A Journey through the Kingdom of Oude, Volumes I & II

by Sir W. H. Sleeman

"And if any of them fell fighting on his side, would he think it a point of honour to-provide for their families?"

"That we all do," said he; "they are always provided for, and taken the greatest possible care of."

"And if any one is killed in fighting for the King?"

They did not reply to this question, but the adjutant, Bhopaul Sing, said,—"his family would be left to shift for themselves,—no one asks a question about them."

"This," observed Rajah Bukhtawar Sing, "is one of the great sources of the evil that exists in Oude. How can men be expected to expose their lives when they know that no care will be taken of their families if they are killed or disabled?"

It is the rule to give a disabled man one month's pay and dismiss him; and to give the family of any one killed in the service two months' pay. But, though the King is charged for this, it is seldom that the wounded man, or the family of the killed, get any portion of it. On the contrary, the arrears of pay due-which are at all times great—are never paid to the disabled sipahee, or the family of the sipahee killed. If issued from the Treasury, they are appropriated by the commandants and their friends at Court; and the arms and accoutrements, which the deceased has purchased with his own money, are commonly sold for the benefit of the State or its officers.

They mentioned, that the family of the person who planted a mango-tree, or grove, continued to hold it as their exclusive property in perpetuity; but, that the person who held the mhowa trees, was commonly expected to pay to the landlord, where there was one, and to the Government officers, where there was not, a duty amounting to from four annas to two rupees a-year for each tree, according to its fruitfulness—that the proprietor often sold the fruit of one tree for twenty rupees the season. The fruit of one mango-tree has, indeed, often been sold for a hundred rupees the season, where the mangoes are of a quality much esteemed, and numerous. The groves and fine solitary trees, on the lands we have to-day passed through, are more numerous than usual; and the country being undulating and well cultivated, the scenery is beautiful; but, as everywhere else, it is devoid of all architectural beauty in works of ornament or utility—not even a comfortable habitation is anywhere to be seen. The great landholders live at a distance from the road, and in forts or strongholds. These are generally surrounded by fences of living bamboos, which are carefully kept up as the best possible defence against attacks. The forts are all of mud, and when the walls are exposed to view they look ugly. The houses of the peasants in the villages are, for the most part, covered with mud, from which the water is carried off, by tubes of wood or baked clay, about two feet long. There are parapets around the roof a foot or two high, so that it cannot be seen, and a village appears to be a mass of dead mud walls, which have been robbed of their thatched or tiled roofs. Most of the tubes used for carrying off the water from the roofs, are the simple branches of the palm-tree, without their leaves.

Among the peasantry we saw a great many sipahees, from our Native Infantry Regiments, who have come home on furlough to their families. From the estate of Rajah Hunmunt Sing, in the Banoda district, there are one thousand sipahees in our service. From that of Benee Madho, in the Byswara district, there are still more. They told us that they and their families were very happy, and they seemed to be so; but Hunmunt Sing said, they were a privileged class, who gave much trouble and annoyance, and were often the terror of their non-privileged neighbours and co-sharers in the land. Benee Madho, as I have stated above, sometimes makes use of his wealth, power, and influence, to rob his weaker neighbours of their estates. The lands on which we are encamped he got two years ago from their proprietor, Futteh Bahader, by foreclosing a mortgage, in which he and others had involved him. The gunge or bazaar, close to our tents, was established by Gorbuksh, the uncle of Futteh Bahader, and became a thriving emporium under his fostering care; but it has gone to utter ruin under his nephew, and heir, and the mortgagee. The lands around, however, could never have been better cultivated than they are; nor the cultivators better protected or encouraged. It rained slightly before sunset yesterday, and heavily between three and four this morning; but not so as to prevent our marching.

This morning, a male elephant belonging to Benee Madho killed one of his attendants near to our camp. He had three attendants, the driver and two subordinates. The driver remained in camp, while the two attendants took the elephant to a field of sugar-cane, to bring home a supply of the cane for his fodder for the day. A third subordinate had gone on to cut the cane and bind it into bundles. One of the two was on the neck of the elephant, and another walking by the side, holding one of the elephant's teeth in his left hand all the way to the field, and he seemed very quiet. The third attendant brought the bundles, and the second handed them up to the first on the back to be stowed away. When they had got up about a dozen, the elephant made a rush at the third attendant, who was bringing the bundles, threw him to the ground with his foot, knelt down upon him, and crushed him to death with his front. The second attendant ran off as soon as he saw the elephant make a rush at the third; and the first fell off under the bundles of sugar-cane, as soon as the elephant knelt down to crush the third to death. When the elephant rose from the poor man, he did not molest, or manifest any wish to molest either of the other two, but stood still, watching the dead body. The first, seeing this, ventured to walk up to him, to take him by the ear and ask him what he meant. At first he seemed surly, and shoved the man off, and he became alarmed, and retired a few paces; but seeing the elephant show no further signs of anger, he again walked up, and took him by the ear familiarly. Had he ran or shown any signs of fear, the elephant would, he thought, have killed him also, for he had killed three men in the service of his former proprietor, and was now in his annual fit of madness, or must. Holding the elephant by the ear, he led him to the first tree, and placed himself on the opposite side to see whether the animal had become quite sober. Seeing that he had, he again approached, and put upon his two forelegs the chain fetters, which they always have with them, suspended to some part of the body of elephants in this state. He could not venture to command the elephant to kneel down in the usual way, that he might get upon his neck; and, ascending the tree, he let himself down from one of the branches upon his back, where he sat. He then made the animal walk on in fetters, towards camp, and on the way, met the mahout, or driver, to whom the second attendant had reported the accident. The driver came up, and, after the usual volume of abuse on the elephant, his mother, father, and sundry female relations, he ordered the attendant to make him sit down that he might get on his neck. He did so in fear and trembling, and the driver got on his neck, while the attendant sat on his back, and the elephant took them to Benee Madho's village, close to my camp, where he was fastened in chains to a tree, to remain for some months on reduced allowances, till he should get over his madness. The body of the poor man was burnt with the usual ceremonies, and the first attendant told me, that his family would be provided for by Benee Madho, as a matter of course.

I asked him how he or any other person could be found to attend a beast of that kind? Pointing to his stomach, he said—"We poor people are obliged to risk our lives for this, in all manner of ways; to attend elephants has been always my profession, and there is no other open to me; and we make up our minds to do whatever our duties require from us, and trust to Providence." He told me that when the elephant shoved him off, he thought that in his anger he might have forgotten him, and called out as loud as he could,—"What, have you forgotten a service of six years, and do you intend to kill the man who has fed you so long?" That the beast seemed to recollect his voice and services, and became, at once, quiet and docile—"that had he not so called out, and reminded the animal of his long services, he thought he should have been killed; that the driver came, armed with a spear, and showed himself more angry than afraid, as the safest plan in such cases."