Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

by John Lang

"The tea?" asked Mr. West.

"Yes, the tea, I said!" returned the Baron. "You have discovered that you can grow tea in the lower range of these mountains, and you do grow it in small quantities; now why not, having made the experiment, grow it in large quantities? I would say to Mr. Chinaman, 'I thank you very much, but I do not want any more of your tea. You are insolent, overbearing, and insulting in your dealings with me, and now you may drink your own tea, and I will drink my own tea; and, if you like, you may stir yours with your own pigtail. We will bring China into our own dominions, for God has given to this climate and to this soil the same properties as your soil and climate possess.' I do not say it, as you know, with any sort of intention to offend, but the result of my experience leads me to believe that the government of this country is, in all matters (save annexation), as slow as the government of the Dutch was in by-gone days. There is a listlessness and a languor about its movements; a want of everything in the shape of society and enterprise, and seemingly such an earnest desire to discourage the efforts of those who would in reality develop the resources of India, that I am astonished any man unconnected with the services should persevere in the attempt to make a living in the Eastern British dominions."

"I quite agree with you," said Mr. West, "especially as regards that portion of your remarks which relates to the obstacles thrown in the way of enterprising Englishmen. I have been a member of the Civil Service for nearly ten years, and have always been impressed with the idea that the policy of the government in respect to settlers in India, was and is a very erroneous policy."

The conversation here was brought abruptly to a close by the approach of one of the guides, who, in a very confidential manner, imparted to us that there was a kakur (a barking deer) grazing on a crag not far from the encampment. So we seized our guns, went in pursuit, and were fortunate enough to kill the animal. His bark resembles exactly that of a Skye-terrier when very much excited. On our return to the encampment we encountered a huge bear, and succeeded in killing and carrying him to the door of our tent, where the natives skinned him and deprived him of his fat, which they boiled down and used in the lamps instead of oil. And very brightly did it burn; but the aroma was not a peculiarly pleasant one. I am afraid to say how much grease was taken from this enormous bear; but I know that I am speaking within bounds when I assert it was in excess of two gallons and a half.

We dined at dusk, and then, as usual, betook ourselves to whist, but so cold did it become shortly after dark, that we were forced to put on our great coats, notwithstanding there was an enormous wood fire in front and at the back of our tent. These fires had been lighted to serve another purpose beyond that of giving warmth—namely, to scare away the leopards which abounded in that locality. It was a very picturesque scene; the white tents standing out in relief from the dark wood, lighted up by the fires, and here and there groups of coolies wrapped up in blankets, and sitting as closely as possible to the blaze.

At daylight on the following morning our march was recommenced. We had a distance of ten miles to travel before we could reach the next halting-place, named Kanah Tall. During this march we did not go out of our way for game, but only took such as chanced to cross our path. All we killed was ghooral, (which we did not stop to look at even) and two braces of partridges of very peculiar plumage. They were remarkably handsome birds, with a red mark round the eye and down each side of the neck, olive-coloured feathers on their backs, and their wings and breasts covered with white and red spots. We could not fail to admire the beauty of the flowers which flourished in this locality. The ground on either side of the narrow and wild road was literally covered with violets, dog-roses, and a lily of the valley, and other little decorations of the earth, of which I know not the name. Throughout the whole march the scene was truly fairy-like. Kanah Tall was only five thousand feet above the level of the sea, and therefore very much warmer than our last halting-place. Of this we were by no means sorry, not only for our own sakes, but for the sakes of our personal servants, who had never before travelled out of the plains. Here, at Kanah Tall, we found the English holly growing. Botanists may tell me what they please about this holly of the Himalayas bearing a distinctive character; but I say it was the English holly—the same sort of holly that I saw last Christmas in almost every house in London and in the country.

Here, at Kanah Tall, we shot no less than seven elks. These deer are very plentiful hereabouts, and do a great deal of damage to the crops of the poor villagers at harvest time. Ghooral and kakur also abound here. We were so tired on the evening that we stopped at Kanah Tall that we could not sit up to play at whist! We actually fell asleep over our second rubber, and by general consent threw our cards upon the table and sought our beds.

The next day, at three p.m., we arrived at a place called Jullinghee, ten miles distant from Kanah Tall. Jullinghee is a large village situated on the right bank of the Bhagaruttee, a stream that flows direct from Gungootrie, and is in consequence one of the most sacred streams that compose the mighty and holy Ganges. We were encamped beneath a clump of apricot and walnut trees, but it was frightfully hot; for we were now not more than a couple of thousand feet above the level of the sea. The woods, however, were exceedingly beautiful and diversified. Not only were there apricot, walnut, rhododendrons, oaks, hollies, and other trees of the higher altitudes, but also the tamarind, the fig-peepul, the pomegranate, and others of the plains. At this village we procured some honey, which is taken from its makers in a very singular manner. The bees build in cavities in the walls of the houses, which are closed within by a moveable board, and are only entered by the bees, by a small aperture from without. When the owners of the houses want honey they darken the interior of the house, and removing the board, which forms the back part of the hive, extract as much as they require. The bees during this process fly out into the light to discover their enemies, who then close the back part of the hive, and remain safely within doors until the wrath of the bees has subsided.

In the evening we took a walk in the village of Jullinghee, which appeared to be rich and populous, but very dirty. Our arrival had caused a great stir, and there was a large concourse of people near our tents to look at us. A short distance from the village were the ruins of several houses which once formed a separate hamlet, but which had been deserted for fear of a ghost which was said to haunt it. The same effect of superstition is by no means uncommon in the plains of India. There is a very curious instance in the Meerut district. A village had long been deserted under the idea that it was haunted by a fakir. The settlement officer, however, with much difficulty prevailed upon a neighbouring Zemindar to farm the land at something like a nominal revenue. Shortly afterwards the Zemindar presented himself to the settlement officer, and represented that he had been very ill, and that the visitation was ascribed by his friends and by himself to his impiety in interfering with haunted lands. The settlement officer, however, talked to him and insisted on his keeping his engagements, and once more did he venture to brave the ghost. So complete was his success that the village shortly became one of the most flourishing in the district, and the very relatives who had been foremost in reproaching the zemindar for his impiety, brought a suit against him in one of the local courts, to recover a share of his large profits!

On the day following we marched to a place called Teree, a large straggling village, situated on a plain of some extent, at the junction of the Billung and Bhagaruttee rivers. A regular hot wind was blowing here, and our tents were unbearable; so we threw ourselves beneath the shade of a huge tree which grew on the banks of the Billung, and which served also as a shelter for a party from Srinugger, who were celebrating the marriage festival of a Bunneah (corn-merchant) of some twenty-two years of age, with a young lady of eight. The little damsel was on the ground, and did ample justice to the marriage dinner, which consisted of rice, butter, sweetmeats, and a goat roasted whole—a goat which had been decapitated by one blow, and cooked without any sort of preparation beyond the removal of the entrails; it was not even skinned. Portions of this feast were distributed on plantain leaves to each guest by the Brahmins, who officiated as cooks and waiters.