From the month of November till the month of March, the Indians have a season which they call winter. At 20° they are cold, at 15° they shiver, at 12° or 13° they are frozen. You should see, in the morning, the masons, carpenters, and other workmen, residing usually in the country, coming into town all muffled up in one or two extra bed-sheets, their mouth and nose completely hidden, and looking so much like being cold, that after some years the Europeans themselves (sad effect of bad example!) end by persuading themselves that it is cold here in winter, and even catch a little cold here and there. The domestics also try then to obtain some cast-off garments, in which they wrap themselves up without any regard for aesthetics. The porter of the college, who may be recognized by his red skull-cap and small white band worn as a shoulder-belt, characteristic of the caste of Brahmins, asked Father Stochman last year for one of his old soutanes. A little bera (servant) strutted about the other day in his master's old paletot. The master is thirty-five, the bera seven. The meteurs (room sweepers, etc) cover themselves with everything: packing-linen, palliasses, etc., etc. The bossartchi (cooks) are the best off in winter; they keep themselves warm with their masters' wood.
Now that you have my Indians more or less dressed, let us see how they act. The best way to do that will be to go in a palanquin from our college to the railroad station. If we arrive in time for the train, we shall make a little excursion as far as Serampore or even to Chandernagor. Here is the palanquin that is waiting for us at the door: it is a wooden box, about four feet long; two poles a little bent, and fastened one before, the other behind, seem to be the continuation of the axle of the parallelepiped (excuse the word: I teach geometry). Two individuals, clothed just so far as it is absolutely necessary, place themselves under the front pole, so as to lay it one over his right shoulder, the other over his left shoulder; they press one against the other, because union makes strength. Two other Indians similar to these do as much for the back pole; the palanquin is raised. I slide the doors sideways, seat myself on the edge, and with all the elegance given by gymnastic habit I dart in backwards. The bottom is a sort of mattrass, on which one lies down at full length: the shoulders are then supported by a back-cushion, the feet are in front; you cry Djas! and the four palki-bera start off. Usually, to mark the way, the most intelligent of the bearers throws out phrases of four or six syllables, in a very monotonous tone quite unknown in Europe; the other answers, repeating the phrase in the same tone. In town, they go at the rate of at least six miles an hour; in longer journeys they go more slowly.
I have already made a journey of five leagues twice in this kind of box. The first was poetical enough. It was more than fifty leagues from Calcutta. We were three Europeans; a very light Frenchman (not in body, but in mind), an Irishman, and myself. The Frenchman had a considerable sum about him, and the country being in his opinion somewhat dangerous, he had brought to the starting station arms of every kind. I had with me in my palanquin a double-barrelled carabine, a case of ammunition, and a large hunting-knife. To prevent any one from robbing me of all this, I partly lay down on the carabine, made a pillow of the case, and slept with the sheath of my knife in one hand and the handle in the other. The Irishman, travelling on horseback, with pistols, served us as a scout; but his pistols did not prevent him from being struck on the face and arms by the greatest brigand in India: I mean the sun. He had his skin red for several days. For us, who were shaded in our palanquins, we had, of [{391}] course, no adventure; were it not that I dreamed sometimes of brigands and the Black Forest, crossing a vast desert plain, all white with light. So, when we came back the same way a fortnight after, we took with us no other fire-arms than a box of matches and cigars. But this is a digression; let us continue our journey.
Daina péro! (turn to the right). It is not the ordinary way; but instead of passing by the broad European thoroughfare, Park street, we shall turn aside into the dark and winding passages of an Indian bazaar. A bazaar is a multitude of lanes, exclusively composed of miserable huts, and blocked up with all sorts of merchandise. You rarely meet any one there but men; the shop-girl and the "young lady" of the store are equally unknown here; but in it is found every form of misery.
See there below that beggar of eighteen or twenty years, scarce half covered, and without even a rudiment, a shadow, of an arm. He is long and thin, but appears to be in good health. A French physician told me that, very probably, his parents cut off his arms when he was a child to secure him a livelihood. Whilst we are looking at him, a gigantic hand is thrust trough the opposite door of the palanquin. The fingers are as big as the arms of a two-year old child; they are long in proportion. That hand is soliciting alms. We raise ourselves up a little to see this needy giant, and our eyes fall on a wretched, emaciated Indian; the rest of his body can weigh but little more than his two hands, for the left is like unto the right. This case of hypertrophy is, I think, isolated here; but another very common one, which is met in every street, is Elephantiasis, hypertrophy of the legs. The unhappy creatures attacked by this malady have, from the knee to the end of the foot, one, or sometimes two, elephant's legs, cylindrical, enormous, and seeming to draw to them the nourishment of all the rest of the body.
But here we are at the Meïdan, This is the name given to that immense esplanade on which stands Fort William, and which bounds the governor's palace, the city hall, the Protestant cathedral, the prison, the lunatic asylum, etc. Let us cross it in our palanquin, coasting along the river, and we shall soon reach the vicinity of the station. There we find ourselves besieged by the couli (a sort of porter) of every age. They claim the honor of carrying our travelling-bag fifty paces for a pais—about four centimes. Since we are there, before going any further, let us say a word of the couli.
Some are in the service of the rich and of Europeans, others are for hire in the streets. The first are always men; amongst the second, there are many children: there are few of them very strong. Indeed, as a general rule, one European has the strength of several Bengalese. Both carry everything on their head, in a great hemispherical basket; there it is that they place the traveller's luggage or the provisions bought in the bazaar. A couli brought me one day two little birds which an Irishman had shot for me, and sent them to me from his residence, three leagues from Calcutta. The birds were in the large basket. On receiving them I wrote a few lines of thanks; the couli put the note in his basket. Here is another anecdote, for the truth of which I can certify. M. Moyne, a Frenchman settled in Chandernagor, had ordered his couli to convey some very heavy materials, of I know not what kind. He saw the poor devil bent under the burden, and as the journey was to be of several days' duration, he went to his carpenter and had him construct a wheelbarrow. That done, he comes back quite pleased with his good work, and, wheeling the barrow himself to the couli, gives it to him, shows him how to use it, and goes his ways satisfied that he has caused that man to make one step toward civilization. The pleasure he experiences at this [{392}] reflection induces him to turn round to enjoy his work. He turns, therefore, and sees the couli walking along, the barrow and the burden all on his head!
We have met by the way a great number of Mohammedans, carrying on their back an enormous leather flask, and dripping wet. These are the bisthi, water-carriers. Every house has its own; for people here waste a great deal of water, and there are neither wells nor cisterns. The bisthi go and fill their leather flasks at the river or at the public reservoirs, which are to be found in almost all the large streets, and come and empty it into pitchers of the dimensions of a hogshead. It is filtered for drinking; for other uses it is merely left to settle.
Those other individuals, a little cleaner, who carry on their head large bundles of linen, are dôbi, or washers. They wash the linen by soaking it in water, and then striking it with their whole strength against a plank or a stone. Happily, notwithstanding the American war, calico is not very dear here. You understand that in such a mode of washing it is roughly handled, and wears out before it is old. But why not teach the dôbi to wash in another way? Remember M. Moyne's wheelbarrow, when you ask that question!
Mercy on us! whilst we are chatting so about the couli, the bisthi, and the dôbi, we are missing the train. Since it is gone, we shall do as others do who are left behind: we shall take a Hinghi, an Indian bark, long, curved, and without a keel. We shall find four or five Mohammedan mendjié (boatmen), one of whom steers with a long oar; the others row with bamboos as thick as one's arm, and terminated by small flat boards. Just as we enter, the crew are finishing their common prayer, in which, with many protestations and gesticulations, they thank God and the Prophet for having helped them to speed well heretofore, and asking them to help them the same for the future.