The tea-tray is the top of an inverted three-sided prism resting on the axle, so that every jolt is transmitted straight to the spines of the occupants, who sit doubled up in the "two-foot-rule" fold which the Indian frame seems to take by nature. A long ekka drive is sharp discomfort to a European, even when he has the tea-tray to himself; but natives to the manner born pack themselves up like compressed capital N's, occupying but little more floor space when sitting than when standing, and for hours tranquilly maintain a position that would make a European die in an agony of "pins and needles."
It is easy to sketch an ekka, but the appearance of the machine is only part of the impression it makes. Noise is a necessity of the Oriental nature; loud, continuous, strident din. So the horse is hung with bells, and the cart has rows of loose plates that clash like cymbals. The maddening din is supposed to cheer the horse as the sheep-bell "keeps a stout heart in the ram with its tinkle." In the dark the jingle may be useful, for lamps do not enter into the ekka scheme, as many an Englishman has found to his cost.
The ekka, a tea-tray on wheels, dear,
Flies past as its occupants sit,
—For a pony you know never feels, dear—
All five pulling hard at one bit.
The tonga is supposed by some to be an indigenous native of Western India. It is a low, hooded, two-wheeled dog-cart on strong springs, with a centre pole to which a pair of ponies are harnessed by an iron yoke bar, curricle fashion. It is much used in the Deccan, and is now the Himálayan post-cart running to Simla, Murree, and along the new Kashmir road. The vehicle has good points of its own, but its springs proclaim it a modern invention; according to some an importation from the Cape of Good Hope. Travellers by tonga often sit behind animals that are simply first-rate of their kind, and perfectly suited to their work.
On the lines under Government control the horses are fairly dealt by, but on routes where the native contractor has his own way sickening examples of barbarity are often seen. A large proportion of dāk gāri, or post horses, cannot be started without torture. Some have ears permanently broken and torn by a savage trick of wringing them with the hands and a piece of cord, the twitch is mercilessly applied to the noses of others, the inside of the legs is chafed with a rough rope vigorously pulled with a sawing motion; sometimes fire is applied, while whips and sticks ring like flails on a threshing floor, and all the stable men of the stage yell and swear like demons. The bad temper produced by stupid upbringing is partly to blame, the mysterious nervous affection resulting in jibbing has something to do with it; but dread of the pain of a collar chafing a sore is the usual cause of the trouble.
Many of the palki gāris used as hack cabs in Calcutta and other large towns, owned by speculators who know nothing of their business, including liquor-sellers, table-servants, and even priestesses of Venus retired from business, are drawn by scare-crows that recall in a reduced and shadowy form the outlines of Bewick's grim woodcut,—"Waiting for death." But the mercy of death is denied to them.
Though the North-West ekka, the Deccan tonga, the Madras bandy, the Bombay and Bengal shigram, and other variants of the palki gāri may be considered characteristically Indian, they by no means exhaust the number of vehicles in use; for, since the days when the craftsmen of Delhi copied the English carriages sent as presents to the Great Mogul, there has been a continuous importation of the best and the worst coach work that Long Acre can produce.
One of the first steps taken in technical progress was the carriage-building trade, now gradually spreading over the country. Oil painting and varnishing, carpentry, smith's work and leather dressing, owe much to this craft. Dog-carts and numerous varieties of one-horse spring carts seem to be supplanting the once universal buggy or hooded gig. The brum gāri, brougham; the fitton gāri, phaeton or barouche; the vāgnit, waggonette, are now built in most large towns by native craftsmen, springs and axle-boxes being of European make. It is of no use to protest against these barbarous words, for, like bōtel for bottle, and kitli for kettle, with other travesties of our tongue, they are fixed in popular speech. The vāgnit seems likely to be the carriage of the future, because of its capacity. The Oriental, like the ant, goes forth in bands, and is capable of piling more people in, on, or about a carriage than would be believed in Europe.
Not only does an improvement in the vehicles in use testify to increased prosperity, but it ought to mean an amelioration in the condition of the horse. One would like to write confidently of the future, but considering all that has been done by our veterinary colleges and hospitals (missionary efforts of the highest value), and all the influence of the British power, it must be confessed that though there is enough for an official triumph, much remains to be done before the horse of the Indian people can be reckoned to have a fair chance. Nor can one who knows the country escape from the reflection that we underrate the apathy and indifference of its various races; alike in this, that they are and must be constitutionally disinclined to take the trouble that merciful and just treatment of animals in servitude involves.