At Pooree, forty-eight miles from Cuttack, we have no punkahs, no tatties; all the windows wide open, the waves rolling up close to the houses, a delicious sea-breeze all day, the thermometer never yet above 85°; not a mosquito to be seen, and no insects but a few English flies. Excepting among the mountains, Pooree is perhaps the coolest place in India, and I am considered most fortunate in having it in my district.
The coming here is a renewal of life and strength. When we are down on the sands in the evening, we might quite fancy ourselves in England again; and I assure you that at five o'clock in the afternoon, by the sea-side, we are glad to walk fast in order to keep ourselves warm. This is the state of Pooree at present. After the rains, that is, in October and November, it becomes extremely hot and very unhealthy; for then the sea-breeze ceases and the land-wind sets in, passing in its course over the dead bodies of hundreds of pilgrims.
The most conspicuous object here is the temple of Juggernat'h, to which devotees come from every part of India. It is an immense pile of massive buildings. There are at times as many as one hundred thousand pilgrims here at once. No European is allowed to enter even the court.
DANGER OF BATHING.
The sea is most magnificent. The beach is composed entirely of sand, something like that at Weston-super-Mare; but there is only a few yards' difference between high and low water. There is an incessant surf extending almost to the horizon—one line behind another of enormous breakers. Some people used occasionally to bathe, but the surf rendered it very dangerous, and at last one of them had a leg carried away by a shark, since which every one is afraid; we therefore have salt water brought up to the house.[3]
[Cuttack, August 7, 1843.]
MOFUSSIL SOCIETY—MORNING VISITS.
I must now give an account of Mofussil society. We will suppose a married couple going to a new station,—as, for instance, my wife and myself coming to Cuttack. Well, we arrive wretched enough about eight o'clock in the morning, after a long dâk journey. All that day we are engaged in setting things to rights. The next morning I order my carriage, and go out to make my calls; for in India, unlike England, the stranger calls first. The hours for calling are from half-past ten to one, after which time you would not be admitted anywhere, as it is supposed that the lady of the house is just going to tiffin (lunch), which she takes at two, and then goes to sleep for two or three hours.
Of course the first person I call on is the commanding officer. I drive in at the gate of the compound, and under some trees, up to the house door, and so under the portico; for every house has a very large carriage portico to protect the horses from the sun. My carriage is a phaëton—the britska, phaëton, and buggy being almost the only vehicles used in India. The britska does very well for a judge, and the buggy a sort of carriage for a single man. Mine is a phaëton with two ponies. On the box sits the coachman—dark-brown face, large black mustachios, white calico tunic and trowsers, white turban, turned up with pale blue, as livery, and blue and white cummerband round the waist; except only when it is wet, and then he wears a crimson skull-cap, and a scarlet full cloak with sleeves. A syce or groom runs by the side of the ponies.