It is gratifying to observe, however, that the growth of intelligence and the march of intellect has of late years greatly counteracted the influence of this monstrous evil. If the Rulers will not attempt to abolish a social system opposed to the feelings of natural affection by the denunciation of the severest temporal penalties, the good sense of the people who are victimised by it must be appealed to for its total suppression.
The following extract from Mr. Ward's excellent work on the Hindoos will give the reader an idea of the fearful extent to which Koolinism prevailed in Bengal some fifty or sixty years back, when English education could scarcely be said to have commenced the work of reformation or rather disintegration.
"Notwithstanding the predilection for koolins they are more corrupt in their manners than any of the Hindoos. I have heard of a Koolin Brahmin, who, after marrying sixty-five wives, carried off another man's wife, by personating her husband. Many of the Koolins have a numerous posterity. I select five examples, though they might easily be multiplied: Oodhoy Chunder, a Brahmin, late of Bágnápárá, had sixty-five wives, by whom he had forty-one sons, and twenty-five daughters. Ramkinkur, a Brahmin, late of Kooshda, had seventy-two wives, thirty-two sons, and twenty-seven daughters. Vishnooram, a Brahmin, late of Gundulpárá, had sixty wives, twenty-five sons and fifteen daughters. Gouree Churn, a Brahmin, late of Treebanee, had forty-five wives, thirty-two sons, and sixteen daughters. Ramakant, a Brahmin, late of Bhoosdaranee, had eighty-two wives, eighteen sons and twenty-six daughters; this man died about the year 1810, at the age of 85 years or more, and was married, for the last time, only three months before his death. Most of these marriages are sought after by the relations of the female, to keep up the honor of their families; and the children of these marriages invariably remain with their mothers, and are maintained by the relations of these females. In some cases, a Koolin father does not know his own children."
Not only the rules of caste, but poverty is also a great barrier to the marriage of Koolin women, a fact which has been very feelingly deplored in the following lines. Maidenly anxiety finds a natural vent in them:—
"Out spake the bride's sister,
As she came frae the byre,
O! gin I were but married,
It's a' that I desire;
But we poor folk maun live single,
And do the best we can,
I dinna care what I should want
If I could but get a man.
Another, and O! what will come o' me!
And O! what will I do?
That sic a braw lassie as I
Should die for a wooer, I trow."
When Bullal Sen first introduced this obnoxious system, which went under the euphonious title of the Order of Merit, he little anticipated that the very small seed of mischief he then planted would soon grow into a luxuriant tree, and produce an abundant crop of evils, poisoning the very source of domestic felicity. It requires no depth of thought to predict that the evil is destined to die a natural death, as all such social evils are fated to do, when ignorance and superstition are driven into their congenial darkness. Though many a Hindoo still lives in the sin of polygamy without any particular repentance, yet the irresistible progress of virtue, like that of truth, will ultimately teach him that it is an unsafe foundation on which to build the sober structure of domestic happiness.
The details of the following conversation between a husband, his old mother, and his two wives, placed at the disposal of the writer by a friend, may, he trusts, not be out of place:—
"What is this noise for," exclaims Radhamoney, a widow, (the name of the mother) coming out of the thacoor ghur in which she was worshipping; "this noise, this tumult, this quarrel, this wringing of the hands, these curses will surely drive away Luckhee from the house, it is enough to make the devil fly; you have lost every sense of shame, mago ma, your clamour has deafened my ears, where shall I go? one is apt to leave her clothes behind. You have been served right; it was only the other day that Grish, (name of the son) lost 5,000 Rupees in a case at the Burra Adawlut (High Court.) If I be a Sati (chaste woman), I say, you two women (pointing to the two wives) will be beggared and reduced to the condition of harrees (those who carry night soil); in what unlucky hour did these two women enter the house. You are both Rakhasees (female cannibals.) Day by day, sorrow is eating into the vitals of my son, his golden body is being darkened every day; Oh! Bidhata (God) you have ordained this for me?" "Ullungo (name of the maid-servant) what is the cause of this uproar?" asks the mother. "Ma, what will I say," replies the maid-servant; "the cook first gave the vath, boiled rice to Comul," (name of the daughter of the first wife). "Is this all? nothing more?" continues the mother; "my Báchá (child) has had no food for seven days, being ill with fever. You all know this; the kobeeraj (physician) this morning has ordered some rice for her, whereupon the second wife, all this while roaring and bawling, cursing and swearing, stepped forward and said, it is past nine and my Hurree (her son's name, 12 years old) has not yet got a morsel, his belly has shrunk, and the school time is come; if late, his master will make him stand." Radhamoney, the old mother, or ghini, sent for the cook, and enquired if the rice were ready. "Yes, ma, Hurree Baboo came into the cook room half an hour ago, and I asked him to take his meal; chotta ma (second wife) prevented him, because I first gave the rice to Comul who was so long ill." "Where is Hurree now?" enquired the old lady. The maid-servant replied "Chotta ma gave him a few pice and told him to go to his school, though he could have eaten rice if he liked." "Let Grish return home," added the old lady, "and I will tell him to send me to Benares without delay; I am sick of your incessant broils; for giving Comul rice first you two bous fell into a quarrel, and cursed each other so fearfully that you, burra bou (first wife), ate the head of Hurree, and you, chotta bou (second wife), ate the head of Comul's husband."[108]
It was evening, and Grish, the son, returned home from office. Before he had time to take off his office dress, the old mother, impatient to tell him what had occurred during the day, and with tears in her eyes, thus addressed him: "You, my son, have brought the greatest curse on yourself by marrying two wives; to-day the whole family has been starving, and why? because Comul, suffering from fever for the last eight days, had got a little rice this morning, and she ate first; chotta bou, therefore, prevented her son from eating anything, and sent the little bacha to the school without rice. From what pajee (mean) families have you brought these two females? I can no longer remain in the house. Under the slightest pretext, like infamous wenches, they not only brawl but curse each other and the son and son-in-law into the bargain. Can Luckhee dwell in such a house? send me to Benares instantly, I can no longer live in such a hell of a place. Your wives have made it a regular hell." The son consoles the old mother, promising that everything would be done according to her wish, begging her at the same time to eat something, and adding that he does not mind whether his two wives eat or not. After going through the evening service, he slept outside that night, pondering what should be done for the future quiet of the family. Next day he removed the first wife to her father's house, because the second wife is always the Zuburdust, imagining that one hand can never make a clap. But he was sadly mistaken, the deserted wife, continually brooding over her misfortune, at length resolved to put an end to her existence, and accordingly one night took an overdose of opium, and bade a final adieu to the world.
The above story is founded on real life and should serve as a warning to those who under the impulse of passion blindly run into a state of polygamy, which is undoubtedly one of the greatest domestic evils among the natives.