The Parsees settled here more than eight centuries ago, after their expulsion from Persia. Their temples contain no images, nothing but the altar bearing the sacred fire, which their fathers brought with them when they landed here so long ago, and which has never for one instant been extinguished. They worship the sun as the representative of God, and fire in all its forms, as well as the ocean, which would seem to be an antagonistic agent; but as their religion recognizes one Good and one Evil Principle, who are ever contending for the mastery of the universe, perhaps these emblems are no paradox. One of the first places we visited in Bombay was Malabar Hill, a lofty piece of ground just outside of the city, upon the apex of which are the five famous "Towers of Silence," constituting the cemetery of the Parsees. Beautiful gardens, kept ever in bloom and loveliness by the most assiduous care, surround these towers, which are the subjects of such sad associations. The oldest of these structures is between two and three centuries in age, and one is solely designed for the bodies of criminals whose bones are not permitted to mingle with those of the just. When a death occurs among the Parsees, the body is brought here to a small temple, containing the sacred fire, within the grounds. Here a certain formula is gone through with, and a solemn chant without words is performed by the assembled mourners. Presently the corpse is carried upon a stretcher through a door of one of the towers, and is placed upon a grating raised a few feet from the ground, where it is completely exposed. The bearers instantly retire, the door is closed and locked. These towers are open at the top, on the cornice of which hundreds of vultures are always waiting in full view of every one, and as soon as the body is left they swoop down to their awful meal, eagerly tearing and devouring the flesh, absolutely picking it clean from the bones, which fall into a space below in an indiscriminate mass, to be decomposed by time and the elements. The hideous detail of the scene is not visible to the spectators, but the reappearance of these terrible birds of prey upon the walls, an hour later, in a gorged condition, is only too significant of what has transpired within the silent and gloomy inclosure.
During a subsequent early-morning walk the writer observed a funeral procession on its way towards Malabar Hill, and followed it to the Towers. For a moment after arriving there the face of the corpse was exposed, showing the marble features of a young girl of some fifteen years, wearing upon her pale face an expression of seraphic loveliness. The body was covered with a snow-white sheet, exhibiting the outline of a beautiful, budding form suddenly snatched from life. Over and around the body were white buds and half-blown pale flowers, indicative of youth, recalling to mind a similar experience on the banks of the Ganges. There was no apparent want of sentiment and tenderness here. As soon as the brief ceremony was over the beautiful remains, lovely even in death, were deposited in the nearest tower, the door was closed and the bearers retired. Down swooped the ravenous birds to their terrible banquet, as we turned away with a shudder. The devouring flames that wreathed about the child-corpse at Benares did not seem to us so shocking as this.
Seeing an intelligent Parsee, who had evidently been watching us, we asked: "How can you reconcile to your feelings such disposal as that of the remains of a tenderly beloved child?" "What do you do with your dead?" he asked. "We bury them in the earth." "Yes," he continued, "for the worms to eat. And if there is death at sea you sink the body in the ocean to be consumed by the sharks. We prefer to give our dead to the birds of the air." We were certainly answered, though not convinced, as to the propriety of the awful scene just enacted. Perhaps, after all, it makes but little difference what becomes of these tenements of clay. The Parsee feeds the vultures with his dead, the devout Hindoo burns the body, and the professed Christian gives his to the worms and to the sharks. Still as we came down Malabar Hill that morning, and saw the hideous carrion birds, gorged and sleepy, roosting upon the walls of the cemetery, a sense of nausea came over us quite uncontrollable.
Bombay is made up of fine public buildings, sumptuous bungalows, and low hovels, not absolutely combined, each class being found in clusters about its special locality, but all going to make up the aggregate figure of the population. That the numbers should reach the round total of a million of people was a surprise. In the European cities we see the palace and the hovel, wealth and poverty, everywhere jostling each other. In Florence, Rome, or Naples a half-starved cobbler's stall may nestle beneath a palace, or a vendor of roast chestnuts may have established himself there. In Bombay a sense of propriety and fitness has assorted and adjusted these matters. Still poverty and riches are never far apart in the world, even as joy and grief are inevitable neighbors. There cannot be strong light without shade near at hand. Excellent order and neatness are maintained, and well-disciplined policemen are seen at every corner. The municipality is partly elective and partly nominative, the majority of the officials being of native birth, and so far as a casual visitor may judge, affairs are managed economically and judiciously. In the neighborhood of Elphinstone Circle and the Esplanade, the city will compare favorably with any modern European capital, both in the size and style of the public and private buildings, as well as in the broad, liberal squares and thoroughfares, ornamented with statuary and fountains.
A drive in the environs of Bombay, around the base of Malabar Hill and along the picturesque shore of the Arabian Sea, is an experience never to be forgotten by one who has enjoyed its pleasure. It will be sure to recall to the traveler the almost unrivaled environs of Genoa, with those winding, rock-cut roads overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Here the roads are admirable, cool, and half-embowered in foliage, amid which the crimson sagittaria, flaunting its fiery leaves and ponderous blossoms everywhere, meets the eye. About the fine villas, which are set back a short distance from the road, delightful gardens were to be seen of choice flowers, tastefully arranged, comprising an abundance of tropical plants, tall palms lining the drive-way up to the houses where the merchant princes dwell. The broad public roads were lined with oleanders, magnolias, laburnums, jasmines, orange and lemon-trees; and there were honeysuckles, white, scarlet, yellow; and tiger-lilies of marvelous size, each leaf looking as if it were a butterfly, and the whole flower forming a group of them lit upon a stem. Urns, from which drooped variegated flowers, relieved by wreathing smilax, ornamented the posts of gates, and lined the smooth, white graveled paths about the verandas of these suburban palaces in miniature. The flora of our best kept green-houses here bloomed out of doors in wild luxuriance, but not a familiar tree was to be seen. In place of elms, maples, pines, and oaks, there were tall, slender palms, fig-trees, mangoes, and whole groves of bananas bending under the weight of the long, finger-like fruit. Verily, these Parsees, in spite of their bigotry and their adherence to ancient superstitions, know how to make their homes beautiful.
There was one institution visited in Bombay which is, so far as we know, unique, commending itself however, to every philanthropist, namely, An Asylum for Aged and Decrepit Animals. Here were found birds and beasts suffering under various afflictions, carefully tended and nursed as human beings are in a well-regulated hospital. The origin of the establishment was due to a philanthropic native who some years ago left a large sum of money, on his decease, for this purpose, so thoroughly in accordance with his religious convictions. Within the last ten years several liberal endowments have been added, all by natives, until the institution is now self-supporting. We were told of a new bequest, just added, which would enable the trustees to enlarge certain premises. Liberal visitors are also frequently inclined to leave a few dollars to encourage so worthy an institution. Bullocks, cows, dogs, and cats, otherwise homeless, here find good care, food, and shelter. The yard and buildings cover about two acres of ground, where the animals are only so far confined as to insure their own comfort and safety. None of them are ever killed, but are well cared for until Nature herself closes the scene for them. One horse, which we noticed, was swung by belly straps so that his hind feet were quite off the floor; a case, as was explained, where one of his hind legs had been broken, but which had now so nearly healed that the animal would be able to stand once more upon his feet—not to work, but to live out his allotted days in peace. In America, or indeed nearly anywhere else, a horse with a broken leg is at once deprived of life. All through the East, but especially in India, there is, as a rule, a kind consideration for animals that is in marked contrast to the treatment they so often receive in what we term more civilized countries. Under the plea of humanity we take the life of most ailing animals in the Western world, but not so in Bombay. Horses, donkeys, cows, cats, dogs, and monkeys, sick or injured by accident, will be at once taken into this establishment, on application, and kindly cared for, free of all expense, until natural death ensues.
A visit to the Island of Elephanta, in the outer harbor of Bombay, situated about ten miles from the city, will afford all strangers much gratification. A small excursion steamer, tug-boat size, was chartered for our purpose, and with a favoring current took us down to the island in an hour, but was twice as long in working her way back against the tide. It was quite a picnic affair, our refreshments being taken with us from the hotel, and a nice table spread on board the little boat, where we lunched with that best of sauce, a good appetite. This famous island is about six miles in circumference, covered with a thick undergrowth of bushes and some fine specimens of tropical trees. It derives its name from a colossal stone elephant which once stood near the present landing, and formed a conspicuous object visible far away. This monument was thrown down many years ago by some convulsion of nature, and now lies overgrown by vines and bushes, hidden beneath tamarind and banana-trees. As the shore is shelving, the depth of water will not permit boats to approach very near; so that the landing is made over a series of large, deep-sunken stepping-stones, rather slippery and dangerous for one without a cool head. After having landed there is still nearly a thousand irregular steps to ascend before reaching the plateau, where the mouth of the famous temple is entered.
We found this cave temple with its front half hidden by a wild growth of luxuriant vines and foliage. The cavity is hewn out of the solid rock, extending nearly two hundred feet directly into the hill-side. It was strange and incongruous in aspect,—a sort of conglomeration of sensualism, religious ideas, and Buddhist idols. Most of the school geographies of our childhood depict this entrance of the Cave of Elephanta, supported by carved pillars, hewn out of the rock just where they stand, part and parcel of it. The roof is supported by many carved pillars, also similarly hewn out of the native stone. Some of them have been willfully broken, others have mouldered away from atmospheric exposure. The Portuguese in their day, as we were told by the custodian,—a superannuated non-commissioned officer of the English army,—planted cannon before the cave and destroyed many of the pillars, as well as the heathen emblems, by round shot. One sees here the singular phenomenon of hanging pillars, the capitals only extant; but as the whole is carved out of the same huge rock all parts are equally self-supporting. There are many well-executed figures in bas-relief, more or less decayed and broken, which is not surprising when we remember that the antiquarians trace them back with certainty for some fifteen centuries, and some give their origin to a period nearly ten centuries earlier.
Though embodying so much that is curious and suggestive as these rock-cave temples do, presenting such an aggregate of patient labor, the world will probably remain ever ignorant of their true history. An American traveler, whom we met in Bombay, had made these Buddhist temples a special study, and had just returned from a visit to those interesting antiquities, the Caves of Ellora, some two hundred miles from Bombay, consisting of several lofty apartments ornamented in a similar manner to those at Elephanta: in bas-relief. He also mentioned another excavated temple of the same character at Carlee, between Bombay and Puna, which in many respects resembled a Gothic church, having a vaulted roof and colonnades running on either side, like aisles. He was disposed to give the origin of them, as well as of those in the harbor of Bombay, to a period prior to the Christian era. However strange and historically interesting these excavated temples may be to the observant traveler, he will look in vain among the carvings and basso-relievi for any just proportions of form or expression of features. There is a lack of anything like artistic genius evinced, no correctness of anatomical proportions even attempted. The figures doubtless were sufficiently typical to answer their original purpose, but are as crude as Chinese idols. When the Prince of Wales was in Bombay he visited the spot and a sort of barbecue was given to him within the cave, upon which the stony eyes of the idols must have looked down in amazement.