THE BARKANDĀZ.
A man of this description is too picturesque a personage to be omitted. The annexed portrait was taken by S. Mahumud Ameer; it represents a policeman in Calcutta with his sword, shield, and small-arms: the style of the turban and the dress altogether is remarkable; on the leathern band across his shoulder is the chaprās, or badge of the station to which he belongs.
The shield is generally of black leather adorned with brass knobs. Native gentlemen have shields well painted, sometimes bearing the portrait of some native lady, and richly ornamented with silver. We purchased a shield of the hide of the rhinoceros at the fair at Allahabad; there are numerous indentations upon it, the marks of bullets, which appear to have been turned off by the thickness and strength of the hide. My husband used to cut it up to leather the tips of billiard cues—therefore I carried it off, and added it to my museum.
The journey was very unpleasant, very hot, and not a breath of air.
The dust from the trampling of the bearers’ feet rolled up in clouds, filling my eyes and mouth, and powdering my hair; and my little terrier, Fairy Poppus, as the natives call her, in imitation of my “Fury, pup, pup,” was very troublesome in the pālkee.
I arrived at Cawnpore at 7 A.M., and was glad to take shelter in my new house, which I found very cool and pleasant, after a hot drive during the last stage in a buggy.
The house, or rather bungalow[55], for it is tiled over a thatch, is situated in the centre of the station, near the theatre; it stands on a platform of stone rising out of the Ganges, which flows below and washes the walls. The station is a very large one: besides the gentlemen of the Civil Service, there are the artillery, the eleventh dragoons, the fourth cavalry, and three or four regiments of infantry.
The work of this day began by what is really an operation in India, and constantly repeated, that is, washing the hair. My ayha understood it remarkably well; for the benefit of those ladies having beautiful tresses in the East, I give the receipt[56].
June 9th.—The deaths are numerous in our farm-yard; in such weather it is a matter of surprise that any thing can exist. At 4 P.M. the thermometer outside the verandah, in the sun, stood at 130°; in the shade, at 110°! From this time to the end of August we lost 280 Guinea fowls from vertigo, and three calves also died.
A storm is raging: it arose in clouds of dust, which, sweeping over the river from the Lucnow side, blow directly on the windows of the drawing-room; they are all fastened, and a man at every one of them, or the violence of the wind would burst them open; my mouth and eyes are full of fine sand; I can scarcely write;—not a drop of rain, only the high wind, and the clouds of dust so thick we cannot see across the verandah. I feel rather afraid lest some part of the house, which is not in good repair, should give way if it continue to blow in such gusts. This bay-windowed room feels the whole force of the tufān, which is the heaviest I have seen. In Calcutta we had severe storms, with thunder and lightning; here, nothing but clouds of sand—reaching from earth to heaven—with a hot yellow tinge, shutting out the view entirely. The storm has blown for an hour, and is beginning to clear off; I can just see the little white-crested waves on the river beneath the verandah.
In the open air the thermometer stands at 130°; in the drawing-room, with three tattīs up, at 88°. The heat is too oppressive to admit of an evening drive.
A high caste and religious native gentleman, Shah Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, requested to be allowed to play at chess with me; the natives are passionately fond of the game, which is remarkable, as chess was one of the games forbidden by the prophet. On the arrival of my opponent, I recognized the native gentleman who had entertained me with fireworks at Sahseram. I have spoken of him as of high caste—that term is only correct when applied to an Hindoo, Musulmāns have no distinction of caste.
14th.—A tufān, a sand storm, or rather a storm of sand and dust, is now blowing; indeed, a little while ago the darkness was so great from that cause, I was obliged to leave off writing, being unable to distinguish the letters.
The Ganges opposite Cawnpore is about three miles in breadth; and, at this season, the water being low, the natives cultivate melons, cucumbers, wheat, &c., on the islands in the centre of the stream; some of the melons are delicious, remarkably fragrant, and very cheap. During the rains the islands are entirely under water, and the river, when there is a breeze, swells into waves like a little sea.
If a house has a flat roof covered with flag-stones and mortar, it is called a pukka house; if the roof be raised and it be thatched, it is called a bungalow; the latter are generally supposed to be cooler than the pukka houses. The rooms of our house are lofty and good; the dining-room forty feet by twenty-eight, the swimming-bath thirty feet by twenty-one, and all the other rooms on a suitable scale. There is a fine garden belonging to and surrounding the house, having two good wells, coach-house, stables, cow-house, &c. In India the kitchen and all the servants’ offices are detached from the dwelling on account of the heat. We pay 150 rupees a month, about 150 guineas per annum, a heavy rent for an up-country house: the houses are always let unfurnished.
Very fine white grapes are now selling at fourpence-halfpenny per pound. Cawnpore is famous for its fruit-gardens.
The natives are curious people! My ayha, a Musulmāne, asked me to allow her to go to a dinner-party given by some khidmatgārs, friends of hers; and on her return, she said to me, “Mem sāhiba, we have had a very fine khānā (dinner), and plenty to eat—I am quite full;” patting her body with great glee, “but we have had a great quarrel.” She then explained that at a native feast every guest sits down in a circle, or in a line, and before each person a freshly gathered leaf is placed as a plate; then the giver of the feast comes round, and puts an equal portion of curry and rice before each guest. When all have been helped, they start fair—and, in general, the host refills all the plates. It sometimes happens that some of the guests eat so fast they get a greater share than the others, this puts the rest into a rage, and they quietly vent their spite by slyly cutting holes in the clothes worn by the great eaters. It happened at this feast that my ayha sat next a man who was helped three times, and I suspect she cut holes in his attire, which caused the disturbance.
During this month of June we have lost two very fine grey carriage-horses, the first we have lost during a residence of nearly eight years in India; they have been poisoned by the grass-cutters for the sake of their skins, each skin being worth about six rupees. The first stage out of Cawnpore is famous as a place where horses die on their march, and hides are there procurable for tanning. The poison is made into small balls, scarcely larger than pills, which are thrown into the manger, or into the grass. In the evening I observed about twenty natives surrounding the entrance-gates, who had come in the hope of carrying the carcase away, to sell the hide, and to feast themselves upon the flesh, for the people of the Jullah or Doom caste eat carrion. They were disappointed in their hope of a repast; we had the horse put into a boat, and sunk in the Ganges.
Extract from the Letter of a Friend Homeward-bound.
June.—“After leaving the Sandheads we were obliged to put into Trincomalee, Ceylon, in consequence of an accident to the chain-cable, and having sprung a leak. We put to sea again, but the leak was as bad as before whenever the sea made the vessel pitch; fortunately, we reached the Isle of France, March 19th, and were in quarantine three days and a half. On landing I thought I had never seen a dirtier place nor filthier people than Port Louis and its inhabitants. And now I will tell you an odd story.
“There is an old French soldier living on this island, who has the power of seeing in the clouds the reflections of approaching ships, and this when the ships are at the distance of 300 or 400 miles. Three days before we came in, he made his public report at the proper office that five ships and three brigs were approaching the island, pointing out the different directions in which they lay. The exact number and description of vessels, of which our ship, the Lady Flora, was one, came in; we were the first at anchor, and the others came in during the day of our arrival and the next. At the time he reported seeing us, we must have been at least 350 miles from the island. The old man died suddenly the day after our arrival. He was an European, born in France, and had been thirty-six years on this island. Buonaparte made him liberal offers to go home to France, but he would not—as he said that it was only in a particular atmosphere, such as that round this island, that he could exert his singular faculty. The old man used to lie or sit nearly all day, with a telescope in his hand, looking at the clouds all round the island. He foretold the number and description of ships when the British expedition to this island was approaching, and, as I understand, quite correctly.
“Once he reported that there were either two brigs lashed together, or a four-masted ship coming to the island; and this turned out to be a large 1200 ton ship, which had lost all her masts in a storm, and had put up four temporary spars to supply the place of masts. The reflection, therefore, in the clouds must have been very correct. And surely the power of seeing these reflections is not confined to one individual, but many have the power of vision equal to this man’s, if they had the patience and time to make the trial.”
My friend spoke with great pleasure of the kindness he received from the governor of the island, during his stay at Reduit; and in raptures of a most beautiful waterfall. The thermometer at Reduit was only 75°, the elevation above the sea being 1200 feet. He says; “The island is an unhealthy place for animals; out of 212 Java ponies that arrived here two months before, fifty or sixty are dead.”
How much I like the description of the visionary life the old man led, lying idly on the shore and gazing on the clouds! It brought to memory the happy days I formerly passed on the western shore of Hampshire, seeing or fancying the most beautiful visions in the clouds, whilst I listened to the sweet monotony of the waves—
“I may not muse—I must not dream—
Too beautiful those visions seem
For earth or mortal man; but when
Shall by-past times come back again?”
Women have more influence over men in India than in any other country. All out-door amusements are nearly denied to the latter by the climate, unless before sunrise or after sunset; therefore the whole time of military men, generally speaking, is spent in the house, devoted either to music or drawing, which of course they prefer in the society of ladies, or in the study of the languages, or in gaming. The young officers at this station play exceedingly high, ruinously so—two guinea points at short whist, and 100 guineas on the rubber, is not unusual amongst the young men.
Happily the gentlemen in the Civil Service have too much employment to admit of their devoting their time to gambling.
If you ask a native—“Where is your master gone?” if the gentleman be from home, you are sure to receive the answer—“Howā khānā-ke-wāste” (to eat the air); this chamelion-like propensity of eating the air is always the object during the early morning ride and the evening drive.
Our servants at present only amount to fifty-four, and I find it quite difficult enough to keep them in order; they quarrel amongst themselves, and when they become quite outrageous, they demand their discharge.
My ayha and the ābdār had a laughable quarrel. She was making herself a pair of Europe Chintz pajamas (trousers) such as they usually wear, made very full round the body, and quite tight from the knee to the ancle.
Musulmāne women never wear a petticoat when amongst themselves; it is the badge of servitude, and put on to please European ladies; the moment an ayha gets into her own house, she takes off her full petticoat and the large white mantle (chādar) that covers her head and the upper part of her body, and walks about in the curiously shaped trousers I have described, with a sort of loose jacket of muslin over the upper part, beneath which is the angiya.
The ayha was sitting on her chārpāī (native bed) working away with great eagerness, when her friend the ābdār advised her to make the trousers full to the ankle; and she came to me to give warning to quit my service, vowing revenge upon the ābdār, because nāch women wear trousers of that description. The old ābdār, Sheik-jee, was sitting down very quietly making chapāties (flour-cakes), and smoking his narjil (cocoa-nut shell hooqŭ) at intervals, enjoying the ayha’s anger, until she stood up, and, screaming with passion, gave him gālee (abuse); he then flew into a rage, and I had some trouble to restore peace and quietness. Natives seldom, indeed hardly ever, come to blows, but they will go on for hours abusing each other in the grossest language, screaming out their words from passion.
A darzee (tailor) is an Indian luxury: they work beautifully—as strongly and finely as the French milliners; they have great patience—because they are paid by the month, and not by the piece. In Calcutta I found my tailors great thieves—knives, scissors, seals—they would steal anything. One man carried off a present I had just received, a necklace and bracelets of a very curious pattern, and a box full of polished pebbles, in sets, from the Soane river.
Bishop Heber, who did not understand native character, and possessed much simplicity, was surprised when the up-country natives thus addressed him: “Defender of the poor, peace be unto you! Refuge of the distressed, sālāmut[57]!” and imagined it was from respect to his holy office. I was playing with the son of the judge, a little fellow of two years old; the child offered to shake hands, and presented his left hand—his native attendant, shocked at what he considered an insult, desired him to give the right hand; the child did so, when the chaprāsī cried out with great pleasure, “Well done! well done! Refuge of the distressed! defender of the poor!”
Ram Din, the man mentioned in Chapter XI., was a Rājput sipahī in the Company’s service, from which, after twelve years’ service, he obtained his discharge; he was in many engagements. In Calcutta the man came to us, and, making salām, presented his chitthīs (written vouchers of conduct), saying; “Refuge of the distressed, having heard of your great name, I am present to offer my services; I have served the Company faithfully twelve years, I will serve you faithfully.” He was a fine native, about six feet high or upwards; he lived with us many years, and had always charge of the boats or the tents when we moved about the country.
A native is very fond of wearing a plain silver ring on the little finger, with a stone on the top, on which is engraved his own name, and sometimes that of the god he particularly worships, if the man be an Hindoo. They usually stamp any petition they may have to send to any gentleman with it, by putting Hindostanī ink on the seal, wetting the paper, and pressing the seal down upon it[58].
On the signet-ring of the Rājput above mentioned was “Ram Din Mahādēo.” The engraver invariably puts the date of the year on the corner of the stone, unless it be expressly forbidden. Engraved on the ruby of a signet-ring, brought to me from Persia, was “Allah, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hussen, Hossein[59].”