That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

Then we had another talk and laugh over the outcome of our scheme and the ludicrous incidents in it. Then he fell to talking over the deliberate falsehoods of the natives.

“I often wonder that there is any justice to any one, for who can decide, even with the utmost care what is truth when there is so much falsehood and perjury on both sides? I often think of Pilate and can sympathize with him when he asked “What is truth?” I have a case of murder in court. A score or more of Muhamedans swear on the Koran that the man is guilty, and as many Hindus swear by the water of the Ganges that the man is innocent. What am I to do? I have sometimes thought in such a case I might as well count the flies on the punkah over my head, and if the number be even, let the accused go free, if odd, sentence him to be hung. And I think the decision by the flies would be as just as by the evidence of the witnesses.

“The natives all acknowledge this habit of lying and perjury and seem to think nothing of it, take it as a matter of course. Why, I am told that the groups of trees in my cutchery compound are called two ana trees, four ana trees and so on up to two rupees, according to the size of the bribes the witnesses are willing to take; so when the parties in court want witnesses, they go to the different trees in proportion to their ability to pay and get what they desire.

“Some of these natives talk of representative government. Who would be the representatives? What would they represent? As a whole people they have no country. I never yet saw a patriot among all I have met. They have not the remotest idea of what that word means, what the love of country is. If they fight, it is because they are hired to do so for the sake of plunder, or to kill those who oppose their wishes, but they would never fight and die as patriots for the love of their country; and those who talk the most, would be the last to take up arms. If we were to leave the country, within a month all would be confusion. They would be robbing each other and cutting one another’s throats worse than pirates. The more educated know this, and while they want to become the rulers, they would like us to remain and be their protectors. It is the jealousy of the different tribes that is the greatest strength of the English in India. They cannot trust each other for they know too well what would happen if left to themselves. Just think of it. Here is this Tahsildar, from one of their old best families, as they would say, a devout Muhamedan, a man honored by Government with a good position, receiving a large salary, and yet for a paltry rupee or two he stole my medicine, robbed the poor of what I had given them, and then deliberately lied about it. Why, I would sooner trust you, Cockear, with my dinner than such a man, wouldn’t I?” and Cockear put up his paw and nodded his head as if to say: “You are right again, my master.”

Mr. Percy continued, “I was once in a district where there was a famine; thousands of people were starving. At the best, we had not funds sufficient to give them half enough to eat of the coarsest food. There was nothing for them to gather, not even grass, for the earth was as hard and dry as a brick. The people died in the villages, on the roads, under the trees, not from any disease but from starvation. Every day we sent out men to bury the dead—skeletons—on which there was nothing for even the jackals to eat. It was a horrid time. I could scarcely eat my own food for thinking of the poor wretches dying in want of such food as was given to my dogs and horses. The few Europeans could not be everywhere in the district and watch everything, so we had to use our subordinates. In a very large village we put the Tahsildar in charge. He reported to us the number to be fed, and we supplied him with funds and gave him orders to purchase and distribute so much food each day. He reported every day that he had done so. I rode out one morning very early and found some food cooked, the fires all out, and the distribution ready to begin. I had the food weighed and found it was only half the allowance ordered, and that he had daily reported. I ordered the fires to be relighted and the proper amount of food to be cooked, and saw to the feeding of the people myself, twenty-two hundred of them, and then what they did get was only half of what they needed, a couple of chupatties and a little dhal, to last them for twenty-four hours; but it was all we could give them. This was for that day; but what if I had not been there, or what of the days when no European was present? We were as positive as we could be that this Tahsildar was making money out of the famine fund; but what could we do? He received the money, he bought the food, saw to the distribution and made out his own reports. He could have bought up any number of lying witnesses to prove that he was honest, and we had none to prove him otherwise. Shortly after the famine he made a grand wedding for one of his children that cost him over ten thousand rupees, and it was the common talk among the natives that he got this money from the famine relief fund.

“Such a man, to rob the food from the mouths of starving children! He would be mean enough to take the winding-sheet from the corpse of his grandmother if he could sell it for a few anas! He was probably the best native in the district. What then were the rest? And they talk of giving such men power to make laws and govern India! If a man like him, in such a position, would be guilty of such contemptibly mean crimes, what might be expected of men receiving only a few rupees a month? Give me an honest dog every time, rather than such a man,” and Cockear nodded again very emphatically, as if saying, “There is no mistake in that.” Thus Mr. Percy talked, for this was one of his moods. He seemed to be thinking aloud. He was so just and kind himself toward the natives, though they often abused his confidence, that when he talked of their dishonesty and meanness to each other he always grew warm. Why shouldn’t he?

He had great sympathy for the poorer natives, since he knew so much of the extortions and tyranny of the richer classes.

To have some little part in the conversation I told the story of that frightful zemindar who seized the very rags of the poor people in that never to be forgotten court from which I had escaped; and of the cruel robbery of the man of his handful of fish that he had caught for his starving old mother. How vividly that scene came up before me.

“Yes,” said Mr. Percy, “and very likely that same zemindar would be called before some wandering parliamentary committee to give his advice about relieving the poverty of the people of India. He could tell them more of how to relieve them of their property.”

As I had no experience and little knowledge of these subjects I could not say much; so both Cockear and I were good listeners, as we frequently had such conversations, that is, Mr. Percy talked while we listened. Some Frenchman has said that there is a large class of people, including nearly everybody, who have not sense enough to talk, nor sense enough to keep still. Had he seen the dog and me, I am sure he would have made a special class for us.