From Egypt to Japan

by Henry M. Field

A very singular people, found in Bombay, and nowhere else in India, are the Parsees, who differ from the Hindoos both in race and religion. They are followers of Zoroaster, the philosopher of Persia, from which they were driven out centuries ago by the merciless followers of the Prophet, and took refuge in Western India, and being, as a class, of superior intelligence and education, they have risen to a high position. They are largely the merchants of Bombay, and among them are some of its wealthiest citizens, whose beautiful houses, surrounded with gardens, line the road to Parell, the residence of the Governor. They are fire-worshippers, adoring it as the principle of life. Morning and evening they may be seen uncovering their heads, and turning reverently to the rising or the setting sun, and offering their adoration to the great luminary, which they regard as the source of all life on earth. As I have seen them on the seashore, turning their faces to the setting sun, and lifting their hands as if in prayer, I have thought, that if this be idolatry, it is at least not so degrading as that of the Hindoos around them, for if they bow to a material object, it is at least the most glorious which they see in nature. The more intelligent of them, however, explain that it is not the sun itself they worship, but only regard it as the brightest symbol and manifestation of the Invisible Deity. But they seem to have an idolatrous reverence for fire, and keep a lamp always burning in their houses. It is never suffered to go out day nor night, from year to year. The same respect which they show to fire, they show also to the other elements—earth, air, and water.

A revolting application of their principles is seen in their mode of disposing of the dead. They cannot burn them, as do the Hindoos, lest the touch of death should pollute the flames; nor can they bury them in the earth, nor in the sea, for earth and water and air are all alike sacred. They therefore expose the bodies of their dead to be devoured by birds of the air. Outside of Bombay, on Malabar Hill, are three or four circular towers—called The Towers of Silence, which are enclosed by a high wall to keep observers at a distance. When a Parsee dies, his body is conveyed to the gates, and there received by the priests, by whom it is exposed on gratings constructed for the purpose.

Near at hand, perched in groves of palms, are the vultures. We saw them there in great numbers. As soon as a funeral procession approaches, they scent their prey, and begin to circle in the air; and no sooner is a body uncovered, and left by the attendants, than a cloud of black wings settles down upon it, and a hundred horned beaks are tearing at the flesh. Such are their numbers and voracity, that in a few minutes—so we are told—every particle is stripped from the bones, which are then slid down an inclined plane into a deep pit, where they mingle with common clay.

Compared with this, the Hindoo mode of disposing of the dead, by burning, seems almost like Christian burial. Yet it is done in a mode which is very offensive. In returning from Malabar Hill one evening, along the beautiful drive around the bay, we noticed a number of furnace-like openings, where fires were burning, from which proceeded a sickening smell, and were told that this was the burning of the bodies of the Hindoos!

This mode of disposing of the dead may be defended on grounds of health, especially in great cities. But, at any rate, I wish there was nothing worse to be said of the Hindoos than their mode of treating the forms from which life has departed. But their religion is far more cruel to the living than to the dead.

To one who has never been in a Pagan country, that which is most new and strange is its idolatry. Bombay is full of temples, which at certain hours are crowded with worshippers. Here they flock every morning to perform their devotions. There is nothing like the orderly congregation gathered in a Christian house of worship, sitting quietly in their places, and listening to a sermon. The people come and go at will, attending to their devotions, as they would to any matter of business. A large part of their "worship" consists in washing themselves. With the Hindoos as with the Mohammedans, bathing is a part of their religion. The temple grounds generally enclose a large tank, into which they plunge every morning, and come up, as they believe, clean from the washing. At the temple of Momba Davi (the god who gives name to Bombay), we watched these purifications and other acts of worship. Within the enclosure, beside the temple filled with hideous idols, there was the sacred cow (which the people would consider it a far greater crime to kill than to kill a Christian) which chewed her cud undisturbed, though not with half so much content as if she had been in a field of sweet-scented clover; and there stood the peepul tree, the sacred tree of India (a species of banyan), round which men and women were walking repeating their prayers, and leaving flowers as offerings at its foot. This latter custom is not peculiar to Pagan countries. In Christian as well as in heathen lands flowers are laid on the altar, as if their beauty were grateful to the Unseen Eye, and their perfume a kind of incense to the object of devotion. Inside the enclosure men were being washed and shaved (on their heads as well as on their faces), and painted on their foreheads (as Catholics might be with the sign of the cross) to mark the god they worship. And not only in the temples, but along the streets, in the houses, which were open to the view of passers-by, people were taking plentiful ablutions, almost a full bath, and making their toilet, quite unembarrassed by the presence of strangers.

These observances (if divested of any religious value) are not to be altogether condemned. The habit of frequent bathing is very useful in a sanitary point of view, especially in this hot climate. But that which most excites our admiration is the scrupulous regularity of the Hindoos in their worship. They have to "do their pooja" (that is, make their offerings and perform their devotions) before they go to their work, or even partake of food! Here is an example of religious fidelity worthy of Christian imitation.

The religious ideas of the Hindoos show themselves in other ways, which at least challenge our respect for their consistency. In their eyes all life is sacred, the life of beast and bird, nay, of reptile and insect, as well as of man. To carry out this idea they have established a Hospital for Animals, which is one of the institutions of Bombay. It is on a very extensive scale, and presents a spectacle such as I do not believe can be seen anywhere else in the world. Here, in an enclosure covering many acres, in sheds, or stables, or in the open grounds, as may best promote their recovery, are gathered the lame, the halt, and the blind, not of the human species, but of the animal world—cattle and horses, sheep and goats, dogs and cats, rabbits and monkeys, and beasts and birds of every description. Even poor little monkeys forgot to be merry, and looked very solemn as they sat on their perch. The cows, sacred as they were, were yet not beyond the power of disease, and had a most woe-begone look. Long rows of stables were filled with broken-down horses, spavined and ring-boned, with ribs sticking out of their sides, or huge sores on their flanks, dripping with blood. In one pen were a number of kittens, that mewed and cried for their mothers, though they had a plentiful supply of milk for their poor little emaciated bodies. The Hindoos send out carts at night and pick them up wherever they have been cast into the street. Rabbits, whom no man would own, have here a snug warren made for them, and creep in and out with a feeling of safety and comfort. In a large enclosure were some hundred dogs, more wretched-looking than the dogs of Constantinople—"whelps and curs of low degree." These poor creatures had been so long the companions of man that, ill-treated as they were, starved and kicked, they still apparently longed for human society, and as soon as they saw us they seemed to recognize us as their deliverers, and set up a howling and yelping, and leaped against the bars of their prison house, as if imploring us to give them liberty.

And here is a collection of birds to fill an extensive aviary, though in their present condition they do not look exactly like birds of Paradise. There are not only "four black crows," but more than any farmer would like to see in his wheat field (for India is the land of crows). Tall cranes, that had been wont to step with long legs by the marshy brink of rivers, here were bandaged and splintered till they could walk once more. Broken-winged seagulls, that could no more sweep over the boundless sea, free as its own waves, were nursed till they could fly again.

The spectacle thus presented was half touching and half ludicrous. One cannot but respect the Hindoo's regard for life, as a thing not to be lightly and wantonly destroyed. And yet they carry it to an extent that is absurd. They will not take the life of animals for food, nor even of creatures that are annoying or dangerous to themselves. Many will not crush the insects that buzz around them and sting them, nor kill a cobra that crawls into their houses, even when it threatens to bite them or their children. It has been said that they even nurse serpents, and when recovered, turn them loose into the jungle; but of this we saw no evidence. But certainly many wretched creatures, whose existence is not worth keeping, which it were a mercy to let die, are here rescued and brought back to life.