Arrived at the door, I call out "Sahib hy?" Gentleman in? meaning, Is your master at home? If not, I leave a card: if he is, I enter the house, and follow the servant who has answered me. I should have told you that there are no such things as knockers or bells here. Every door is open, unless in the very hot weather, and there are always six or eight servants lounging about in the verandah. As I step out of the carriage, each one of these stoops down, touches the ground with the back of his hand, and then pats his forehead three or four times, signifying, I suppose, that, if I were to order him, he would even throw dirt upon his own head.
In reply to the question "Sahib hy?" one of the men answers, "Hy, khadawum"—He is, O representative of God; at the same time holding his hands pressed together as if he were saying his prayers. He precedes me into the house, still in the same attitude. He sets me a chair, whilst another man comes in, unfastens the rope of the punkah, and, taking the end of it out into the verandah, sits down and pulls it, and very soon falls asleep, still, however, continuing his occupation.
Presently in comes the master of the house, dressed in white jacket, black neckerchief (if any), white shirt, white trowsers, white stockings, and shoes made of some white skin. I should have told you that the servant who shows me in takes my card to his master, with which card his master plays the whole time I am there. In a few minutes in comes the lady, in clothes hanging loosely around her; she probably does not wear stays in the morning: her dress is white muslin, and her face, as well as those of her children, if she have any, is of a ghastly pale colour. This is universal in India.
There is not much conversation at a first visit, so I soon rise and go to some person to whom I have a letter of introduction, when he at once volunteers to accompany me on the rest of my calls. These first visits are made by the gentleman only; his wife does not accompany him. In the course of a few days the gentlemen return the call, bringing their wives with them. Daughters are out of the question: beyond the age of six they are a genus unknown in India. They go to England at that age, come out again to India at eighteen, and probably marry in Calcutta, and settle at once some four or five months' journey from their parents, who have been so anxiously looking forward to seeing them.
DINNER-PARTIES.
A few days after the form of calling has been gone through, some half-dozen different persons send you invitations to dinner, kindly wishing to welcome the stranger to the station. From half-past seven to eight is the usual hour in India; for if people dined earlier they would necessarily lose their evening drive. The carriage enters the compound; a servant runs in to the sahib, and, pressing his own hands together, says, "Ghairee ata" (carriage comes). Out issues the sahib into the front verandah: the lady is handed out; the gentleman offers his arm, and walks off, leaving me to follow as best I may.
From the verandah we enter the dining-room. There are no halls or passages or cupboards in the Mofussil. Down the whole length of the room is a long table laid for dinner, round which we must wind to get to the opposite door leading into the drawing-room. Here are a number of ladies seated on one side the room, on the other side the gentlemen. After a little while an old Indian with a long silvery beard, and dressed completely in white, comes in, and, pressing his hands together, says, "Canna mig" (dinner on table).
Then the master of the house gives his arm to the most important lady present; the others do likewise, according to the most strict precedence of rank, the lady of the house being taken first. She does not take the top of the table, but assigns that place to whoever has led her in, herself occupying the seat next him on his right hand. Each person brings his khitmutgar; accordingly, behind each chair stands a man in white, who, as you sit down, unfolds and hands you the napkin which was on your plate; he then falls back a step, and crosses his arms over his chest. As soon as grace has been said, the cover is taken off the soup-tureen, and those who like it are helped to a rich sort of chicken-broth.
After that, you hear on every side—"Mrs. So-and-so, may I have the pleasure of taking a glass of wine with you?" "I shall be very happy." "Which do you take, beer or wine?" "Thank you; I will take a little beer," or "wine," as the case may be. Suppose the former, and myself the speaker, I turn round and say to my khitmutgar, "Beer, shraubs meem Sahib, ki do" (beer-wine, Mrs. Lady, give).
In the mean time they are uncovering the dishes. At the top is a pair of fine roast fowls, at the bottom a pair of boiled ditto. At the sides, fowl cutlets, fowl patties, fowl rissoles, stewed fowls, grilled fowl, chicken-pie, &c. &c. No ham, no bacon, and little tiny potatoes not larger than a cherry, with stewed cucumbers, and some sticky Indian vegetables, are handed round. But for the second course a great treat is reserved. Six or seven mutton-chops, each equal to one mouthful, are brought in, and with much ceremony placed at the top of the table; at the other end are slices of potatoes fried. Your hostess tells you how glad she was that Mr. So-and-so had sent her the loin of a Patna sheep to-day: she hoped we should like it. Then comes curried fowl and rice; then pine-apple pie, custard, jelly, plantain, oranges, pine-apples, &c. &c.; but directly these sweets appear, there appear also, behind the chairs of many of the gentlemen, servants carrying a little carpet, with a neat fringe to it. These they place at the back of their masters' chairs, on the floor, and then each servant brings in a large hookah, places it on the little carpet, and, whilst the ladies and others are eating the custards, pies, and fruits, you have all around you the incessant bubble from the hookah, and smell the filthy smoke from an abominable compound of tobacco and various noxious drugs.