Sketches of social life in India

by C. T. Buckland

The mid-day breakfast at a factory is usually one of the most pleasant hours of the day. The friends who are staying in the house, for planters are very hospitable, and any neighbours (neighbours meaning people living within twenty miles) who have come over for a morning visit, all present themselves at the well-decked table. It is hardly necessary to say that breakfast at 12 o’clock indicates that there is to be no lunch at 1 or 2 o’clock, and it is, in fact, breakfast and lunch combined. Therefore, the dishes are both numerous and serious; and as the sun is over the yard-arm, in nautical phrase, the men have fully earned their right to a draught of cool beer, or of claret or hock with such combinations of soda and iced materials as the heart desires. When a man has been in the saddle for several hours with a fine blazing sun overhead, and the temperature almost beyond the thermometer’s power of measurement, it is not astonishing that a good pull at a tankard of beer is something like a fabulous draught of nectar. It is a sort of medical axiom that as long as a man can take plenty of outdoor exercise in India, he can drink as much beer as is good for him; and vice versâ, if he wishes to drink beer he must be careful to take plenty of exercise. But to some constitutions beer is always hostile, and so they must have recourse to claret, or hock, or burgundy; or it may be brandy and soda, but this is always to be shunned as much as possible. However, breakfast must come to an end; and when the ladies of the house retire to the drawing-room, the men usually take their arm-chairs and a pipe, and not unfrequently the conversation gradually drops, until they have all quietly passed off into a gentle doze, which is nature’s best restorer at this hour of the day.

But it is not to be supposed that the planter’s work is now at an end. He must rouse himself after forty winks, and go off to his cutcherry or office, where he must pass a few hours in company with his native clerks and subordinates. His work is usually interesting and diversified. He must look to his letters from his Calcutta agents, who want to be kept well posted up as to the prospects of the coming crop, and the various heads of expenditure for which money has to be provided. There are communications more or less friendly or unfriendly from the district officials in whose courts civil or criminal suits are pending on behalf of or against people connected with the factory. However peaceably disposed a planter may be, some of his neighbours or some of his own people are sure to bring him before the courts in some way. He may have to receive a visit from his wealthy native neighbour, who has come with sweet words in his mouth, but whose heart is full of bitterness and war. He must listen to the complaints of his own people, and he must sometimes minister to their physical complaints also, though at most large factories a regular medical establishment is maintained to provide for those who are sick or suffering from accidental injuries. As a matter of fact, also, an influential planter administers justice in a quiet way among his own people, and prevents them, if he can, from taking their petty quarrels and disputes into the Government courts, where the expenses of litigation are often almost ruinous to the poorer classes. And thus it comes to pass that the planter finds plenty of occupation in his office for several hours in the afternoon, and he is only too glad when he receives a message from his wife to say that the carriages and horses are ready for the evening drive, or that he is expected to come forth to take his part in a game of polo or lawn-tennis.

Planters are always hospitable. In India it is a sort of maxim still that the guest confers the favour, for, of course, the guest is really very welcome when your nearest neighbour lives five miles from you. And so each planter gathers round him from time to time a little party of visitors and neighbours, and when the men are sufficiently numerous they get up a game of polo. Perhaps the best social game that was ever invented for India was Badminton, which has now been almost superseded by lawn-tennis. Badminton has never been much appreciated in England; but in India the absence of high wind and rain was much in its favour, and there were many ladies who played it almost as well as men. For, as was well said by a learned judge, men and women are almost on an equality as regards the upper part of their dress, and can use their hands and heads with nearly equal effect. But when a lawn-tennis ball makes a bound into the skirts of a lady’s dress she has not the same facility of escaping from it as her male adversary. Therefore, as the shuttlecock of Badminton was always flying high, and from head to head, so to speak, Badminton for a long time in India held its own against the introduction of lawn-tennis; though the day has come now when lawn-tennis has ousted its old opponent, and both ladies and men look forward to their game of lawn-tennis as soon as it is possible to find a court sheltered sufficiently by shady trees against the rays of the declining sun. The temperature may be above 80°, but, nevertheless, bright-faced and neatly-dressed girls come out arrayed for the combat, and thinking little of the heat and the fatigue if they can only get good partners and a good game. Those who are accustomed to judge of Indian ladies only from their pale and worn countenances when they return invalided to England, would hardly believe with what vigour and spirit the same ladies played lawn-tennis in India as long as their health and strength lasted.

When darkness puts an end to the play there is no lack of refreshment suited to the taste of each sex, and there are some men who are so selfish that they do not scruple to light their cigars and pipes in the presence of the ladies, but it is to be regretted that the good old fashion has passed away when no man smoked in the presence of a lady. Certainly the men have plenty of advantages special to themselves. For instance, when the ladies have to go into the house to prepare for dinner and change their dresses, the men usually adjourn to the swimming-bath. At many large factories there is a fine swimming-bath in a house built for the purpose, from 50 to 70 feet long, and more than half as wide. One of the greatest pleasures of which the human body is capable is to plunge hissing-hot into the clear and cool water of the bath, and to swim a few lazy strokes to the nearest resting-place. There used to be a medical myth, that it was dangerous for a man to bathe when very hot. But later and wiser doctors have discovered the error, and very grateful we should be for their discovery. To those who have learnt at Eton, or elsewhere, to take a good “header” we can recommend no more exquisite sensation than that which they will derive from plunging red hot into the cool water of a swimming-bath.

There may be more splendid entertainments elsewhere, but there are few more sociable and pleasant dinner-parties than those which crown the labours of the day at a good indigo factory. The ladies are not often quite equal in number to the men; but that is a fault on the right side so far as they are concerned, as they will receive all the more attention, whilst there are always one or more greedy or hungry men who are more inclined to devote themselves to the substance of their dinner than to the pleasures of conversation; nor are they absolutely in the wrong. The dishes may be simple, but they are sure to be good. Who does not remember the saddle of mutton from a sheep reared and carefully fed in the farm up to its fourth year? Neither the downs of Sussex nor the hills of Wales produce more delicate and well-flavoured meat. What is there to be compared with the whiteness and tenderness of the well-boiled capon, the last fortnight of whose life has been the subject of the most careful feeding, as he passed, day by day, through the separate compartments of the fattening range until he was promoted to the condemned cell at the head of the range? Capons should, of course, be well fed always, but for the last fortnight they should be taken up and fed most delicately in a fattening range specially constructed with fourteen or fifteen compartments with sliding panels between them, so that those who are being thus treated for about a fortnight, find themselves promoted day by day towards the highest compartment, a condemned cell, from which there is no promotion except to the kitchen. We cannot stop to enumerate all the fine vegetables, such as the potatoes which have been grown in a soil prepared with the refuse stalks of the indigo plant, which is most congenial to them, so that no better potatoes ever came out of Ireland. There are champion peas from Sutton’s best seed. There is celery equal to the best that England can exhibit. We will not even notice the better kinds of Indian vegetables; but the dinner is by no means a dinner of herbs, and those who have come to it with good appetite and good digestion are not likely to go empty away. Early hours are the rule at a factory, and when the men have joined the ladies in the drawing-room a little music may sometimes be supplemented by a little dancing; but as a rule most of the party are not unwilling to seek their bed-rooms, with the knowledge that they have to rise on the morrow with the early dawn, either for the renewal of their daily labour or to return to their own houses.

Quis non malarum quas amor curas habet

Hæc inter obliviscitur?

Doubtless there can scarcely be a more enjoyable life than that of a successful and healthy indigo-planter. But there must be at times a darker side to the picture. Illness may break out suddenly, and before any skilled medical aid can arrive the hand of death may have robbed the household of one of its darlings. We all know with what fearful rapidity cholera seizes on its victims, and when once cholera has marked a house it is seldom content with only one victim. Some of the numerous domestic servants are almost sure to take alarm, and to frighten themselves into the belief that they must die. It is an anxious and awful time. Nor are other minor dangers and alarms wanting. In some factories it is almost impossible to keep cobras and other dangerous snakes from coming into the house; and many a parent has found a deadly cobra in painful proximity to the pillow of a child sleeping happily unconscious of its danger, but liable to put itself in peril by the slightest movement. Or, whilst the master is still out on his morning rounds, the affrighted servants rush to their mistress with the news that a mad dog or a mad jackal is running about the garden, and has attacked and scared the gardeners. But it is useless to multiply instances. Fortunately, the larger animals of prey are no longer to be found in the district in which indigo is cultivated; but in the tea gardens, which are in the wilder and more jungly parts of the country, even a tiger is an occasional visitor, and leopards are constantly on the watch to carry off a pet dog, or a goat, or a calf from almost under the eyes of the planter.

It would be but an imperfect sketch of the planter-colonist’s social life if we did not give some account of the great annual festive gatherings which are held by them at the race meetings at Sonepore and other favourite places. It will be sufficient to take Sonepore as an example, as it is the oldest established meeting, and also is larger and more cosmopolitan (if such a big word is permissible) than other race meetings, and is the trysting place where the planters of several districts can best assemble. It is not very easy to convey to an English reader an idea of a Sonepore meeting except as a large picnic which lasts for about ten days. But the picnicers do not return to their homes at the end of each day; they live on the spot in tents which are gathered together in separate camps, or parties, or messes; so that independently of the general picnic life of the whole assemblage, there are wheels within wheels, and each separate camp or mess carries on its own picnic on its own independent and self-supporting arrangements. The ostensible primary object of the Sonepore meeting is a race-meeting, but it is also intimately connected with, and based upon, the large Native Fair which is held simultaneously with it, to which we shall presently recur. The race-course runs round a flat plain rather larger perhaps than the space enclosed by the course at Ascot or Epsom. Almost all round the outside of the race-course there are groves of mango trees not quite so stately as the horse-chestnuts of Bushey Park, or the elms of the Long Walk at Windsor, but fine old trees of considerable height, and with a thick green foliage that affords a grateful shade against the rays of the sun. Underneath these groves of mango trees, stretching for nearly a mile along the east side of the course, the several camps are formed. Each camping-ground has its well-defined boundaries and is rented from year to year. One camp belongs to the young Hindoo Rajah of Durbanga, who was lately the chief supporter of the races. In fact he may be said to have two camps, one for his native friends, and one for his English friends. The Government officials of the several neighbouring districts have their separate or combined camps. Sometimes the Viceroy of India has had a camp, and sometimes the Lieutenant-Governor has sent over his tents for the meeting. The regiments from the nearest military station have their own camps and messes, with their bands to discourse sweet music. The planters of the several districts have either joint or separate camps according to their numbers and strength, and they rival one another in hospitality. The tents of each camp are arranged as far as possible in a square of which one side is open and facing the road that runs through the grove of trees. The mess-tent of each camp is pitched at the further side from the entrance, and in front of it there is usually a huge awning (called in native parlance a shamyana) which serves as an al fresco drawing-room, comfortably arranged with couches and arm-chairs, and big Persian carpets and rugs, and other appliances. Each camp usually contains its own Badminton courts and its lawn-tennis court, if the trees will allow sufficient space. At the back of the mess-tent there come the cooking-tents and the tents for the servants, as well as for the horses and carriages of the party. Each camp is guarded by a party of native watchmen, who have the credit of being hereditary thieves, but are scrupulously honest for the occasion as regards the contents of the camp committed to their care which they are well paid to watch. But woe betide the self-sufficient stranger who dispenses with the services of these watchmen, confiding in his own prowess and the services of his own retainers.

The race-meeting at Sonepore usually takes place in November, when the weather is beginning to be really cool and pleasant. It is regulated by some native festival, much as the Derby day is dependent on the date of Easter. As the time approaches the stewards of the meeting take measures to have the race-stand and ball-room swept and garnished, and the camping-grounds and race-course put in proper order. A few days before the meet, trains of country bullock-carts may be seen approaching the ground laden with the ponderous tents, and beds and chairs and tables, and every kind of furniture that is needed for civilised life. Nor is the commissariat likely to be forgotten, whilst those who can manage it conveniently, send over their own cows to supply milk and butter, and the fatlings of the flock, and huge baskets and coops full of turkeys and geese and poultry. Ponderous deal boxes full of Fortnum and Masonry, and cases labelled with the names of the most promising brands of champagne and hock, and the well-known six-dozen chests of beer, with heavy supplies of soda and seltzer, occupy many of the carts. It is quite a study to see how skilfully the native servants get everything into order before their masters’ arrival; especially the cook, who at once sets to work and extemporises a mud kitchen, on which during the next week he will perform culinary wonders, although it may be well for the fastidious not to pry too narrowly into all his proceedings, but to live in faith and satisfy themselves with results.