JUGGERNAT'H FESTIVAL.
The sight of the dead pilgrims by the roadside in this part of India is very dreadful; they go to Juggernat'h by hundreds, or rather by thousands. At the grand festival in June this year, when the car of Juggernat'h is dragged from the temple to his country house, there were present at least eighty thousand pilgrims from all parts of India, who each make large offerings to the idol, and during their stay are not allowed to eat any food but what has been prepared in the temple by the priests. Of course, for this food a most exorbitant price is charged, and at the same time it is of so inferior a quality that numbers died of cholera in consequence of eating it. Many of the pilgrims when they leave Pooree have not a pice left, and literally lie down and die of starvation by the roadside. The instant they are dead they are surrounded by jackals, dogs, and vultures, who quickly peel all the flesh from the bones: it is a horrid sight, but one which is too frequent to create surprise.
To the support of this temple our Christian government pays 6000l. a-year, whilst at other places it supports one, two, or more priests. Some will scarcely understand all the arguments by which this pernicious support of idolatry is defended. The principal reason given is, that, when we took possession of the country, we found a number of heathen temples, supported out of the produce of certain lands which were appropriated to their service; and that we, having taken possession of those lands, are bound to support the same temples by money derived from our own revenue. When the Roman Catholics conquered a country, their first object was to extirpate idolatry; when the Mohammedans waged war, they did it in order to destroy the idols of the heathens; but we encourage and protect all those wicked and evil superstitions.
Terrible as is the sight of the mutilated bodies of the pilgrims, it is not to me half so shocking as their thanks when they are relieved. As I travel, some poor wretch, who has more the appearance of a skeleton than a human being, comes to the side of the palanquin, and cries in Hindustanee, "Oh, great king, have mercy! I have been to Juggernat'h, and I have no rice. I have not tasted food, O great king, for three days. Oh, great king, give me some cowries to buy some rice!" I give the man a pice or two, and then he exclaims, "May Juggernat'h bless you, O great being! May Juggernat'h make you prosperous!" This invocation of a blessing from an idol sounds most frightful. The horrors of the roadside scene I will not describe—they are too fearful.
The above account reminds me of the exaggerated manner of expression in use among the Eastern nations. I will give another instance of it, premising that it is the usual style of language employed by the natives towards their European masters. At Midnapore, the other day, I wanted to call on the commanding officer; I accordingly got into a tanjore,—that is, the body of a gig, supported on two poles, and carried by men. As they took me up, I told them to go to the Colonel Sahib's; they spoke together for a few minutes, and then one of them said in Hindustanee, "O representative of God, your slaves do not know where the Colonel Sahib lives."
"Well, do you know where the Salt-Agent Sahib lives?"
"Yes, O representative of God."
"Then take me there."
I had turned away a domestic for being impertinent—a case of very rare occurrence amongst the natives. He was my own personal attendant, and an excellent servant, but I would not allow him to be insolent, and therefore discharged him at once. For weeks this man stood at the gate of my compound, ran for miles by the side of my palanquin when I went out in it, and, if he saw me walking, threw himself on the ground at full length before me, extending his hands clasped over his head, and then crept or rather glided on his stomach close to me, kissed my feet, placed them on his head, and, whilst the tears ran from his eyes, exclaimed in Hindustanee, "O great being! O representative of God, have pity on your slave! punish me, whip me, but let me be your slave, O great king!" One day he brought his two little boys with him, and made them also kneel at my feet. He was an old man with a long beard, and he rubbed it in the dust, and cried and sobbed. I looked at his sons, and thought of my own children, and, as I considered he had been sufficiently punished, I told him to get up and I would try him again. He raised himself on his knees, and kissed the hem of my garment.[5] He is now the most useful servant I have. He is a sheikh—Sheikh Ibrahim is his name, and he had served every one of my predecessors, the chaplains at Cuttack.