"There is an epidemic of cholera in Benares and twenty British soldiers in the cantonment within three hundred yards of us died last night. My advice to you is to leave town as soon as you can."
The missionary's warning had no effect on us for we had heard it before and expected to hear it again. Every Indian city generally has a number of cases of cholera and other contagious diseases. If we had taken the advice of every man who told us to move on because of an epidemic we should have been advised out of the country in a very short time. It was our custom to reduce our chances of getting cholera by drinking only bottled liquids and eating only thoroughly cooked food.
We drove about Benares in a jutka. This is one of the most picturesque vehicles in the world. If anybody had the courage to ride in one on Broadway he would at once be arrested. It is a two-wheeled cart drawn by a horse that seldom gets a chance to eat. There is no place for the driver or passenger to sit and they stick on as best they can, letting their feet drag in the street. Richardson and I mounted one of these carriages and took in the sights of the city.
Benares seemed to be the focal point for all the feeble-minded, crippled and destitute persons of India. Ascetics, beggars and religious fanatics were as numerous as were the flies. The temples were thronged with pilgrims from all parts of the empire and the Ganges was crowded with natives bathing in the muddy water and even drinking the filthy liquid. The Jal Sain Ghat was a gruesome place. Here the dead bodies of the high caste Hindus are cremated. They are burned on piles of wood and the ashes are dumped into the river, adding to the pleasant character of the water.
Why is it that religion and filth so often travel together in this world? We visited the Kalighat, a temple in honour of the goddess Kali, the wife of Shiva. We were fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know which, to be present at the celebration of the chief annual festival held in this temple. Many thousands of half-clad people were making pilgrimages to the place. Bullocks and goats were being offered as sacrifices to the numerous Hindu gods. We came to the court where the animals were killed. The place looked more like a slaughter-house than a temple of worship. The dead bodies of a dozen bulls and goats were lying on the stone floor, reeking blood and filth, with their entrails exposed and protruding. This scene might have interested a butcher. To me it was revolting. We picked our way among these carcasses to another part of the temple. Here we saw a green, scummy, unsanitary pool of water. Several hundred people were bathing in it and drinking the putrid stuff. At the entrances to the temple hordes of deformed beggars—many half-eaten with leprosy—extended their partially decayed limbs, soliciting funds. It was a disgusting and depressing scene. I prefer an autopsy.
Our train arrived in Lucknow at two o'clock in the morning. We finished our night's sleep on the stone floor of the men's waiting room in the station. A man who looked like a missionary advised us to leave the city on account of an epidemic of cholera. We smiled at him.
Both Lucknow and Cawnpore are chiefly of interest on account of their connection with the sad events of the Indian Mutiny. These cities are full of monuments and memorials which are kept in excellent condition by the British Government.
My chief recollection of Lucknow is an intense thirst. It is the most difficult city in the world in which to get a drink of any kind. We rented bicycles and toured about the thirty-six square miles of the city. We had visited a number of places and ridden about ten miles when, hot and dusty, we were seized with an intolerable thirst. We were in the midst of the native shops. A sanitary glass of water was as rare as in the middle of the desert. We rode on, hoping to find a better part of the city. We went on for miles. The narrow streets were six inches in dust; the sun was so hot that we fairly simmered in perspiration and the odours from the native shops were enough to make a man faint. A naked ascetic, rolling over and over on the dusty road, would get in our way. In each block a dozen beggars would plead for funds and the rays of the sun would nearly burn us up. We got out of the native quarter into the British section. My throat was parched and Richardson said his tongue felt like a sharp stick in his mouth. We found an oasis. We had been in search of water for two hours.
At Cawnpore we made our beds in an empty box-car on a side track in the freight yards.
"What's up?" asked Richardson, awakening about midnight by a sudden jolt to the car.