"Well, the peasant's mental horizon is rather limited," said Mr. Lindsay. "He has some sort of belief in a Providence whose benevolence is shown in restricting malignant heavenly powers from doing mischief."
"Yes," assented the girl, though she had not in the least grasped what he meant. "And—what else?"
"Oh, well," said Lindsay, secretly amazed at this intelligent social butterfly, "he trusts in a host of godlings who inhabit the pile of stones which form the village shrine. He believes that he would live for ever, were it not that some devil or witch plots against his life."
"And is that all that he believes in?" questioned Miss Cuffe; and she raised her light blue eyes to her informant's dark ones, with a look of tragic appeal.
"By no means. He believes that it is good to feed a Brahmin, that it is wrong to tell a lie, unless to benefit yourself. He believes that if he does an impious act he may be reborn as a rat or a worm; he believes that woman is an inferior creature whom you may bully with impunity. With a man, you must be more careful."
"But these are the extremely poor and uneducated," broke in Mrs. Gordon. "The more enlightened are different; they encourage charity, kindness, and simplicity; they are extremely devout—in that way they put many of us to shame."
"And the women, how do they live? Have they no amusements?" inquired Miss Cuffe, turning pointedly from her hostess to the more attractive collector.
"Amusements? They do not know the meaning of the word. They work—I am speaking of the peasants—from dawn till dark, helping their husbands with the cultivation of the land, drawing water, cooking, weaving—they are hags at thirty, and their only release from drudgery is an occasional pilgrimage. You may see them marching for days packed in a country cart which crawls along from week to week and stage to stage; at last they reach their goal, Hurdwar—or Benares. They bathe and worship and offer sacrifice—it is the one event of their lives, and assures their future."
"One event," repeated Miss Cuffe. "How utterly miserable!—And what are their every-day habits?"
"Conservative—they wear the same fashion for twenty centuries, their food never varies, a little pepper and spices, the only relish—the plough, the spinning wheel, and loom, remain unchanged in a thousand years; of course, I am speaking of the villagers; the townsfolk have watches, sewing-machines, gramaphones, and all manner of Europe goods, and rubbish, but the Ryot has no money or time to waste on such luxuries; it is all work, work, work, from generation to generation—the Ryot is the mainspring of the Empire."