Peeps at Many Lands—India

by John Finnemore

From the land of palm and plantain and orchid he ascends through groves of bamboo, of orange, and of fig until he gains a height at which the air is sensibly cooler, and the vegetation of temperate zones begins to appear. On the border between the two zones grow splendid tree-ferns, rhododendrons forty feet high, and groves of magnolia. When the two latter are in blossom the scene is gorgeous, and the white flowers of the magnolia seem to sprinkle the forests with snow.

The trees are now those familiar to English eyes: the oak, chestnut, willow, cherry, and beneath them grow the bramble, raspberry, strawberry, and other well-remembered plants and shrubs. Deep ravines score the flanks of the hills, and down each ravine dashes a brimming torrent, tossing its spray over ferns and wild-flowers, and butterflies with wings of the most striking and beautiful colours flit to and fro in the sunlight.

On goes the traveller, and now the underwood begins to thin, and the land becomes more grassy, and the trees to gather themselves into serried ranks of gigantic pines, firs, junipers, and larches. Up and up he climbs, and at last the belt of forest is left behind. He is out on the upper pastures beneath the open sky; he has gained the Alpine region of the Himalayas. Fields of flowers run upwards—of poppies, of edelweiss, of gentians—until at length the traveller stands at the foot of the first snow-field, and sees above him the vast sweeps of snowy glacier, the icy precipices and pinnacles which forbid his further advance.

We are now in the neighbourhood of the pass through which our troops marched into Tibet in the advance to Lhassa. The pass is approached from Darjiling, famous as a tea-growing centre, and Darjiling is approached by a mountain-railway. The latter is a triumph of engineering, so cleverly does it twist and turn its way among the hills, skirting the edge of deep precipices, winding round spirals, and affording splendid views at almost every turn of the way.

At the point where the railway starts for Darjiling the Himalayas spring up abruptly from the Indian plains. The first station is some 300 miles from Calcutta and the sea, yet less than 400 feet from sea-level. Then in less than 40 miles it climbs some 7,000 feet up to Darjiling.

This town is not only a great centre of the tea industry, but is also one of the show places of the world, for it commands the grandest known landscape of snowy mountains in the Himalayas. Kanchanjanga is the chief figure in the glorious panorama of snow-clad heights, but Everest can be seen in the distance, and a whole host of minor peaks, each taller than Mont Blanc, carry the eye from point to point in the widespread survey.

At Darjiling may be seen many Tibetans with their praying-wheels, which they twist as they repeat their Buddhist prayers, and their praying-flags, long poles of bamboo from which flutter strips of cotton cloth, on which prayers are written. The bazaar is frequented by the people of the country round about, and many different types of the hill-tribes may be seen there.

"There are Tibetans who have come down over the passes through Sikkim; Lepchas, from Sikkim itself, who look almost like Chinese, the women wearing heavy ear ornaments, and both men and women parting the hair in the middle and combing it down on either side; Bhutras, the women some of them rather pretty, with necklaces, carrying a silver charm-case and with large ear-rings, and the men with pigtails; Nepali women, with enormous carved necklaces, head-dresses of silver, and nose ornaments, which sometimes hang down over the chin; and coolies carrying great loads on their backs, supported by a wicker band across the forehead."

In the valley around Darjiling the slopes of the hills are covered with tea-bushes, and the cultivation extends to the foot of the range, where great tea-plantations stretch over the Terai. The Terai is the name given to a broad strip of land lying along the base of the Himalayas. Here the tea-plant flourishes, but so does a terrible wasting fever, which makes the growing of these precious leaves a dangerous task. For the Terai is fearfully unhealthy. Down from the broad flanks of the great range rush a thousand torrents. They overflow their banks and soak the whole country until it is a huge swamp. Then there is a very heavy rainfall, amounting to 120 inches in a year, and this further saturates the sodden ground. The tropical sun beats upon this marshy land and raises a thick vapour which is laden with malaria. Those who live and work among this vapour are liable to be struck down by a wasting fever. The fever is very deadly to Europeans, nor do the natives themselves escape. The coolies who work in the tea-fields die of it in large numbers.

At one time the natives used to fire the jungle regularly. This great sweep of flame through the region did much towards purifying the air; but firing the jungle is now forbidden, for fear of harming the tea-bushes and the houses of the planters.