Part 4

On the evening of our arrival a great festival was held at the temple. The procession was headed by eight standard bearers, dressed in full white skirts, followed by eight more in red costumes. Their waists were uncovered. They bore aloft flaming torches, followed by the most fantastically dressed musicians beating drums and dancing in a frantic manner. Close behind these were the "Devil dancers," four in number, whose skirts of gay-colored silks were elaborately studded with jewels and turbans to match. These skirts were so full that when making their convolutions they looked like inflated balloons. The contortions of their bodies were painful to witness, and as the reflection from the torches lit up their faces one could but feel they were aptly named. Three elephants walked abreast, most gorgeously apparelled, and moved with a dignity most surprising. They wore jewelled masks, their bodies enveloped with jewelled mantles, while on the back of the center animal rested a gilded cage, in which, in a pagoda-shaped vessel, was the sacred tooth. Following the elephants were more drummers, more Devil dancers and other elephants, whose huge tusks were incased in gold. Each animal was closely guarded by his keeper, while riders sat astride in the most gorgeous-colored skirts and turbans. The chief man of the temple, representative of the old Kandy kings, rivaled Falstaff in his appearance. He wore a full white skirt, a large white hat, with a white mantle or cape thrown over his shoulders. His dignified tread was akin to that of Jumbo, and was greeted by all along the procession. We were told he was the banker of the village. During the August festival the procession is much more impressive, as three hundred elephants are in line. The festivities ended by a feast at the temple. Along each side of the entrance the poor of the village sat with their empty vessels, which were to be filled by those in authority. Buddha was most conspicuous on the altar of the temple, carved woods and ivories surrounding the image, where later a dance was performed; but we were too unholy to be permitted to remain and witness it. A description of the Paradeniza gardens would be like attempting to picture to one's imagination the Garden of Eden. The two hundred and fifty varieties of palms, the bamboo, one hundred feet high and growing in clumps one hundred and fifty feet in circumference, give some idea of the tropical growth. We see spicy cinnamon, the chinchona, the upas tree, the latter bearing to a great height its lofty head, not unlike a palm in growth, with its bark gray and spotted like a snake. It is not indigenous to the soil, but comes from Java, where its dense groves are called the "Valley and Shadow of Death," and when I stood under its shade without knowing the tree, I will confess a superstitious fear came over me when I was told by our frightened guide that I was in danger. The candle tree produces a fruit shaped like a candle, but not edible. The traveler's palm gives the thirsty traveler a refreshing drink when an incision in the stem of its leaves is made. Cocaine grows in profusion, while alongside, coffee and tea plants and nutmegs and other spices grow apace. The Jacqueminot and La France roses grow to the size of saucers, while the orchids fasten themselves like grape vines over wooden props, beautiful and varied in color, and are native to the jungles, brought therefrom and sold by coolies to the traveler for a pittance. The governor's palace is beautifully located. From its windows we gaze upon a beautiful river, while the grounds are watered from the spray of fountains. The palace was unoccupied and we were permitted to go through its spacious rooms and halls. The drives all about Kandy are fascinating, and are made more so by now and then a temple hid almost from sight, but of interest when visited, while the industrious weaver of straw mats, a yard and a half in length and a yard wide, meets us along the way, urging us to buy--a temptation we cannot resist, although we wonder what we shall do with them when we get them. But adieux must be made to Ceylon, with its spicy breezes, for the "Steamer Pekin" lies at anchor off Colombo which is to bear us over 1,300 miles to Calcutta, the voyage only broken by a short stay at Madras, where a brief visit is long enough, for the heat and dust are oppressive. We see the juggernaut car lying in disuse on the roadside under a temporary covering of a palm thatched roof. A most cumbersome vehicle, the wheels of which are so closely set together that one can imagine the poor victims over whose body it rolls, could easily be reduced to powder. Government interferes in its further usage, save in territories not easily managed. The official buildings are European, but the homes of the natives are of burnt clay, with no windows--a small open door reveals its inmates stretched out sleeping, almost devoured by flies. The filth of the quarter makes it uninviting; the botanical garden is hardly worth the ride there. We take the only small vessel in use to carry us back to the steamer awaiting us in this beautiful Bay of Bengal. The governor's house is lofty in appearance, the exterior dingy from dust and dirt, but we are told the household appointments are magnificent, the decorations partly in the oriental and some of them in European style; servants by the score, hundreds of coolies who do nothing but keep the Punkas (swinging fans) in motion in every part of the building by day and night. The natives of Madras are quite dark in color, with straight hair and regular features, diminutive in stature, slender forms, with small hands and feet, and have a pensive look and manner. The deformity among the beggars is revolting, and we fear to alight from our chariot, lest we may come in contact with these poor, unfortunate beings. We learn that the wheels of government move slowly in these oriental countries. If an audience with the governor is desired, a book is given you in which the name of the solicitor is registered. At the end of two weeks the governor gives notice that he will give a public breakfast at the palace, and those who have registered their names will be received and their requests will be heard. Time seems not to be considered of any import.

The calm waters of the Bay of Bengal, with its southern breezes, makes the journey pleasant, as the traveler seeks his extended chair on deck of the steamer, protected from the scorching sun by its broad awnings. On entrance to the Hoogly River, a native pilot comes aboard--for here the ever-moving sands render navigation uncertain and perilous--until the dangerous sand bars of the James and Mary rivers are passed; every sailor must be at his post as the steamer wends its way through the treacherous channel, and each passenger silently congratulates himself when he is assured the Rubicon is past. The bottom of these rivers is a vast quicksand. The vessel entering must await the tide. The banks are low and sandy. Straw thatched huts, shaded by clusters of date palms, gave a picturesque appearance to the shores, and the tropical growth grew richer and more dense as we approached Calcutta. The excitement on arrival of the steamer is intense; custom house officers present themselves: all baggage is ordered from the cabins on deck, even to the smallest hand-bag; search is made for fire arms: strict laws regarding them are enforced, and if you are unfortunate enough to have one in your possession, as was one of our party, you are quickly relieved of it, and only by paying as much as the original price, with much red tape, are you enabled to regain it.

INDIA.

India, in 1892, had a population of 300,000,000. The area of the land on which they live is equal to the United States, east of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Much of it is uncultivated; other lands yield crops under irrigation. The soil in places has become exhausted by use without manure. Between monsoons (that is, periods of no rainfall), these regions cease to produce and there is a scarcity.

Regions cultivated by irrigation are enhanced in value, for the products bring better prices, but when rivers and tanks dry up from which water for irrigation is drawn, then scarcity becomes a famine, where the rain has failed. There are two annual crops in India; the former inferior grade is used for home consumption, the other for export. Of the army, seventy thousand strong, forty per cent are incapacitated by diseases. Civil servants are superannuated at fifty-five years of age and are sent home on a pension, seldom enjoying life longer than two years afterward.

Seven per cent native males read and write; only one per cent native females can read or write. The different castes will not intermarry and will not touch each other's food.

Calcutta is a city of 500,000 inhabitants, of these, 14,000 are Europeans.

The streets of the English concession are broad and well laid out. Fine hotel buildings, banks and storehouses line the main thoroughfare. The hotels have broad verandas extending from the second floor, over the sidewalk, affording a cool resting place for the guests, and would be most acceptable were it not for the myriads of insects that cover you. The protection these porches afford at night to the natives who, wrapped in their cotton blankets, lie closely huddled together along the sidewalk, while scarcely leaving room enough for a pathway for the pedestrian serve to exempt them (the natives) from the dews of the night. The palace of the viceroy, centrally located, is surrounded by beautiful grounds, with magnificent shade trees. It is built upon the grand esplanade, three miles in length, and skirts the water's edge. From the hours of 5:00 till 8:00 p. m. this grand avenue presents a lively appearance, for all the elite of Calcutta seems gathered there. Handsome victorias drawn by beautiful horses, coachmen and footmen, with their bright turbans and oriental dress, lends enchantment to the view and reminded one of the display Aladdin made when he went to claim his bride. In the Garden of Eden, near by, a band of forty native musicians, well trained, discourse sweet music--the latest European airs. During the performances all vehicles must remain in one position, thus affording the scores of flower venders opportunity to move noiselessly roundabout the carriages, offering the beautiful orchids, camellias and roses, for a small pittance, to the occupants. To say nothing of toy monkeys, which one cannot resist buying. The European residence quarters lie along this beautiful, sun-baked road. The houses are large and well built, with the luxuriant surroundings of tropical growth that almost hide the homes from view. On every veranda is the tea table, with its urn or samovar; all English observe the hour of 4:00 o'clock to serve the necessary stimulant at home and abroad. The city is supplied with water from the Hoogly River, gathered into large reservoirs, and filtered. The Esplanade is sprinkled by the native coolie, who, from his well-filled goatskin, moves gracefully in a surpentine fashion over its well rolled surface; while the streets in the business portion are watered from carts managed by women. A visit to the crematory at the early dawn--the hour set apart for burning their dead--is interesting, but horrible, to witness. A building of 100 feet is located upon the bank of the river. At intervals of ten feet on its earthen floor are trenches, dug the length of a body; they do not exceed two feet in depth, if that. In this excavation is placed some clean straw and sandal wood with myrrh and sweet perfumes. Upon this is laid, first crosswise and then lengthwise, sticks of cordwood, and a fresh bed of straw, upon which the body is laid. The body of an aged woman was brought in for cremation while we stood there. It was wrapped in white cheese cloth and rested on the bed upon which she died, which is their custom to burn. It is the length of the body, made of rope interlaced; at each end are two small wooden legs which support the wooden sides and are, in height, like the old-fashioned trundle bed. The winding sheet was removed, the body anointed with oil and rubbed with saffron powder. The face, which was most emaciated and betrayed great suffering, was completely besmeared with this mixture. The body was then placed face downwards on the pile. Being somewhat longer than the bed prepared for it, the limb from the knee was bent towards the body. The cracking of the dry bones was most grewsome. The body had a fresh wrap of cheese cloth thrown over it, the face having her caste designated by lines of ashes on her forehead, made by a priest, and sticks of cordwood were placed crosswise and then lengthwise so close together that the entire body was concealed. A pitcher of water from the sacred Hoogly River, nearby, was brought and thrown over the pile. Then the nearest relative of the deceased ran violently around the body seven times, crying in a loud voice to the gods that another soul was awaiting reincarnation, while a wild-eyed, maniacal-looking priest took up a huge bunch of straw and made the circuit seven times, giving vent to the most uncanny wail, when the son or husband of the dead touched the burning torch to the straw underneath; soon all was ablaze. The mourners, a few women, withdrew, and a man, whose office it is, stood near by, and as the arms or legs or pieces of burning wood fell, would replace them with a pitch fork. Scores of bodies were brought in that morning, but seeing two cremations was all we needed to make an indelible impression not easily eradicated. It requires about two hours to reduce the body to ashes, or a granulated substance, when it is gathered and thrown into the holy river, and the excavation is made clean for another body.

The Ghats or sacred steps leading down to the waters of the Hoogly are in the same vicinity. Throngs of bathing pilgrims, of both sexes, were gathered for their morning ablutions. After wading out nearly waist deep, they would place their hands reverently together, and apparently after a prayer with great earnestness, dip themselves three times into the water, and those who had flowers (the marigold seemed the favorite), as they prayed would cast them upon the waters one by one, then scour their feet, rinse their mouth and wash their garment, filling a brass vessel which hung to their side with the holy water, and proceed to the well situated under a Boho tree at the head of a Ghat, when they would sprinkle the diminutive gods that were placed there. Priests stood in readiness with paint and ashes and made upon their foreheads the mark of their caste, for which they received a compensation. At a time during the eclipse of the moon, 100,000 pilgrims often find their way to this holy water. It seems as if half their lives are spent in making these pilgrimages in these eastern countries, and if they die far from the holy stream, they are cremated and their ashes sent to some priest, whose office is to make the consecration before sprinkling them on the sacred rivers.

We turn from this scene, not wishing to obliterate the memory, but to forget for awhile in other and perhaps no less disgusting scenes in the native quarters. We are warned to make our visits few, for contagious diseases lurk in these narrow streets and among these filthy people.

We enter narrow lanes, in these quarters, flanked on either side by tumbled-down houses. We are in pursuit of pearls. Strange surroundings for such beautiful gems. We are led into a narrow hall and up a long flight of steps of stone, so worn by the tread of time that we could scarcely keep our foothold. We reach a chamber fronting on a court. The floors are covered with padded matting over which were sheets spread. Kneeling, or rather squatting on these were natives busily employed sorting pearls. Before each were piles of different sizes. The wonderful dexterity displayed by these coolies in separating the large, medium and smaller seed pearls from each other in parcels, by or through the sense of touch of the index finger, seemed to convey to their minds weight and size.

A table or counter was in one end of this room, behind which were seated dignified patriarchal looking dealers, and evidently owners of the establishment. We were shown diamonds of such weight and brilliancy that fairly bewildered us and dazzled our eyes. Emeralds, sapphires, and pearls of different colors (black, pink and white), the former of such size that we almost doubted their genuineness. Evidently we were in a wholesale department, for while there, there came in foreign buyers collecting many of these precious stones. Prices were fixed. The dealers were in touch with the world's market, and values ruled accordingly; there seemed no chance to barter. Our address is taken when we decline to purchase, which means that we will be followed to the hotel by a native who will there unfold the wonders of India's product again to us--specimens even more tempting than those shown in the shops. Our lack of confidence in ourselves as experts and a growing distrust of the dealer makes a breach between buyer and seller. In these places where gems are kept the stock ofttimes seems meager, and we manifest our disappointment, but are at once assured that their supply is large, but at the present time the rarest and most costly have been sent to some Maha Rajah who makes regal purchases, and those he declines, perhaps from his sufficiency, are returned for sale to those whose love for gems is weighed in a balance with their purse.

An English lady artist who was solicited to paint the portrait of one of these Rajahs in his own palace, and to abide in the premises during her time of labor, told me her powers of description failed her in the attempt to portray to others what the coffers of these rulers of provinces contained, and with which they adorned themselves on state occasions, and to convey to canvas their beauties, would have been the work of the Hand that created them.

Calcutta, city of palaces, has a number of theaters, one of which we attended. The evening was warm; the audience quite large. In the gallery sat parties in groups; over each stood stalwart coolies, in whose hands were held a long-handled palm-leaf fan. Not for one moment did they falter, but with an unerring movement, gracefully and uninterruptedly handled this cumbersome article, which must have had a soothing effect. The play was not well supported; now and then was pleasure or displeasure manifested by the audience in a loud voice speaking, we were told, direct to the actors. After the play was over (by the way, it was long drawn out) the foyer rapidly filled and great hilarity prevailed. Full dress, now in evidence among the ladies, and gentlemen with their tall silk hats and boutonierres looked most like English swells, while those in Oriental dress were not eclipsed in brilliant coloring.

The insect life in Calcutta was most annoying. Before going to the theatre I had left a small flicker from the gas jet in my room and the windows open. What was my dismay on returning to find the originally whitewashed walls of my apartment of a dull grey appearance. I doubted if my steamer trunk had not been transferred in my absence to a more sombre looking chamber, but on my appeal to Brahma, my servant, who lay at my door, he assured me that it was innumerable shad flies (as we would call them) which had been caught by the glare and had lined walls and ceilings and covered my bed spread. Dust pans and brushes were in requisition, counterpane shaken, and lace mosquito netting drawn down and tucked in before I felt like retiring for the night. To attempt to read by an overhanging light was simply impossible, for the print of paper or book would be completely obscured by these pestiferous creatures, and when we sought an outside veranda that we might, in the darkness, at least, carry on a conversation, they would fly down one's throat, when we opened our mouths. Imagine what a sacrifice this was to be compelled to be dumb, when we had so much to say.

In traveling through India a body servant is indispensable. He lies at the door of your sleeping apartment, waits upon you at the table, buys your ticket, cares for your baggage and divers other attentions are rendered by the patient but most indolent Mohammedan. We are advised not to employ a Hindoo servant, as they refuse to serve flesh or fowl to you at the table; according to their religious belief, it would be pollution.

At 9:15 p. m., Nov. 18, 1895, we find ourselves in a most comfortable compartment car, with shower bath and other conveniences. Alongside, but not connected in a way that we could speak to them only by calling from the car window or door, was the apartment designated for servants. They lie down at night on the floor with an extra cotton wrap, which is used for the purpose, and I fancy they use their turban for their pillow. To our party of four we were entitled to an entire compartment, and no intrusion can be made en route, on our privacy. On either side of the car are long, cushioned seats, well upholstered and covered with dark green leather; over these are suspended corresponding ones which, if not in use, are thrown to the ceiling, where they are made secure. At the one end is a shorter seat (width of the car) and at the opposite side a door leads into a toilet room. The traveler provides his own bedding, which consists of pillows or cushions, and steamer blankets or shawls. The nights are cold, but the heat through the day, were we not in motion, would be insupportable, together with the dust that arises along the road, for lack of rain, adds nothing to our comfort. Our coolies, if called upon to roll up our bedding, whether from lack of inclination or from physical weakness we know not, would look morose, or call in, if at a station, additional help to share in the labor, and never fail at the end of the day to ask for compensation for the annas expended on their co-workers.

I could better appreciate the statement made by an English missionary from the Isle of Wight that he kept sixteen servants in his own household (and he was a bachelor); that no one coolie would perform what he himself considered to be the work of two men. I must confess to their indolence, but it appeared to me a trifle extravagant for a dependant upon the missionary board. He was a most agreeable gentleman, however, and I am under many obligations for a prescription which enabled me, when I had it filled, to accomplish my sight seeing, and travel in India, our own remedies having no effect in that country or climate. In returning to the question of manual labor: the working of the "punkas," or swinging fans, alone required many men, to keep the air in motion for the comfort of people. In the hotel dining room these fans were hung on wires, stretched at intervals the entire length and breadth of the salon, say five feet apart. The material used was a white or drab drilling (cotton cloth) made into huge box plaits; wire or rope was attached to and drawn above these punkas to holes in the wall, which separated the dining room from a corridor. There sat, or rather squatted, a dozen, more or less, coolies with these wires either in their hands or fastened to their feet, and would sway to and fro, causing a vibration in the air that was most acceptable in these warm climates, while eating.