THE HOME OF THE PARSEES.
_Monday, February 9th._--Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeeboy very kindly called
for us in the morning with his break and magnificent pair of English
carriage-horses, undertaking to show us something of Bombay.
Sir Jamsetjee is the well-known and respected head of the Parsees, whose
home may be said to be in Bombay. The Parsees claim to follow the oldest
religion in the world, that of the Persian religion of Zoroaster the Fire
Worshipper, and of the 100,000 which their sect numbers, 60,000 live in
Bombay.
"Rampart Row" leads to the banyan-bordered avenue of the maidan or park,
but leaving this to our right, we drove on to the Esplanade, the broad
open space facing the sea which contains such a magnificent series of
public buildings. Here are the Secretariat, the University Hall and
Library designed by Sir Gilbert Scott, the post-office, the Clock Tower
with its carillons, the municipal offices and the High Court--all pretty
edifices in architectural fancifulness of colour and design--of buff
brick with red, of interlacing arches and pillars. We surveyed this fine
block from the parade-ground, where a small body of troops were being
exercised, and some young ladies enjoying their early morning canter,
for it was as yet but 7 a.m. Then we drove along Queen's Road, the
fashionable evening drive. I was going to say it bordered the seashore,
but, unfortunately, the line of the railway intervenes between it and the
sea. This is the road which might be paved with gold, so great was the
amount of the funds sunk by the company formed for the reclamation of
this strip of land. It was the scene of ruin and despair for many of the
Bombay citizens whose fortunes disappeared with the progress of the road.
We looked into the Crawford Markets for a minute, and were surprised at
the order and cleanliness, the exception to the rule that "where the
native reigns there, there is filth, disorder, and uncleanness." Then
Sir Jamsetjee took us to the Art School, founded by his grandfather, the
first baronet, by the gift of a lak of rupees (10,000_l._). Mr. Griffith,
an old South Kensingtonian, showed us through the various rooms where,
beginning with freehand drawing up to modelling from their own designs,
we saw classes of pupils receiving lessons here at the nominal fee of one
rupee per month. Then we went across to the pottery works where "Bombay
ware" is manufactured. This is a speciality of the city. The antique
shapes of the vases and pots are often designed from the frescoes found
in the Caves of Ajunta, and they are coloured in rich and peculiar blues,
browns, and greens. It is very interesting to watch the pupils at work,
for each article is drawn and coloured separately by hand.
We drove through and in and out of the native quarter, which is much
broader and cleaner than that at Calcutta. Hindu temples abound,
with their throng of worshippers passing constantly, up and down the
steps, and touching as they enter the deep-toned bell; thus keeping it
ceaselessly tolling. One street was quite blocked by an immense crowd
streaming down a narrow by-way. They were Hindus going to pay their daily
visit, rarely omitted, to present a customary offering in kind to their
bishop, a fat old man who sits almost naked in the court to receive
their homage. Remains of the enthusiastic admiration for Lord Ripon on
his departure from Bombay, still remain in the "Long live, Ripon!" "Dear
Empress, send us another Ripon!" "A grateful people admire thee, oh
Ripon!" inscribed over the doorways of the native houses. They say that
no sight has ever equalled the extraordinary enthusiasm, the enormous
crowds that lined the six miles of road from Government House at Parell,
to the Apollo Bunder at Bombay. Not even on the occasion of the Prince of
Wales' arrival were such masses of human beings seen.
Then we went to the Hospital and Home for Animals, a very novel
institution, also founded and endowed by Sir Jamsetjee's father, for a
sum of ten laks of rupees. To understand its full use and the benevolence
of its purpose, it must be remembered that, according to the law of their
religion, no Hindu is allowed to kill an animal. It may be tortured in
agony, it may be blind and lame, or if unable to work, turned out into
the streets to be ill-used, starve, and die, but never must it be put out
of its misery. A pious Hindu will often pay some rupees to save an animal
about to be slaughtered by the butcher, and will afterwards bring it here
to the Home. All animals lamed or maimed are received into this "general
hospital," and attended to by a veterinary surgeon. In the stalls full of
oxen, we saw some with a foot amputated, others with sore backs, or skin
diseases, others blind, or otherwise injured. Horses, oxen, dogs, goats,
cats, fowls, ducks--even two porcupines and a tortoise are sheltered in
this "refuge." There is the hospital where those are sent who are very
ill, and it is quite pathetic to see the poor animals here turning and
looking dumbly at us, as if asking for compassion. When convalescent or
the case is pronounced incurable they are sent up to the "mofussil,"
or country home, for change of air, or else to pass the remainder of
their natural term of existence, leading an easy, pleasant life in the
compound. Those cured are sometimes given to people who are known to be
humane, but never sent back to work.
Such are the peculiar provisions and working of the Hospital for Animals.
We are certainly very much pleased with Bombay when compared to Calcutta.
There is so much more to see, so many more places to drive to. How
charming we thought the quaint little corner by the sea, the well-known
Apollo Bunder, jutting out in three-cornered fashion from the wharf!
How familiar we became with two characteristic features of Bombay, the
Arab horses, that are used almost exclusively, and the high cones of the
peculiar Parsee "helmet!" There is always Back Bay to look at, with the
quiet expanse of water at high tide, the slush with mussel-shells at low
tide, lying and taking a generous sweep inwards, between the projecting
promontories of Colaba and Malabar, or between the Government House on
the latter point, and the lighthouse on the tongue of the former. The
Queen's Road, with the high walls of the Burning Ghât, whence at night
issues a lurid flame, runs round to the bottom of Malabar Hill.
All the Europeans reside on Malabar Hill, and the many handsome bungalows
(hardly bungalows they can be called, considering that they are nearly
all two-storied) lie about among the palm groves facing seawards, and
overlooking the harbour. The sea surrounds Malabar Point, thus from
both sides they catch stray breezes wandering about in summer time. At
the prettiest bungalow on Malabar Hill, that of the Commissioner of
Police, Sir Frank Souter, with whom lives the Chief Justice, Sir Charles
Sargeant, we were destined subsequently to spend a very pleasant evening.
The ladies' gymkana is a special feature of "the hill," and here tennis
and badminton in covered courts is played every evening, whilst the
children hold their own reception amongst the swings and merry-go-rounds,
arriving on their donkeys and ponies with their numerous attendants.
When seen, as we did this evening, with the crimson sunset over the
sea, the light just appearing in the clock-tower of the Secretariat
away down in Bombay, with the single bright lights dotted along Queen's
Road--Malabar Hill looked very beautiful. And then as we came down the
steep hill, and met all the residents returning home in the dusk after
listening to the band on the Esplanade, we looked up and saw the three
electric lights which have just been placed at the summit of the hill
with such striking effect.
_Wednesday, February 11th._--At 10 a.m. we embarked in the police
launch, kindly lent us by Sir Frank Souter, for a visit to the "Caves of
Elephanta."
Ten miles' quick steaming across the harbour, navigated by the smart crew
in the pretty uniform of navy-blue with scarlet sash and fez, brought
us to the so-called jetty. It consists of blocks of stone run out some
distance into the sea, but with large spaces left for it to wash between.
Hopping over these interstices we landed, and were carried up the hill in
a dandy.
These wonderful Caves are in the hill-side, that is to say, they have
been sculptured out of the solid wall of rock in its side, having a roof
several hundred feet thick. The pillars seem to support the upper mass,
but they do not really do so, as in several instances, capitals like
huge stalactites are left suspended, the pillar beneath having entirely
disappeared. On entering we find ourselves confronted by monster figures,
mythological giants carved in relief on the wall, and in the recesses of
the cave.
One group represents the Amazon goddess, Durga, the wife of Siva, with a
single breast. She is riding on the sacred bull, and the face of passive
endurance, the large meek eyes of the animal, are very characteristic. In
a recess apart we see a god and goddess, with arms close together, the
hands broken, but showing that they were joined. The goddess stands at
his right hand (in ancient days, the position in marriage), and on both
faces there is such a happy expression, the face of the god in particular
beaming with a smile, that it leads one to believe they were in the act
of being united. There is a crescent concealed in a corner here, while a
cross, probably unintentional, can be traced in the bas-relief opposite.
In this latter there is a beautiful allegorical picture. The upper part
represents a fresco of angels or beings employed in doing good--this is
immortality, the higher and better part of life; whilst below on earth
stands Durga in revengeful attitude, holding the bowl for the blood of
the victim being sacrificed to her--that is the mortal, the cruel, the
lower representation of the Hindu religion.
The preservation of these caves is most remarkable; you see palm-trees,
demons, skulls, the beads of a necklace, the protruding bumps on the
forehead of a god, all distinctly preserved, while, on the other hand,
pillars, and legs and arms of the figures are entirely wanting. One
wonders how, and by what means the one was destroyed, and the other
preserved.
[Illustration: The Caves of Elephanta, Bombay.
Page 356.]
Two inscriptions have been discovered, but are at present undecipherable,
and the exact date of the cave remains therefore in mystery. They are,
however, generally supposed to be about 4000 years old, and without doubt
were originally joined to the mainland.
In the afternoon Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeeboy took us to the Parsee Towers of
Silence.
Many think the rite of burial as performed by the Parsees by exposing the
body on an open tower to be devoured by vultures, is not only wanting
in respect to the dead, but is a revolting and disgusting feature of
their religion. I know that the European inhabitants of Bombay cordially
participate in the latter feeling. For ourselves, whatever we may have
thought or heard previously, after visiting and having explained to us
the Tower of Silence, we came away greatly impressed with the beauty of
many of the thoughts it suggested. It can hardly be believed what living
significance each act has, nor what tender and solemn thoughts rest
around the poetic name of the "Tower of Silence."
Five round white towers stand in different parts of a garden, situated
amid the palm-groves of the hill-top. It is surrounded on two sides
by the sea, and the fresh salt breezes are for ever blowing over the
peninsula, and rustling among the palm-trees, sighing in the utter
stillness and silence of all around.
According to the Zoroastrian religion, earth, fire, and water are sacred,
and very useful to mankind; and in order to avoid their pollution by
contact with putrefying flesh, the faith strictly enjoins that the dead
bodies shall not be buried in the ground, or burnt, or thrown into
the sea, rivers, &c. Therefore, in accordance with these religious
injunctions, the Towers of Silence are always situated on some hill or
eminence away from the city. No expense is spared in their construction,
that they may last for centuries without the possibility of polluting of
the earth, or contaminating any living beings dwelling therein.
No single soul since the consecration and use of the towers has been
allowed to go or see inside them, save only the corpse-bearers. These
latter are men kept sacred for the purpose, and they are divided into two
classes, named Nassalars and Khadhias. The former having gone through
certain religious ceremonies, are alone privileged to carry the corpse
into the towers, whilst the latter act as bearers at the funeral.
The model of the tower in the garden shows us their construction. There
is a circular platform inside about 300 feet in circumference, which is
entirely paved with stone slabs, and divided into three rows of shallow
open receptacles, corresponding with the three moral precepts of the
Zoroastrian religion, "good deeds," "good words," "good thoughts." The
first row is for corpses of males; the second row is for corpses of
females; the third row is for corpses of children. They diminish towards
the centre in size. Footpaths are left for the corpse-bearers to move
about on.
The clothes wrapped round the bodies are removed and destroyed by being
cast into a pit of chloride of lime. "Naked we came into this world, and
naked we ought to leave it," the Parsees maintain.
A deep central well in the tower, the sides and bottom of which are also
paved with stone slabs, is used for depositing the dry bones. The corpse
is completely stripped of its flesh by vultures within an hour or two of
being deposited, and the bones of the denuded skeleton, when perfectly
dried up by atmospheric influences and the powerful heat of the tropical
sun, are thrown into this well, where they crumble into dust--thus the
rich and the poor meet together on one level of equality after death.
To observe the tenet of the Zoroastrian belief, that "the mother earth
shall not be defiled," this well is constructed on the following
principle: there are holes in the inner sides of the well, through which
the rain-water is carried into four underground drains at the base of
the tower, for it must be remembered that the well, like the rest of the
tower, is all exposed and open to the air. At the end of each of these
drains pieces of charcoal and sandstone are placed to act as a filter,
thus purifying the water before it enters into the ground.
The vultures (nature's scavengers) do their work much more expeditiously
than millions of insects would do if dead bodies were buried in the
ground. By this rapid process putrefaction, with all its concomitant
evils, is most effectually prevented.
Along the straight white road, up the steps, winds the procession, always
on foot. The mourners and friends are all clothed in pure white, wear
"flowing full-dress robes," walking in pairs, and each couple are hand
in hand, and joined together by holding a handkerchief between them in
token of "sympathetic grief." The body is carried on an iron bier by the
appointed bearers.
At the gate of the garden it is borne away out of their sight to the
chosen tower, where generally some other relative has been previously
laid. The mourners may follow it no longer, and turn towards the room
kept for that purpose, where a religious service is held. It is within
sight of the temple, where the sacred fire of Zoroaster is eternally kept
burning, glimmering out in the silence and darkness of the night to the
towers of the dead, shadowing forth the glimmer of truth, which is yet
found in this ancient religion.
Quoting, as I have previously done, from the description of the model
of the Tower of Silence, as drawn up by the able Parsee secretary, he
sums up their religion in the following simple words: "According to the
Zoroastrian religion the soul is immortal. Men and women are free moral
agents, and are responsible to the great Creator for their acts and
deeds. In proportion to their good or bad acts and deeds, they meet with
rewards or punishments in the next world. Pious and virtuous persons meet
with happiness, but the wicked and sinful suffer pain and misery."
Thus, as will be seen in the Parsee Towers of Silence, each act, each
form of ceremony shows forth some Scriptural type--some moral reason,
suggests some holy truth. Apart from these there is the other important
consideration of the benefit thereby obtained to the living.
In these latter days when over crowded cemeteries and the levelling of
graveyards in the midst of our metropolis have called forth the cry
of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," by some new means, and some means
quicker than the old; when even cremation has come within the bounds of
possibility, surely the Parsee mode of burial will commend itself to
many foreseeing minds. True that we do not like to think of the vultures
hovering around the funeral procession for the last few miles, nor of
others awaiting it, perched on, and greedily gazing down into, the tower;
but is it so much worse than "the millions of insects of the ground"
of our burial, of which the Parsee speaks with such horror? All morbid
feelings, aggravated by frequent visits to the graveyard, are thus
avoided. We are told that one hour after the body has passed through that
small hole in the tower it is reduced to its natural state. No gradual
decay, no mouldering, scarce any remains. It is known that, according to
the Parsee burial, each body is reduced to one handful of dust. Thus,
within the last half-century, more than 50,000 persons have been buried
in these towers, and yet there is no end to their capacity for room.
The Parsees, as a body, are most enlightened and civilized, and not to
be named with the Hindus. They are European in comparison. And, without
doubt, it is in great measure owing to their true and moral religion, of
which the rite of burial--the Tower of Silence--is the most beautiful
feature.
_Thursday, February 12th._--C. met a large and influential gathering of
representative natives and editors of the vernacular press at the Native
Public Library, called together by the Hon. K. Telang. They explained to
him their views upon the leading Indian questions of the day, and dwelt
strongly upon the urgent necessity of education for their women.
We had a drive in the evening out to Byculla, where many rich Parsee
merchants have houses, It was one of those beautiful seashore drives,
with salt breezes and waving palm-trees, that makes Bombay, I think, such
a pleasant place of residence.
Our last day in India had come. It was our farewell remembrance, and
India has been by far the most interesting country of our travels
hitherto. Who could help being charmed and engrossed with the multitude
and antiquity of the monuments of the past? It is not the intention of
this volume to give more than a simple account of our travels; but for
those who care to study the mystic poetry and religion that is interwoven
with the history of the wild tribes who, horde after horde, race after
race, pierced through the passes of Afghanistan and from Central Asia.,
"that breeding-place of all nations," poured down upon this vast country,
there is literature enough already.
It is truly said, "India forms a great museum of all races, in which
we can study man from his lowest to the highest stages of culture. The
specimens are not fossils or dry bones, but living tribes, each with its
own set of curious customs and rites."
I have, however, been very unfavourably impressed with an Anglo-Indian
life, not so much from a man's, perhaps, as from a woman's point of view.
If of active temperament, health will in time suffer from exertion during
the hot season, and, if otherwise inclined, it is a life of such utter
laziness as to unfit any one for life at home afterwards. The social life
at civil and military stations is, and must always be, _cliquée_ in the
extreme.
We had grumbled ceaselessly at the atrocious hotels, with their cold
comfort; at the life and habits in general; at many things, Indian and
Anglo-Indian, and yet now turning homewards, our feelings were softened,
and we were sorry to think of leaving another of the new countries seen,
and to think that another period of proscribed time had slipped away so
quickly.
Henceforth our travels were destined to be on beaten tracks.
With a sigh of pleasurable regret we stood on the deck of the P. and O.
steamer _Peshawur_, and steamed past the ugly docks and frontage, which
must create such an unfavourable impression on new arrivals to Bombay;
looked our last on Back Bay and on Colaba Lighthouse, on Malabar Point
and Malabar Hill. We stood out to sea, and lost sight of Indian soil in
the growing dusk of twilight.