratified circle of their comrades, while the two
discomfited athletes, forcing a rueful smile, retire and 'take a back
seat.' Two couple of more experienced hands now face each other. There
is pretty play this time, as the varying changes of the contest bring
forth ever varying displays of skill and science. The crowd shout as
an advantage is gained, or cry out 'Hi, hi' in a doubtful manner, as
their favourite seems to be getting the worst of it. The result
however is much the same; after a longer or shorter time, two get
fairly thrown and retire. If there is any dispute, it is at once
referred to the judges, who sit grimly watching the struggle, and
comparing the paenches displayed, with those they themselves have
practised in many a well-won fight. On a reference being made, both
combatants retain their exact hold and position, only cease straining.
As soon as the matter is settled, they go at it again till victory
determine in favour of the lucky man. In no similar contest in England
I am convinced would there be so much fairness, quietness, and order.
The only stimulants in the crowd are betel nut and tobacco. All is
orderly and calm, and at any moment a word from the sahib will quell
any rising turbulence. It is now time for a still more scientific
exhibition.
Pat has a man, a tall, wiry, handsome Brahmin, who has never yet been
beaten. Young K. has long been jealous of his uniform success, and on
several occasions has brought an antagonist to battle with Pat's
champion. To-day he has got a sturdy young blacksmith, whom rumour
hath much vaunted, and although he is not so tall as Pat's wrestler,
his square, deep chest and stalwart limbs, give promise of great
strength and endurance.
As the two men strip and bound into the ring, there is the usual hush
of anticipation. Keen eyes scan the appearance of the antagonists.
They are both models of manly beauty. The blacksmith, though more
awkward in his motions, has a cool, determined look about him. The
Brahmin, conscious of his reputation, walks quickly up, with a smile
of rather ostentatious condescension on his finely cut features, and
offers his hand to the blacksmith. The little man is evidently
suspicious. He thinks this may be a deeply laid trap to get a grip
upon him. Nor does he like the bland patronising manner of
'Roopuarain,' so he surlily draws back, at which there is a roar of
laughter from the. crowd, in which we cannot help joining.
K. now comes forward, and pats his 'fancy man' on the back. The two
wrestlers thereupon shake hands, and then in the usual manner both
warily move backwards and forwards, till amid cries from the
onlookers, the blacksmith makes a sudden dash at the practised old
player, and in a moment has him round the waist.
He evidently depended on his superior strength. For a moment he fairly
lifted Roopnarain clean off his legs, swayed him to and fro, and with
a mighty strain tried to throw him to the ground. Bending to the
notes, Roopnarain allowed himself to yield, till his feet touched the
ground, then crouching like a panther, he bounded forward, and getting
his leg behind that of the blacksmith, by a deft side twist he nearly
threw him over. The little fellow, however, steadied himself on the
ground with one hand, recovered his footing, and again had the Brahmin
firmly locked in his tenacious hold. Roopuarain did not like the grip.
These were not the tactics he was accustomed to. While the other
tugged and strained, he, quietly yielding his lithe lissome frame to
every effort, tried hard with obstinate endeavour to untwist the hands
that held him firmly locked. It was beautiful play to see the mute
hands of both the wrestlers feeling, tearing, twisting at each other,
but the grasp was too firm, and, taking advantage of a momentary
movement, Roopnarain got his elbow under the other's chin, then
leaning forward, he pressed his opponent's head backward, and the
strain began to tell. He fought fiercely, he struggled hard, but the
determined elbow was not to be baulked, and to save himself from an
overthrow the blacksmith was forced to relax his hold, and sprang
nimbly back beyond reach, to mature another attack. Roopnarain quietly
walked round, rubbed his shoulders with earth, and with the same
mocking smile, stood leaning forward, his hands on his knees, waiting
for a fresh onset.
This time the young fellow was more cautious. He found he had no
novice to deal with, and the Brahmin was not at all anxious to
precipitate matters. By a splendid feint, after some pretty sparring
for a grip, the youngster again succeeded in getting a hold on the
Brahmin, and wheeling round quick as lightning, got behind Roopnarain,
and with a dexterous trip threw the tall man heavily on his face. He
then tried to get him by the ankle, and bending his leg up backwards,
he would have got a purchase for turning him on his back. The old man
was, however, 'up to this move.' He lay extended flat on his chest,
his legs wide apart. As often as the little one bent down to grasp his
ankle, he would put out a hand stealthily, and silently as a snake,
and endeavour to get the little man's leg in his grasp. This
necessitated a change of position, and round and round they spun, each
trying to get hold of the other by the leg or foot. The blacksmith got
his knee on the neck of the Brahmin, and by sheer strength tried
several times with a mighty heave to turn his opponent. It was no use,
however, it is next to impossible to throw a man when he is lying flat
out as the Brahmin now was. It is difficult enough to turn the dead
weight of a man in that position, and when he is straining every nerve
to resist the accomplishment of your object it becomes altogether
impracticable. The excitement in the crowd was intense. The very
drummer--I ought to call him a tom-tomer--had ceased to beat his
tom-tom. Pat's lips were firmly pressed together, and K. was trembling
with suppressed excitement. The heaving chests and profuse
perspiration bedewing the bodies of both combatants, told how severe
had been their exertions. The blacksmith seemed gathering himself up
for a mighty effort, when, quick as light, the Brahmin drew his limbs
together, was seen to arch his back, and with a sudden backward
movement, seemed to glide from under his dashing assailant, and
quicker than it takes me to write it, the positions were reversed.
The Brahmin was now above, and the blacksmith taking in the altered
aspect of affairs at a glance, threw himself flat on the ground, and
tried the same tactics as his opponent. The different play of the two
men now came strongly into relief. Instead of exhausting himself with
useless efforts, Roopnarain, while keeping a wary eye on every
movement of his prostrate foe, contented himself while he took breath,
with coolly and and yet determinedly making his grip secure. Putting
out one leg then within reach of his opponent's hand, as a lure, he
saw the blacksmith stretch forth to grasp the tempting hold.
Quicker than the dart of the python, the fierce onset of the kingly
tiger, the sudden flash of the forked and quivering lightning, was the
grasp made at the outstretched arm by the practised Brahmin. His
tenacious fingers closed tightly round the other's wrist. One sudden
wrench, and he had the blacksmith's arm bent back and powerless, held
down on the little fellow's own shoulders. Pat smiled a derisive
smile, K. uttered what was not a benison, while the Brahmins in the
crowd, and all Pat's men, raised a truly Hindoo howl. The position of
the men was now this. The stout little man was flat on his face, one
of his arms bent helplessly round on his own back. Roopnarain, calm
and cool as ever, was astride the prostrate blacksmith, placidly
surveying the crowd. The little man writhed, and twisted, and
struggled, he tried with his legs to entwine himself with those of the
Brahmin. He tried to spin round; the Brahmin was watching with the eye
of a hawk for a grip of the other arm, but it was closely drawn in,
and firmly pressed in safety under the heaving chest of the
blacksmith. The muscles were of steel; it could not be dislodged: that
was seen at a glance. The calmness and placidity of the old athlete
was surprising, it was wonderful. Still bending the imprisoned arm
further back, he put his knee on the neck of the poor little hero,
game as a pebble through it all, and by a strong steady strain tried
to bend him over, till we thought either the poor fellow's neck must
break, or his arm be torn from its socket.
He endured all without a murmur. Not a chance did he throw away. Once
or twice he made a splendid effort, once he tried to catch the Brahmin
again by the leg. Roopnarain pounced down, but the arm was as quickly
within its shield. It was now but a question of time and endurance.
Every dodge that he was master of did the Brahmin bring into play.
They were both in perfect training, muscles as hard as steel, every
nerve and sinew strained to the utmost tension. Roopnarain actually
tried tickling his man, but he would not give him a chance. At length
he got his hand in the bent elbow of the free arm, and slowly, and
laboriously forced it out. There were tremendous spurts and struggles,
but patient determination was not to be baulked. Slowly the arm came
up over the back, the struggle was tremendous, but at length both the
poor fellow's arms were tightly pinioned behind his back. He was
powerless now. The Brahmin drew the two arms backwards, towards the
head of the poor little fellow, and he was bound to come over or have
both his arms broken. With a hoarse cry of sobbing-pain and shame, the
brave little man came over, both shoulders on the mould, and the
scientific old veteran was again the victor.
This is but a very faint description of a true wrestling bout among
the robust dwellers in these remote villages. It may seem cruel, but
it is to my mind the perfection of muscular strength and skill,
combined with keen subtle, intellectual acuteness. It brings every
faculty of mind and body into play, it begets a healthy, honest love
of fair play, and an admiration of endurance and pluck, two qualities
of which Englishmen certainly can boast. Strength without skill and
training will not avail. It is a fine manly sport, and one which
should be encouraged by all who wish well to our dusky fellow subjects
in the far off plains and valleys of Hindostan.