Knowledge on the subject of “sending devils” is the property of the Priesthood, Royal Fellows of the Society of Hellologists! but magic men and women, non-diplomaed and unlicensed also abound, and every dweller in town or village who has ever known or inherited a hate, has his own little stock of demonology for home consumption. It is my pride that on the one occasion when I was consciously operated upon, it was by the specialist. I had helped to secure protection for a child who had enemies, I was naturally therefore hated of these same. When back from her Estate, in the comparative civilization of my own little home, I got a much-thumbed message which had been thoughtfully left in my post-box.
“Twenty Priests learned in magic,” so it ran, “are sending a devil into you.” It was true. On the remote scene of thwarted vengeance, they were “making magic”—cursing a clay image made in my likeness, walking over every square inch of ground I had trod at the Palace, or in the Gardens, and—breathing curses.
My answer was a message, “To the Chief Priest among the twenty Priests most learned in magic, who sit in the Grove of Mangoes, at the Monkey Temple, in N ..., ‘keep the Devil, till I come.’”
This was treated as a ribald tempting of the demon, and a man was sent to sit at my gate and curse me so that the flesh should wither from my bones, and my house be desolate.... But my household and my dear yellow “Chow,” and my little gray mare, and my red-speckled munias, all the live things within my gates, did, with me, flourish exceedingly ... and in a fortnight my twenty Priests withdrew their man, no doubt deciding that I had already a devil bigger than any at their command!
They were, alas! more successful with my little friend. First, they threw mustard before her as she walked, and she—sneezed.... “What would you?” It was Colman’s mustard that you buy in yellow tins at the “Europe Shops.” ... But she sneezed—that meant a devil had entered, and the Priest spared not the picturesque in description of him. Then, one morning on her doorstep she found a little box—in it was a human thigh bone and three packets of powder—red, yellow, blue. This was a very potent curse, and she trembled exceedingly, so that she could not even name its meaning.[2]
[2] A knowledge of curses is a useful asset to Legal Advisers. I have known a serious family dispute composed on this wise. A. I could forgive everything but the bone under my bed, for this I will fight B. even till I am penniless. Adviser (Soothingly). Certainly, certainly—and now let’s have the bone ... which, produced, instead of being that powerful to curse, is merely a harmless leg-of-mutton bone! The way to peace is open.
But worst of all was the manner of cursing parallel to mine. There were at the moment great hopes of an heir to the Estate: the birth of a son would settle many political and domestic quarrels. The Priests chose the moment when the Mother’s mind would be most open to suggestion, and cursed the thing that was to be! and it died.
So I have known another happening. A widow of fifteen had promised her Priest, at his desire, ornaments of a certain value for the Festival of Durga Pooja. But her Trustees did not sanction the expenditure. The Priest cursed her. She had two children—the youngest girl just eighteen months in age. The Priest was explicit in his curse—the Baby would die. I found my widow in an agony of grief. The child was her boy husband’s last gift to her: and it was dying of pneumonia.... It was touch and go, but medical skill saved the little life, only the Mother’s firm belief is that not science but the reconsidered decision of the Trustees, setting free her priest gifts, worked the cure.
And here I would mention one important article of belief in the Zenana. It is that not only a man himself but that which he owns or loves or values may be affected by magic. “So-and-so has put a curse upon your cattle,” will be a message followed by mysterious deaths, not to be accounted for by poison. The form of the message varies—it may be sent in words, it may be sent like the thigh bone or the mustard, in kind—that is of small moment, the result is always the same.
My Wisest of the Wise, asked for explanation, is politely full of wonder that I should wish for explanation of such things. “Is it possible that I doubt? If these things were capable of understanding would they be worth a thought? Is not the supernatural of necessity beyond reason? Would you plough the stars with bullocks? Has anything any existence at all, except in our belief? All we are or seem is a dream. Those who doubt and argue would seek to dream waking; and they lose so all the pleasing restfulness of sleep.”