Things have changed there now, that is, as far as the comings and goings of men change, but the hills remain the same, and the face of Nature will not alter. Her streams will whisper to the rocks and flowers of all that has been and that is to be. So runs the world. Where others lived and loved, sorrowed and died, two hundred years ago, we are living now, and when our day is over and done there will be others to take our place, until a time comes when there shall be no more change, neither sorrow nor death, and the former things shall have passed away for ever.
CHAPTER VIII.
A terrible experience—A Thoppa and a journey in it—Its difficulties and dangers—The Lushais—Arrive at Sylhet—Find the Coolies have levanted—A pony journey ends disastrously—A night walk—Accident to Mr. A⸺.—Arrive at a teahouse—Not a shadowy dinner.
I left Shillong early in November, 1889, travelling part of the way towards Manipur quite alone, and had a terrible experience too. I had arranged to journey a distance of thirty-eight miles in one day. I sent one of my horses on the day before, and started in a ‘Khasia Thoppa’ down the last hill of the range upon which Shillong is situated, which brings you down into the plain of Sylhet. A Thoppa is a very curious mode of locomotion. It is a long cane basket, with a seat in the middle, from which hangs a small board to rest your feet upon. Over your head is a covered top made of cane, covered with a cloth. You sit in this basket and a man carries you on his back, supporting some of the weight by tying a strap woven of cane on to the back of the Thoppa, which he puts over his forehead. The Khasias, luckily, are very strong men, but they think it necessary always to begin by informing you that you are much too heavy to be lifted by any single individual, unless that said individual be compensated at the end of the journey with double pay.
You ask him what you weigh, and he scratches an excessively dirty head, shuts up one eye, spits a quantity of horrible red fluid out of his mouth, and then informs you that he should put you down as eighteen or nineteen stone, and he even will go as far as twenty sometimes. This, to a slim, elegant-looking person, partakes of the nature of an insult, but eventually he picks you up on his back and proceeds along the road with you as fast as he can, as if you were a feather weight. Going along backwards, and knowing that, should the man’s headstrap break, the chances are you will be precipitated down the Khud,[7] are certainly not pleasurable sensations; but it is astonishing how exceedingly callous you become after a lengthy course of Thoppa rides up in the hills. Sometimes your Thoppa wallah[8] may be slightly inebriated, when he will lurch about in a horrible manner, emit a number of curious gurgling noises from the depths of his throat, and eventually tumble down in the centre of the road, causing you grievous hurt.
At other times he will take into consideration that it is a cold night, the Memsahib is going to a Nautch,[9] and will be there four or five hours, while he is left to his own reflections outside, waiting to carry her home again when her festivities have subsided. Having arrived at the conclusion that the cold will probably by that time be intense, he will come to take you to the scene of action enveloped in every covering that he can get together. After he has carried you a short way he begins getting hot, and rapidly divests himself of his many wrappers, placing them on the top of your machine, where they flutter about, hitting you now and then playfully in the mouth or eye, as the case may be, and making themselves as generally unpleasant as they possibly can. Having done so, they end by falling off into the road. Your Khasia perceives them, and immediately descends with you on to his hands and knees, and grovels about until he recovers the fallen raiment. During this process your head assumes a downward tendency, and your heels fly heavenwards; and should you move in anyway ever so slightly, you immediately find yourself sitting on the ground in a more hasty than dignified attitude, upbraiding your Khasia in English. You may swear at a native and abuse all his relations, as their custom is, in his own language, and you will not impress him in any way; but use good sound fish-wife English, and he will treat you as a person worthy of respect.
On my journey from Shillong, at the time of which I write, I fell in with two very amiable Khasias. One could speak Hindostanee rather well, and he walked beside me as I travelled down the hill and talked to me on various interesting subjects. He asked me a great deal about the Lushais, and I invented some wonderful anecdotes for his delectation. When we parted, I think I had impressed him with the idea that I was a person of great moral worth.
At the foot of the hill I got into a small train, the only railway to be found at present in that side of Assam. I think it only extends over about twelve miles of country, and there are about four trains, two up and two down daily. They do not trouble themselves by putting on too much speed. We, my servants and I, travelled as far as we could in it, and then I found myself within twenty miles of Sylhet—my proposed destination—in lots of time to ride in comfortably before dark, and get my servants and baggage in at the same time. But, alas! the inevitable fate of the traveller in Sylhet was destined to be mine, too, on this occasion; and when I got out of the train, expecting to find my coolies waiting for me, I found a wretched police inspector, who informed me that the coolies had all run away, and he could not get me any more. What was to be done I knew not, but after some delay I met a young fellow whom I knew slightly, as he was connected with the railway, and I had seen him passing through the district once before. He was a perfect godsend to me on this occasion, and after some hours’ hunting for coolies he managed to get the requisite number, and started them off with my luggage.