We have a long series of legends by which certain famous trees are supposed to have been produced from the tooth twig of some saint. The famous hawthorn of Glastonbury was supposed to be sprung from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea, who having fixed it in the ground on Christmas Day, it took root immediately, put forth leaves, and the next day was covered with milk-white blossoms.[18] Traditions of the Dantadhâvana or tooth-brush tree of Buddha still exist at Gonda; another at Ludhiâna is attributed to Abdul Qâdir Jilâni; there is a Buddha tree at Saketa, and the great Banyan tree at Broach was similarly produced by Kabîr. So, the Santâls believe that good men turn into fruit-trees.[19]
Next come the numerous sacred groves scattered all over the country. These, as we have seen, are very often regarded as a survival from the primeval jungle, where the forest spirits have taken refuge. The idea is common both to the Aryan as well as to the Drâvidian races, from the latter of whom it was possibly derived.
Thus, among the jungle races we find that there are many groves, known as Sarna, in which the Cheros and Kharwârs offer triennial sacrifices of a buffalo or other animal. The Kisâns have sacred groves, called Sâ. The Mundâri Kols keep “a fragment of the original forest, the trees in which have been for ages carefully protected, left when the clearance was first made, lest the sylvan gods of the place, disgusted at the wholesale felling of the trees which protected them, should abandon the locality. Even now if a tree is destroyed in the sacred grove, the gods evince their displeasure by withholding seasonable rain.” This idea of the influence of cutting trees on weather has been illustrated by Mr. Frazer from the usages of other races.[20] So, among the Khândhs, “that timber may never be wanting, in case of accidents from fire or from enemies, a considerable grove, generally of Sâl, is uniformly dedicated by every village to the forest god, whose favour is ever and anon sought by the sacrifice of birds, hogs, and sheep, with the usual accompaniments of rice and an addled egg. The consecrated grove is religiously preserved, the trees being occasionally pruned, but not a twig cut for use without the formal consent of the village and the formal propitiation of the god.”[21] Among the Kols, in these groves the tutelary deities of the village are supposed to sojourn when attending to the wants of their votaries.[22] In the Central Provinces the Badiyas worship the manes of their ancestors in a grove of Sâj trees.[23] In Berâr the wood of the Pathrot forests is believed to be dedicated to a neighbouring temple, and no one will cut or buy it; and in other places in the same province the sacred groves are so carefully preserved, that during the annual festivals held in them it is the custom to collect and burn solemnly all dead and fallen branches and trees.[24]
Among the higher races the same feelings attach to the holy groves of Mathura, each of which has appropriated one of the legends of the Krishna myth. Thus, there is a particularly sacred grove at Bhadanwâra, and it is believed that any one violating the sanctity of the place by telling a lie within its precincts will be stricken with leprosy. In another at Hasanpur Bara the trees are under the protection of the curse of a Faqîr, and in many places people object to having toddy collected from the palm trees, because it necessitates cutting their necks.[25] In the Northern Hills the Sâl and bamboos at Barmdeo are never cut, as they are sacred to the local Devî.[26] In Kulu, “near the village were a number of cypresses, much decayed, and many quite dead. Some of my people had begun to strip off their dry branches for fuel, when one of the conductors of our caravan came to me in great agitation, and implored me to command them to desist. The trees, he said, were sacred to the deities of the elements, who would be sure to revenge any injury done to them by visiting the neighbourhood with heavy and untimely snow.”[27]
In a village in Lucknow, noticeable among the trees is a “single mango tree, of fine growth and comely shape. It is the survivor of some old grove, which the owner, through straitened circumstances, has reluctantly cut down. He called it Jâk, or Sakhiya, the witness of the place where the old grove stood.”[28] Jâk is, as we have seen, the Corn spirit. The preservation of these little patches of the primeval jungle, with a view to conciliate the sylvan spirits of the place, is exactly analogous to what is known in Scotland as the “Gudeman’s Croft,” “Cloutie’s Croft,” or “Gudeman’s Field.” Often in Northern India little patches are left uncultivated in the corners of fields as a refuge for the spirits, as in North Scotland many farmers leave a corner of the field untilled, and say it is for the “Aul Man,” or the Devil.[29]
Some trees are, again, considered to be mystically connected with the fortunes of people and places. Thus, the Chilbil tree at Gonda, which, like others which have already been mentioned, sprouted from the tooth-twig of a saint, was supposed to be mysteriously connected with the fate of the last of the Gonda Râjas. His kingdom was to last until the day a monkey sat on the tree, and this, it is said, happened on the morning when the Mutiny broke out which ended in the ruin of the dynasty.[30] In the same way the moving wood of Dunsinane was fateful to the fortunes of Macbeth.
We have already referred to some of the regular tree sprites, like the Churel, Râkshasa, and Bansaptî Mâ. They are, like Kliddo, the North British sprite, small and delicate at first, but rapidly shooting into the clouds, while everything it overshadows is thrown into confusion.[31]
How sprites come to inhabit trees is well shown in an instance given from Bombay by Mr. Campbell. “In the Dakkhin, when a man is worried by a spirit, he gives it a tree to live in. The patient, or one of his relations, goes to a seer and brings the seer to his house, frankincense is burnt, and the sick man’s spirit comes into the seer’s body. The people ask the spirit in the seer why the man is sick. He says, ‘The ghost of the man you killed has come back, and is troubling you.’ Then they say, ‘What is to be done?’ The spirit says, ‘Put him in a place in his or in your land.’ The people say, ‘How can we put him?’ The spirit says, ‘Take a cock, five cocoanuts, rice, and red lead, and fill a bamboo basket with them next Sunday evening, and by waving the basket round the head of the patient, take the ghost out of the patient.’ When Sunday afternoon comes they call the exorcist. If the ghost has not haunted the sick man for a week, it is held that the man was worried by that ghost, who is now content with the proposed arrangement. If the patient is still sick, it is held that it cannot be that ghost, but it must be another ghost, perhaps a god who troubles him.
“The seer is again called, and his familiar spirit comes into him. They set the sick man opposite him, and the seer throws rice on the sick man, and the ghost comes into the patient’s body and begins to speak. The seer asks him, ‘Are you going or not?’ The ghost replies, ‘I will go if you give me a cock, a fowl, a cocoanut, red lead, and rice.’ They then bring the articles and show them to the spirit. The spirit sees the articles, and says, ‘Where is the cocoanut?’ or, ‘Where is the rice?’ They add what he says, and ask, ‘Is it right?’ ‘Yes, it is right,’ replies the spirit. ‘If we drive you out of Bâpu, will you come out?’ ask the people. ‘I will come out,’ replies the ghost. The people then say, ‘Will you never come back?’ ‘I will never return,’ replies the ghost. ‘If you ever return,’ says the seer’s spirit, ‘I will put you in a tanner’s well, sink you, and ruin you.’ ‘I will,’ says the spirit, ‘never come back, if you take these things to the Pîpal tree in my field. You must never hurt the Pîpal. If you hurt the Pîpal, I will come and worry you.’
“Then the friends of the patient make the cooked rice in a ball, and work a little hollow in the top of the ball. They sprinkle the ball with red powder, and in the hollow put a piece of a plantain leaf, and on the leaf put oil, and a wick, which they light. Then the Gâdi, or flesh-eating priest, brings the goat in front of the sick man, sprinkles the goat’s head with red powder and flowers, and says to the spirit, ‘This is for you; take it.’ He then passes three fowls three times from the head to the foot of the sick man, and then from the head lowers all the other articles. The Gâdi, or Mhâr, and some friends of the patient start for the place named by the spirit. When the party leave, the sick man is taken into the house and set close to the threshold. They put water on his eyes, and filling a pot with water, throw it outside where the articles were, and inside and outside scatter cowdung ashes, saying, ‘If you come in you will have the curse of Râma and Lakshmana.’ When the Gâdi and the party reach their destination, the Gâdi tells the party to bring a stone the size of a cocoanut. When the stone is brought, the Gâdi washes it and puts it to the root of the tree and sets about it small stones. On the tree and on the middle stone he puts red lead, red powder, and frankincense. The people then tell the spirit to stay there, and promise to give him a cocoanut every year if he does them no harm. They then kill the goat and the fowls, and, letting the blood fall in front of the stone, offer the heart and liver to the spirit, and then return home.”[32]