ORNAMENTS WORN BY HINDOO FEMALES.

1. Tre no lē, Necklace.

2. Cambălā, Worn in the Ear.

3. Conth măla, Necklace.

4. Bala, worn round the Wrist.

5. Phoomka, Worn in the Ear.

6. Bajoo, worn over the Arm.

DRAWN BY MR. GANGOOLY.

LIFE AND RELIGION
OF
THE HINDOOS.

WITH

A SKETCH

OF

MY LIFE AND EXPERIENCE.

BY

JOGUTH CHUNDER GANGOOLY

(BAPTIZED PHILIP).

BOSTON:
CROSBY, NICHOLS, LEE AND COMPANY,
117 Washington Street.
1860.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
CROSBY, NICHOLS, LEE & CO.,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.

University Press, Cambridge:
Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.

EDITOR’S PREFACE.

Having suggested to the writer of the following pages that he should do what some who are more competent, and a great many who are far less competent than himself are doing daily, viz. write a book, I brought upon myself the office of revising his manuscript, and supervising its publication. It was a particular sort of a book which I proposed to him, and as he has come so near to the ideal which I had of what he might write, I have taken care to leave it as he wrote it, with no betterments and no injuries received while the manuscript was in my hands. Something of the interest of Mr. Gangooly’s composition might have been expected to lie in its style and in his peculiar modes of expression. So scrupulous have I been to allow the whole work to stand as his own, that I have seldom ventured to correct even his occasional slips of grammar, and have in no case altered his idiom. The reader will hardly fail to notice how charming and attractive the contents of these pages are made by the natural eloquence, the hearty frankness, and the wonderful power of discernment of this very young and marvellously endowed Hindoo convert to Christ. The perusal of his little book will deepen the impression made upon the minds of a large number of most intelligent persons who had any intercourse with him, that his experience has been profoundly interesting, that he possesses genius and many signal qualities of character, and that he is fitted to accomplish a most serious and useful work in life, if the circumstances hereafter appointed for him shall be propitious, and if he shall remain steadfast in his Christian purposes and zeal.

I have leave to print here the following letter containing information, which I asked for my own personal satisfaction, from a most faithful friend of Mr. Gangooly, to whom, as will appear in the closing pages (as well as from the Preface) of this volume, the latter expresses so much gratitude for kindness in his home, and for service in the training of his mind.

Rev. George E. Ellis, D. D.:—

My dear Sir,—

I cheerfully comply with your request to give you some facts relating to the education of Mr. Gangooly while in this country, and also a brief notice of his opinions, together with a few impressions of his mind and character. I do this the more readily, because Mr. Gangooly was so much engaged with preparations for his return home as to be unable to write as fully, in the “Narrative of his Religious Experience,” of his studies here and his opinions, as he had intended.

Mr. Gangooly came to this country expressly to prepare himself as a Christian missionary. The plan or extent of his future labors were not distinctly apprehended at the time of his arrival, and the few words he uttered in the Bedford Street Church, in which he said he had come to learn more of the Christian religion, so that on his return he might be better enabled to instruct his countrymen, express his general purpose. This has been gaining in strength and breadth, as his mind has enlarged its knowledge, and as his character has unfolded under positive Christian influences. On his arrival, though it was evident that he was a young man of quick powers of perception, and unusual aptness for learning a new language, yet he was, as it were, only a child thrown upon wholly untried experiences. Indeed, after he had been in this country eight months,—which was the time when he became a resident of my family, and was put under my instruction,—he was even then as ignorant of many of our conventional customs as a child. Everything was so new and strange to him. The details of social life, modes of thought, forms of speech,—in fact, the whole structure of society,—and our political and religious institutions were so unlike those of Bengal, that he seemed to live in another world. Notwithstanding this, he conformed to his new social conditions with remarkable adaptation, and fell into the routine of custom with quickness and ease. He rarely made the same mistake a second time.

It was this entire difference between his previous training, his race, mental habitudes, and social surroundings and our own, which made the question of his education a difficult one. What should we do with this young Hindoo? He had not come to be Americanized. He did not propose to occupy our pulpits as a permanent minister, or to address those who had grown up with our habits of thought, traditional convictions, or peculiarities of race and nation. He came to prepare himself to teach and preach Christianity to the people in India, and to translate the fresh and vigorous ideas of a rational Christian faith into his native tongue. As yet he had to learn more fully the English language. A recent convert, he had all the fresh enthusiasm of a neophyte. Thus far he had learned chiefly from Christ, and had caught glimpses of the moral elevation and spiritual beauty of his religion as seen in the Gospels, or idealized by his own vivid Oriental imagination. He had not fully seen the wide gulf which separates the pure religion of Christ and that which is so often taught and lived by imperfect disciples. He was wholly unfitted to enter intelligently, all at once, into those intellectual discussions which arise from the conflict between established belief and prevailing doubt. In the first stages of his Christian experience, it might permanently injure him to be exposed to that destructive and critical tone of thought which is a result of the principles of free inquiry, and which is so rife in our colleges and theological schools. These various considerations made the case of this young man an exceptional one. The Executive Committee of the Unitarian Association, who had the direction of his education, could not be guided by the wisdom of experience. His coming was itself an experiment, and the case had no precedent. What then was to be done? In view of all the facts, it was decided, that the early period of Mr. Gangooly’s studies should be under the direction and care of persons who should act in the twofold capacity of parent and instructor. That he might have the benefit of the rich result of different minds, he recited to various clergymen, and was thus brought under the influence of their scholarship and piety. It also, I believe, formed a part of the original plan of his education that he should finish his preparatory studies at one of our theological schools. But the brief period of his stay in this country, and the absorption of his time in the practical work connected with his mission, prevented the execution of this part of the original design beyond the attendance of a few lectures at the Divinity School in Cambridge. To a great degree he was his own instructor, and he gained more by the independent action of his own mind than by the direct efforts of his teachers.

Throughout the two years of his sojourn he kept constantly in view the great object of his life. To gain efficiency for this, he gave more attention to the working of Christianity among men and in institutions, than to the study of books. His mind has been directed more to religion as expressed in practical life, than as speculative thought embodied in theology. He came to study man under a civilization, institutions, race, literature, and religion, wholly unlike those where he had lived, and the course he pursued was better fitted to make him a missionary than a scholar. The chief of his studies was the New Testament. To the Gospels he gave a more systematic reading than to anything else. But even here he manifested the same intellectual features which universally characterized him. He was more careful to get at the thought of the writer than to dwell on the minute distinctions of textual philology. His Oriental mind aided him in his Scripture studies, and he vividly apprehended the local allusions and the general costume of the thought in the New Testament. To this study of the New Testament he added that of the evidences of Christianity. His time did not permit him to enter upon this subject as fully as was desirable. Beside these he took a rapid survey of portions of ecclesiastical history, enough perhaps to give him an idea of the relation which the history of the Church holds to the vital truths of the Gospel. These, together with writing, were the chief subjects of study. As one of the most important parts of his future labors would be that of a translator, much of his study had reference to this. He never wrote what are called compositions,—never had assigned him set themes. His mind was so enriched with new impressions, and his feelings were so aroused by ever-varying scenes, that he never was at loss for a subject. His mind was full, and in his writing he gave utterance to some existing thought or emotion. To have adopted any other method would have endangered the quaintness, vigor, and natural freshness of his style. When we remember that he has spoken English but a little more than two years, the mastery he has gained over our language, and his power of expressing his thoughts will be evident to every reader of his book.

It is more difficult to speak with accuracy of a young man’s opinions, especially if he be a foreigner. The faculty of expressing these with clearness and distinctness is the result of high mental training, or original power of intellectual discrimination. Still, Mr. Gangooly’s general religious views existed in his mind as clear and definite ideas. In his reception of Christianity he has been influenced chiefly by the internal evidences. The superiority and the sanctity of the Saviour’s life and instructions have taken the deepest hold of his convictions. The miracles recorded in the Gospels never had much weight with him as grounds of evidence. Often he said that it would be useless to urge them—as a proof of the Christian religion—on the attention of the intelligent Hindoo. This state of mind did not arise so much from a philosophical difficulty, as from the fact that wonderful narratives were wrought into the superstitions of his own people, and that he associated the two together. His general theory on this subject was the wellknown axiom, that the miracle must be tested by the Truth connected with it, and not the truth by the Miracle.

We can also trace the same influence on his mind in his estimate of the Jewish Scriptures. He became a Christian directly through Christ. He passed at once from Brahminism into the Christian Church, and had listened to the voice of Jesus before he knew of Moses. He was thus led, I think, to undervalue the positive side of Judaism as a religious faith. With a caste of mind strongly rationalistic, he accepted the truths of Christ as those in harmony with the conclusions of the rational faculties. He believed that Christianity was a rational religion. But it was more to him than a philosophy,—it was a Divine life. Coexisting with his rational bent was a deep religiousness. The spirituality of the Gospel and the moral beauty of Christ’s character made a deep impression on his heart. His piety had its roots in trust and love. The affectionateness which he exhibited in his constant and always abiding love for his mother, he carried into his religion. In his sadness, sorrow, and temptations, he lived as a child in the presence of a Father, and in his New Testament readings or in conversations on his future plans he would give utterance to the loftiest sentiments of piety. Indeed, piety with him is stronger as a sentiment than as a principle. This I apprehend is true of all Christian converts among the Hindoos. In the darkest hour of disappointment or of lonely home-sickness, his face would light up with a smile as he gave utterance to the words of trust. He reposed with unfaltering confidence in the Divine Providence. Called, as we all are, to struggle against weakness, error, and sin, as he grew into a diviner knowledge of Christ, he increased in strength. He often spoke of his need of Christ. It was the Saviour who satisfied the deepest yearnings of his nature. He expressed this after reading the “Experience of Theodore Parker.” Although on many points he was in intellectual sympathy with Mr. Parker, he differed from him in his estimate of Christ. He often spoke of the Saviour as his absolute teacher, and often spoke with deep feeling of the value of Christ’s invitation to sinners, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

He laid great stress on the doctrine of the simple Unity of God. As the Hindoo Trinity was associated in his mind with the superstitions of his old faith, he always had the same feeling with respect to the Christian Trinity. As he emancipated himself from idolatry by a natural law of thought, he seized hold of the truth of the simple unity of God, and clung to it with great tenacity of conviction. In his mind Unitarianism, that is, the idea of the Oneness of God, was synonymous with that of Christianity. He left the idols of men’s creating, and clung to the doctrine of the one living and true God.

But the most interesting feature of his life here was to see the power of the Gospel, as a spiritual force, working out moral results in his character. He came among us the creature of impulse. This in the early period of his sojourn here led him into hastiness of action. His impulsiveness was the weak side of his character. But through the influence of prayer, and the spirit of Christ strengthening him, he was enabled to overcome this defect to a great degree. At first, like a child, the desire and the effort to gratify the desire followed each other without reflection intervening. But he learned through experience the important lesson of self-control. He had great truthfulness. This is the more remarkable, because lying is a universal sin among the Bengali. With the knowledge of this national vice, and with a scrutiny which sometimes ran into an unwarranted and ungenerous suspicion, and in the most confidential intercourse for a year, I cannot recall a single instance of wilful prevarication. He also blended great simplicity with a sagacity which bordered on cunning. This was so evident that often he would say he had the cunning of the serpent with the gentleness of the dove. It was the union of these opposites, in connection with his impulsiveness and ignorance of our conventional prudence, which gave his friends solicitude. While they had confidence in his character, they feared he might be misunderstood from his apparent indiscretions. How few of our own youth are enabled to go through the various exposures of life and come out with Christian victory! It is therefore no disparagement of our young Hindoo brother to confess to a feeling of deep solicitude lest in the moral dangers of our society he might have been lured from the Christian path. But the longer he remained the stronger he became, until armed with the spirit of a Christian faith and devotion he was consecrated for his life-work.

Sir John Bowring, in a speech at the Unitarian Collation in London, last May, in reply to a sentiment,—that Christianity may gain new triumphs in heathen lands,—gave some very valuable suggestions as to the best methods of Christianizing the heathen. The report of his speech as given in the London Inquirer is well worth the consideration of every missionary. Any one who will read the remarks of the British statesman, and the Farewell Address of Mr. Gangooly, on Sunday, June 10, in Boston, will see in many respects the striking similarity of the views of both speakers in their idea of the best method of approach to the Hindoo mind. Mr. Bowring says: “The result of my observation was that there was everywhere a vast deal of truth to respect, and everywhere a vast deal of truth to love, and if we went forth with a desire to discover that with which we could sympathize, and a disposition to recognize that there was much that was excellent in the religion of others, we should the more easily prepare the way for the advancement of our religion.” As an illustration he cites Brahminism, and uses thoughts very like those of Mr. Gangooly’s Address. Again, in the same speech, Sir John adds: “If the missionaries, however, recognized that there was much in their books—(i.e. those of the Brahmins and the Buddhists)—that was attractive and lovable, they would win the affections of those people, who would easily be led into argument. If the Unitarians sent forth missionaries, as he hoped they would at some future period, he was convinced they would not meet with so many difficulties as the Orthodox missionaries met at every step. There were many absurdities, and a recognition of a vast deal that was abominable in the religious systems of heathenism; but at the same time there were great truths, and if we sympathized with these we should obtain greater success than had hitherto been achieved. It was certainly our duty, as far as we are able, to enter as harbingers of civilization, and as teachers of wisdom and virtue, into regions which had hitherto been but imperfectly explored.” This is the language of an intelligent observer, who has spent many years among the Oriental nations. He testifies to the transitions of society which are going on in India, and expresses the rational ground for belief that the times are propitious for carrying there the light of Christianity. I allude to this here so fully because his views of the state of India, and his opinion of the best methods of missionary effort, coincide with those entertained by Mr. Gangooly, and confirm the justness of the latter’s conclusions. Indeed, if there is any striking peculiarity in Mr. Gangooly, it is a remarkable tact in adapting himself to the state of mind of the persons whom he addresses. His perception of character is rapid and unusually correct, and he has the eclectic power of drawing from a system its excellences. In his revolt from his old faith he still discriminates between original Brahminism and the present effete religion and superstitious idolatry of India. Here again his conversations on this point were in striking agreement with the opinions of Sir John Bowring.

But I have already taken up too much of your time. I have not exaggerated my estimate of the mind and character of Mr. Gangooly. From the time he first came to my house to the present hour, his mind has ripened and his character gathered up strength. He returns to his home to begin the fiery struggle. His moral courage is greater than his physical, but he goes with the conviction that he is in the hands of Divine Providence. If his life is spared, I can see no reasonable ground to doubt that he will be an instrument of good to his darkened and superstitious people. But the future belongs to God. He has found a host of sympathizing friends. To carry out his plans he will need the aid of our prayers and active co-operation. That he deserves these I have not the shadow of a doubt; that he ought to have them is my firm and deep conviction.

Truly yours,

S. W. BUSH.

Medfield, July 20, 1860.

Mr. Gangooly’s manuscript was put into my hands just as he was about leaving the country for England, on his way home to India. Had he been near me I should have been glad to have consulted him about some points of his composition, especially about the spelling of some words. It will be observed that his orthography in the spelling of words of his own language familiar to us is peculiar.

It was his wish and expectation that his Sketch of Religion and Life in India, and his account of his own Religious Experience should appear separately, each as a distinct publication. Perhaps, in view of the sectarian position which he will be understood as assuming in the latter piece, it might have been better that his intentions should have been carried out. But his friends and the publishers have concluded to pursue a different course, chiefly because each composition helps to illustrate the other, while the two together barely reach to the dimensions of a book.

I have been requested by friends of Mr. Gangooly to make proper reference here to some most unworthy and disgraceful remarks in three or more of the Calvinistic and Baptist newspapers—“religious journals,” so called—about the conversion, the mission, and the objects of this Hindoo disciple. I have had these papers before me, and have noted the gibes and sneers which they have cast, in the interest of a poor and discomfited bigotry, upon the personal character and history and the aims of an unoffending and thoroughly earnest believer of the Gospel of Christ, who has come to it through a process unlike that which for methods and results they approve. But I have not thought that it would help the cause of Christian charity, or be in harmony with the beautiful spirit exhibited in the pages following, for me to name those “religious papers,” or to extract their offensive matter. The harm they can do is steadily, year by year, becoming more circumscribed, as the readers for whose poor entertainment or “edification” they are edited form a proportionately smaller and smaller portion of our intelligent communities, and have an equally diminished importance or influence in giving a tone to the religion of the time. If this book should fall into the hands of any of those readers whose sectarian journals have lavished their abuse or ridicule upon its author, while it will be sure to engage their interest for him, it may also soften some of their own prejudices.

G. E. E.

CONTENTS.

LIFE AND RELIGION OF THE HINDOOS.

THE
LIFE AND RELIGION
OF
THE HINDOOS.

TO THE REVEREND C. H. A. DALL.

My dear Friend and Pastor:—

Desirous of acknowledging the precious religious instructions you have imparted to me, and the blessings you are still bestowing on my beloved country, I, in your name, respectfully present this small volume to your countrymen, that they may know the manners, customs, and religious institutions of that distant nation for whose regeneration you are cheerfully spending the best part of your life, away from home and family. That your Christian labors may be ever attended with success, and your life be crowned with the smile of Heaven, is the heartfelt prayer of

Your disciple,

JOGUTH CHUNDER GANGOOLY.

Medfield, Mass., 27 October, 1859.

PREFACE.

The true knowledge of a thing is always desirable, whatever be its nature,—soft or hard, sweet or bitter.

Arriving in this part of the world, I saw several works on India in which their learned authors have attempted to treat of the manners, customs, and religion of the Hindoos. It is no wonder that so inquisitive, learned, and civilized a people as the American should want to know all about Hindostan, the “Golden Orient,” which was the dream of the enterprising Europeans of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. But how far these books give the true account of the thing, a Brahmun can well judge. A story is prevalent in this country, on the authority of missionaries, to the effect that the Hindoo devotees throw themselves under the heavy car of Juggernauth as sacrifices. Again, wherever I go my friends ask me, “Do the Hindoo mothers throw their babies into the Ganges now?”[1] and other questions of similar purport. I am quite amused to see the little schoolboys and girls in America, who seem to know more of India than I do. I never heard such stories even from the lips of my grandmother. I admit, however, other facts,—as the burning the Shotees, and Hook-swinging, etc.

It is very difficult for a foreigner to understand the life and religion of the Hindoos, a people who, owing to their caste system, have no social intercourse with the Jobuns (the people who are not Hindoos). A foreigner spending a quarter of a century in a Hindoo village, would understand little of their peculiarities. His attempt to describe the Hindoo life is similar to that of sketching the buildings within the walls of China. But the walls of superstition which guard the Hindoo are impregnable, and stronger than those of China. Hence the imperfect, and for the most part untrue accounts which European and American travellers bring home to their friends. They tell merely according as they see, but not what they know. Seeing the cabinets of my friends here full of imperfect, broken, meaningless curiosities from India, I thought of helping them with something true and substantial; not what I picked up on “India’s coral strand,” but what I lived and moved among from my infancy. And again, being a Brahmun of the highest caste in the community, all the religious and social institutions were open for my inspection, hence my information is genuine. Though I desired very much on my arrival to write a book on Indian life and religion, yet my imperfect knowledge of the English language prevented me.

At the kind invitation of my valued friend, Rev. George E. Ellis, D.D., of Charlestown, Mass., I gave two lectures on India, before his people. Hearing what I had to say, and finding it novel and of interest, he desired me to give it to the public in the form of a book, and promised his precious help in the enterprise. Thus the old desire, burning unseen in my heart, grew stronger, and I started in the enterprise at once.

I owe much to the kind aid of my friend and teacher, Rev. Solon W. Bush, of Medfield, Mass., whose incessant help was my guide all the way through. To enumerate the ways in which kindness was shown to me by him, I would say, besides unfolding the peculiar idioms and arbitrary rules of the English language, he put words to my lips, gave motion to my pen, and offered to correct my manuscript.

My main object in writing this is to do India justice, and give to my Christian friends some correct information respecting her manners, customs, and religious institutions. Having a full knowledge of the subjects, I have attempted to treat of them in full, explaining their meaning and showing the occasion which gave their rise. I have divided the book into two parts, the first giving a sketch of Hindoo life just as it is, with all its peculiarities; and the second, of the Hindoo Religion as observed by the friends at home in these days. To add a part more, and devote it to the description of striking similarities that exist between the traditional, historical, mythological, and scriptural accounts of the Hindoos and of other nations, had been my earnest desire, but various circumstances, especially the want of time, sadly interfered with my plan. Not knowing when the summons would come for my return to India, I have guided my pen with railroad speed, so as to get the book finished in season.

In conclusion, I would say once more, that the reader will not find a richly decorated style, but the bare, true statement of facts as known by one who is a Hindoo by birth, and knows what he says from personal experience. Hoping that the kind reader will overlook the inevitable deficiencies in my style, and accept the genuine information I faithfully give, I remain,

J. C. G.

LIFE AND RELIGION

OF

THE HINDOOS.

CHAPTER I.

Hindoo Caste.—Its Origin, Elements, Division, Subdivision, Strength, and Influence on the People.

Almost every school-boy or girl in America or England knows that in India the people are divided into castes. Foreigners interpret the caste system of the Hindoos in various ways. Some say that it is something like the religious sects in Christendom, while others affirm that it is to show and preserve the distinction between men of intelligence, worth, renown, and riches; such as Whigs, Tories, Democrats, Aristocrats, &c. But it is not so. It is a very different system, and foreigners understand it very imperfectly.

Among the primitive Hindoos there were only four castes:—1. the Brahmun; 2. the Kais-th; 3. the Khetry-as; 4. the Soodras. They emanated from Broh-mò; hence the name Brahmun, from the root Broh-mò. The Kais-th took its rise from the body of the Broh-mò, and is composed of two Sanscrith words, Kay, which means body, and isth, placed. The Khetry-as are from the arms, and the Soodras from the feet of the Broh-mò. These are the four primary “jathēē” or castes. In order to discharge all the social duties, and perform whatever is absolutely necessary for the growth and comfort of society, these four castes took upon themselves to execute faithfully the functions prescribed for them.

The manner in which these occupations have been assigned, is rather philosophical and systematic. The Brahmun, rising from the mouth of Broh-mò, assumed the precedence, directed the other three as they fitly deserved, and put all the sacerdotal functions in their own hands. To the Kaisths was assigned the business of writers, clerks, accountants, &c. Hence the Hindoos believe the record-keeper of Pluto (Jom) is a Kais-th, named Chith-ro-Goopto. The Soodras are to perform all the menial services, because they originated from the feet of Broh-mò. The Hindoos make great distinctions between the different parts of the body. The sanctity rests on the highest parts; there is nothing good at the feet. As the custom in India is to wear silver, gold, and other jewelry on the body, the females wear no gold ornaments round the ankles, for gold is the most sacred metal, being valuable and scarce.

To touch a man by the foot is regarded as an insufferable insult; a kick, “nathēē,” is worse than a heavy stroke of a cudgel. But the Brahmuns have a right to touch other castes by the foot, as their scripture declares them the Master of all, “Bornanang Brah-monogooroo.”

The four primary castes, notwithstanding they had one and the same religion to profess and the same language to speak, had no intimate dealings with each other, such as the intercourse which binds family to family and relative to relative. From the beginning, we do not see the institution of intermarriage among them, and what is surprising, after all, the one caste does not eat any food boiled with salt at another caste’s house. Only Brahmuns are excepted. Their houses and everything therein are sacred to the Hindoos.

In course of time, as the descendants of these castes grew numerous, the injustice and disorder grew also. Though there were no intermarriages among them, yet some children were born from what they emphatically call “unnatural connection.” These children were termed “Burno sunker,” corrupted blood. Measures were readily taken to remodel the society, as well as to put a stop to the promiscuous connections, which were so common then that distinction of castes seemed to groan under its pressure, by lengthening the structure of the caste system, and bringing the “corrupted blood” within its jurisdiction. And, agreeably to the original method, some fixed profession was enjoined upon them. Hence, at the present day there are thirty-four castes; each stands on a separate and distinct ground from its neighbor. Let us trace them in their respective professions. We often see two or three low castes do the same business, while others have some subdivision in them. 1. Brahmun, priest; 2. Aucherjeă, astrologers; 3. Boid-tho, physicians; 4. Kais-th, clerks; 5. Suth-goap, farmers; 6. Goap, dairymen; 7. Napith, barber; 8. Nundy, dealer in salt; 9. Talēē, common storekeeper; 10. Kormo-kar, blacksmith; 11. Sorno-kar, goldsmith; 12. Tonth-boy, weaver; 13. Koy-borth; 14. Moduck, confectioner; 15. Rojock, washer; 16. Sooth-rodar, carpenter; 17. Coomar, idol-maker, potter, &c.; 18. Poto, painter; 19. Mălā, fisher on the river; 20. Jālā, fisher in artificial ponds, as well as in the river; 21. Doolā, bearer; 22. Bagthēē, fish-seller; 23. Joogy, weaver and priest of commonplace idols, whom the Brahmuns are forbidden to attend to; 24. Barooē, pan-leaf cultivator; 25. Chundal, publican, always mason; 26. Moochēē, shoemaker; 27. Kaŏra, hog-keeper; 28. Bathea, fowler; 29. Moortho-roras, funeral-place cleaner; 30. Harie, women who do the business of nurses to the infants till twenty-one days from their birth; 31. Dome, basket-maker; 32. Nag, snake-charmer; 33. Bānā, banker; 34. Shooree, wine-seller.

Perhaps some may question whether the member of one caste is able to change his caste or not. I say, no. In other countries, a man from an obscure origin can possibly exalt himself to a conspicuous footing in society, by means of his opulence, learning, experience, &c.; but in India there are impregnable walls between the castes, so that nobody can exalt himself to a caste higher than his own. When we come to examine well the caste system of the Hindoos, we are led to think that it is something like the dispensation of nature in one respect. It is impossible to transform a dog into an ox, a deer into a camel, or a horse into an elephant; indeed, there is the same difficulty in attempting to make a weaver out of a barber, a physician out of a shoemaker, and a Brahmun out of a physician. To confirm the remarks just made, I will bring an instance from the Hindoo antiquity, and present it to the reader to show the impracticability of changing one’s caste for a higher one.

There was a pious Kais-th king, named Bisha-mithra, who wanted to be a Brahmun. As it is only in the power of Krishno to make him a priest, he determines to please him in spending his time in “toposhia,” prayer. Leaving his kingdom, riches, friends, and sundering the ties of relationship, he entered into a forest, and there, among the wild beasts, spent centuries in unceasing prayer. As self-torture is regarded very essential to propitiate some gods, this king used to kindle fires round his seat in the summer, and in winter immerse his body up to the neck in water, offering prayer to Krishno. His meal was, at the early part of his retired life, once a day, afterwards once a week, and even that consisted only of wild fruit. Year after year passed away, witnessing the mistaken piety of this king. At last pity awoke in the breast of Krishno, and he descended from his goluck, heaven, to bless the pious devotee. “Borung boorno,”—“Ask a boon, child,”—the god said. “Thy devotion, faith, and prayer have reached me. Now I have come to bless thee; tell me, what dost thou want?” The king, thus addressed, replied, “Object of universal adoration! If my tears, fasting, and prayers are so successful as to find a place in thy consideration, will not my heart’s desires, also, meet thy approbation? Yes, Lord, it is in thy power to cause a lame man to climb to the summit of mountains, a pigmy to reach the moon, and a babe to cross the unbounded ‘seven oceans,’ by swimming. What is unknown to thee? Art thou not the Inspector of all hearts? If thy servant has been commanded to reveal to thee his wants, he would then say that neither the aim for absolute lordship over the world, nor the desirable combination of long life and health, has made him to devote these tedious years in prayer and abstinence. What he earnestly wished for, is the life, the caste, the privilege of a Brahmun.” “Be still, child,” the Krishno replied; “ask for a home in my goluck, and it will be granted thee. But to make thee a Brahmun, in this thy present life, is impracticable. But I would meet thy demands partially. Henceforth thou shalt be a Rhēēsēē, not Monēē (a title of a Brahmun saint), write sacred books for the edification of thy castes, and have the discipline, not the caste, of Brahmun.” I hope this instance will clearly show to the reader the strength of the castes as it is in India. A man after losing his caste, for small offences, can regain it by undergoing some penances; but he cannot by any means whatever purchase a higher caste, or regain his own if he is guilty of some heavy crime. By heavy crime I do not mean anything more than the violation of ordinances and the restrictions pertaining to the caste system.

If a man commits adultery, deceives the people, indulges in intoxication, and practises all sorts of vices which degrade humanity, he is regarded as a sinner, an odious, vile creature. The good people do not keep any intimate correspondence with him; but, nevertheless, he stands in his caste. When a Brahmun marries a low-caste woman, who is endowed with a seraph’s charms and purity, or eats the forbidden meat, such as beef, veal, ham, or pork, he loses his caste forever.

The astrologers, Aucherjeă, are of the same creed with the Brahmuns. They have equal rights in the study of sacred books, but have no dealing with them. They are regarded as a very low caste, so much so that even a barber, blacksmith, or goldsmith would not drink water in their houses.

All the Brahmuns do not belong to one and the same class, although they are members of the same caste. There are a great many orders among them, high or low, according to the nature of the castes to which they preside over. Thus the priest of the Brahmuns stands higher than the priest of the physicians, clerks, barbers, and blacksmiths; and the last is higher than the Brahmun who presides over the goldsmith. It is to be observed here that one Brahmun can exercise his priestly sway over the physicians, clerks, farmers, barbers, &c., and retain his position firmly; although the above-mentioned castes have high and low among them, and have no intercourse between them. The reason is, nine castes immediately below the Brahmuns are known by a common name,“Nŏbō Shawk,” and this justifies the priest in looking at them in the same light. But the castes below the “Nŏbō Shawk” being distinctly lower castes, one quite separate from the other, each has a priest of its own respectively. The priest Brahmun of a goldsmith would not attend to the marriage or funeral service of a fisher, shoemaker, or hog-keeper. I hope the Christian reader will not feel sensitive when I speak of the lowest castes, such as shoemaker, hog-keeper, &c.; he must remember that I am speaking of the Hindoos, and not of the Christians. Each country has its own peculiarity: what is regarded high, respectable in one, is considered sometimes the very reverse in another. In the present case we see the banker is a respectable gentleman in this country, and a high caste, too; but in India he is low in caste, so much so that his priest Brahmun cannot officiate in temples built by other castes.

The following are the leading, high orders of the Brahmuns:—The Banerjea, Chatterjea, Mookerjea, and Gangooly, &c.

When a Brahmun gives you his address with either of these, it will be known as a sure fact what Brahminical stock he is from. These also stand for the family name of the man. There are, however, low order Brahmuns bearing the above-mentioned titles, which do not amount to anything; they neither can eat with a Brahmun of high order, nor marry his children to the same, and what is more absurd, after all, is the fact that they are not admitted to the temples, nor to worship the gods who pretend to be of all, in all, and for all. In the public feasts of the Brahmuns, when thousands sit at the meal at the same time, some brisk priests are commissioned to examine the order, name, and place of the strangers. If it be known that there is a Brahmun of low order, that is, a priest of the bankers, goldsmiths, or wine-sellers, the whole assembly would not eat anything until the despised one had been hunted out and set apart. Hence the wellknown Brahmuns from different places stand near the door, admit their fellow-citizens, and sharply, with a lawgiver’s cunning, examine the strangers who happen to be there. Thus carefully they guard their orders and maintain them distinct and pure from others.

The Brahmuns of all orders wear a few stitches of cotton—the Pobitho—round the neck, which other castes do not dare to touch even. Astrologers, formerly being of the same caste with the Brahmuns, wear the sacred thread, the Pobitho; but the other castes pay little regard to him. The Boitho, the physician, wears a thread also, but they are required to keep it under their clothes lest anybody should notice it and pay it the homage due to the Brahmun only. If, unfortunately, a physician be found in the streets with his pobitho on, the Brahmuns would insult him by tearing it off or taking it away from him. In our village some physicians—young men—used to wear their thread visible to all, in spite of the jokes and reproaches of others. On a holiday they were going to Calcutta with a party of young men from four or five castes, and the weather being very hot, were compelled to sit on the piazza of the temple raised by a Brahmun. It happened that the son of the gentleman was at the window, who, seeing the group of aristocratic young men on his premises, came out, received them kindly, and entertained them with a good supply of cocoa-nuts, sugar, &c. Now, as the Brahmun boy would not eat with the others or the physicians, they all had to take their seats according to their castes. The poor physician-boys sat apart from the Brahmun, exposing their thread to the public gaze, and felt very badly for it. The host, good and kind as he was, asked their address, and finding they were not Brahmuns, rebuked them very harshly. Ashamed and insulted they came home, and were never after seen with their thread on an exposed place of the body. The peculiar ceremony which offers the pobitho or the sacred badge to the Brahmun, will be described in its proper place by and by. I will consider the circumstance which gave rise to the astrologers, and made them a distinct caste from the Brahmuns. This caste is, as we have observed before, called Aucherjeă. They write almanacs, tell fortunes, appease the grohos—evil spirits—for and at the solicitation of the people.

I have said before that the use of forbidden meat deprives a man of his caste, and the following are two instances to this point. It has been customary with the Brahmuns, of late, to offer burnt sacrifices on some grand festivals. A cow or a horse, being cut into several pieces, was thrown into the sacred fire, “home ugnee,” and at the close of the ceremony, it is said, the priests could tell the animal from its ashes. Once on a time a venerable priest offered for sacrifice a cow, and when all the quartered parts of her were found, at the end, only a small piece was missing. Others bore witness to what had been done, held an ecclesiastical council, examined the cow, and outcasted the worshipper, charging him with using a portion of the sacrifice for his own benefit. His descendants are Aucherjeă, and form a low caste, though they are Brahmuns in some respects.

Another class of Brahmuns is called Perēēlēē, having had its rise from a curious fact. A Brahmun, who used to serve a Mohammedan Nabob in the capacity of prime minister, happened once to be in a room adjoining the kitchen. The Nabob suddenly came in, and in the course of conversation asked him what he thought of the smell which then filled the room. He unfortunately, drawing in his breath, answered his master, saying, “The smell is sweet and pleasant.” Upon this, the Nabob asked him again whether he knew whence the smell came, and, receiving a negative answer, he said it was from a dish of beef. The minister was struck as if by lightning, fell down and fainted. Being restored to his senses, he summoned a meeting of the Brahmuns, who heard his dismal case, and as, according to the statute, “ghrăna ortho vogono,” smelling is equivalent to partially tasting, deprived him of his privileges in the society. As he could not marry his children to other low caste, not even to astrologers, he had to prevail on some poor Brahmuns to intermarry with his family, and in time numerous families sprung up in this way.

This dividing of the people into castes has covered the Hindoo community with a thick mantle of darkness, ignorance, poverty, and vice. Whatever be the pretended happy results of such classification to a Hindoo, as conducive to the interest and prosperity of his community, it would obviously appear absurd to those who feel equally for every member of a society.

This system, as if by a thousand hands, confers upon the Brahmuns numerous blessings, and, on the other hand, administers poison to the prosperity, happiness, and true interests of the low castes. They have no chance of getting religious or secular instruction, and consequently there is no hope of even arriving at a point where they could reach the interests and privileges which every man would ordinarily require. To enumerate the defects of the caste system, as it is in India, it is necessary to trace it in its full length, commencing from the head to the feet,—from the Brahmun to the Kaorā, hog-keeper. The Brahmuns have monopolized all the advantages of religious instruction. Their words are law, in the Old Testament sense; their will is divine; their bodies are sacred; to worship and serve them is just the same as to worship the gods. “Thābār theer bŏ theejā thothath,” offer the things of god to a “second born.”

Seven or eight castes below the Brahmuns enjoy a scanty allowance of secular knowledge, while the rest have nothing to do with that even. These poor people, doomed to be under this perilous system, generation after generation, are the true wrecks of degeneracy. It pains me to say, that a Kaoră would very likely resemble, in his manner, customs, and ignorance, the animal he keeps.

To speak the truth, the caste, with all its distinctions and orders, is the only mighty obstacle to the regeneration of the Hindoos. Under its domination the Hindoo community presents a strong, brilliant crown on its head, studded with diamonds of rare value, a necklace of gold, a breastplate of silver, a belt of brass round its waist, copper garters on its knees, and dark, hard iron shoes for its feet. The arrangement is in perfect harmony with the prevailing fashion respecting dress. As the crown, the garland, the belt, the shoes, have their proper place in personal adornment, so the Hindoo community has set the different castes into different places. But there is no justice in it. It has transformed the gold into iron, denying it its necessary care. There is no respect for sanctity, intelligence, and accomplishments, if these be found among the low. In a conversation, I remarked that if a washerwoman could help me with good advice, I would not walk a mile to the priest’s for the same. My friends, who were then present, were all astonished at this, gazed upon me with indignant eyes, and lamented my remark as the dictate of infidelity.

There are other defective peculiarities in the castes, which cut the tie of love and brotherhood at the bottom. Observing from the stand-point of the high castes, we see that one caste does neither eat with another caste, nor marry, nor even sit on the same carpet. At the feasts the Brahmuns have the best seats in the hall or parlor, and the Kaisths, physicians, and barbers have separate seats for each, or sometimes one for all; but for the shoemakers, fishermen, and bearers there is no decent mat even. If a goldsmith should accidentally touch a Brahmun with some confectioneries or a pitcher of water in his hand, the Brahmun would immediately throw the former before a dog or any animal, and empty the latter of its contents.

God hasten the day when the very roots of the poisonous tree of caste shall be pulled up, and the balmy shrub of equality, of love, of universal brotherhood, be planted in its place. Let the spirit of true religion, O God, shine upon India. Let her know thou art her Father; that thou carest equally for all. Let her recognize thy image in all thy children. Chase, Eternal One, the darkness with thy salutary light,—the darkness which like a canopy has covered the heathen world; and thine shall be the glory for ever!

CHAPTER II.

The Birth.—Distribution of Presents.—Writing on the Forehead.—The Feast of Eight Peas.—The Day of Purification, etc.

The Hindoos hold their male and female children in different degrees of estimation. They prefer one son to ten daughters, whom they represent as the worthless slaves of others, and the objects of pity, constant watchfulness, and particular anxiety. The preference arises from various sources. After the death of a Hindoo parent his oldest male child, or in his absence the younger one, is required to attend the funeral, perform the leading parts of the service, and on a fixed day redeem the spirit of the departed parent by some particular ceremony, which I will treat of in its proper place. But a female, being early separated from the family connection by marriage, is not privileged to do the same. If there be ten daughters present, and not one son, in that case the wife, or brother, or a nephew[2] (brother’s son) of the deceased attends to the performance of the necessary rites.

At the birth of a son, the mother, besides other congratulatory blessings and benedictions, receives the surname of “herā beoonēe,” mine of jewel. The sacred shells which every family has in its possession, to blow thrice in the evening, and on the holidays, are now sounded; the father brings some gifts to the baby; the family barber is sent to the friends and relatives with letters for each, containing the glad tidings, and in return gets valuable presents from them; the shoemakers, whose business is to sound trumpets, come immediately with their drums, flutes, and cymbals to play on them. The neighbors crowd the house to congratulate the family, and it is believed that the very site of the family lifts up in joy fourteen times, symbolizing the pleasure of the fourteen deceased ancestors. In short, the whole family assumes an aspect of ecstasy. But in honor of a poor female baby nothing of this sort is held. A conflict between prejudice and affection fills the mother’s heart. With heaviness on the one eye, and tenderness on the other, she caresses her child, while the elderly women, wiser than herself, comfort her with the following remarks: “Do not weep, child. Let your disappointment be driven away by the thought that no human power could overrule these things. If we could, we would afford some remedy, but it is the will of Kristo that it should be so; and we all know that our fruits will be either male or female; female is child as well as male in the eyes of him who is their maker.” In fact everything seems so sad, so quiet, that a foreigner standing in the very yard of the house would hardly know that there is a baby in the house, unless she herself, by her innocent smiles and occasional cries, lets him know that there is. The rich father, at the birth of a son, sends presents of a brazen jar or pitcher, a piece of new cloth, some sweet things to thousands of Brahmun families, and to the low castes simply sweet things and a little money. On the evening of the sixth day, the Hindoos believe that Broh-mò will come to write on the child’s forehead all about its future destiny. Everything is kept clean and purified for the reception of the supposed presence of the god. The Brahmuns and other friends are invited; a member of the family walks round with a plate on his hand, to take a little dust from each Brahmun’s foot, with which they touch the child’s forehead, and when this has been done, each person goes to his respective home, with some confectioneries given to him. A poothee, sacred manuscript, an inkstand, and a pen are kept on a piece of board, near the child’s bed, during the night. On the evening of the eighth day comes the feast of eight peas, “aught corie,” on which occasion all the children in the neighborhood are invited. The order of the exercise is as follows. As the custom is for a Hindoo mother to stay twenty-one days after her delivery in a separate room where none but the nurse is allowed to enter; children stand in the yard and put some funny question, in poetry, to the nurse, who sits on the door-stone to answer these merry folks. The meaning of their questions is the inquiry after the baby’s health, ending with some jokes upon the father. Eight boys hold a coolo or bamboo fan (of which there is mention in the Gospel of Matthew, iii. 12) in their left hands, and in their right hands the sticks. Now, when everything is ready, according to the order, one of them asks thus: “Aught corrie bought corria, chāla ancha valo?” and when the nurse has given her answer, saying,“Vālo,” nicely, they beat the fan with the sticks which they hold in their right hands. Sometimes the boys meet with a very disagreeable experience on his occasion, especially the less smart ones, for amid the universal excitement, and by reason of darkness, they hit each other’s hands. Suffering twice from the merry sticks of the boys, my hand bearing the doomed fan, I came to the conclusion never to join the party again. But this decision, however, proved impracticable; the friends interpreted my unwillingness as based upon cowardice (for it was truly so), and the girls would hurl jokes and shame me, saying, “Had we a right to join them, we would right off.” At last some kind but cunning boy furnished me with some prudent advice, that I must take my left hand away in season. I obeyed and was safe. When the storm has a little abated, they throw away the broken fan, over the roof of the baby’s room. The second exercise is the scattering of large quantities of small sea-shells or copper money, cents, over the yard, which the children pick up, knocking and falling upon each other. At the close each person present, young or old, male or female, gets a sufficient quantity of confectioneries, pop-corn, peas, &c.

On the twenty-first day, which is the day of purification, the mother comes out of her room to present her child unto the gods and goddesses.[3] Of the latter, Shustee, guardian of Infants, is worshipped with great reverence.

It may not be deemed improper to notice here about the dress and trappings of the children. Hindoo parents dress their younger ones with gold and silver ornaments, but not always with clothes. The reason is, that, in a warm climate like India, the children can hardly keep clothes on except in winter; moreover the Hindoo dress is merely long pieces of cotton cloth, untouched by the jaw of scissors, and unpinched by the point of needle, without any buttons or sleeves; consequently it would be childish if any should attempt to clothe a child with a dress like this. To dress in Hindoo fashion is very like erecting a house without nails, tacks, or screws, and that surely would require ingenuity. To say nothing of others, I myself did not learn to wear my cloth neatly, according to the fashion, until I was nearly eighteen years old.

When the child has attained the age of nine months, its parents perform “un-no pra-shun,” or the ceremony of rice. On a fixed day, before a large audience of guests and relatives, the father or uncle of the child puts one or two kernels of rice in its mouth, after the usual offerings to the gods. On this occasion it is customary for the guests to offer some gifts to the child. On the other hand, they, as well as intruders and beggars, are entertained in a grand feast.

CHAPTER III.

Education.—Sanscrith.—Chalk in the Hand.—Patshala, the Teacher.—The Discipline in the School.

I would, in this chapter, treat of the education of the Hindoo boys. But ere I commence this, a little description of the Sanscrith language seems desirable. It is universally observed that the Indians were known for their advancement in literary pursuits and for their language from a far remote antiquity. Their sublime literature with abundance of gold and jewels stands unrivalled even to the present day. As far as the fame of the learned Brahmuns has spread, in what estimation they were held among the nations around India, may be obvious from the following story. A Persian monarch had sent his messengers in search of the richest jewels and diamonds in India. They came in, and, after an earnest inquiry, returned to Persia with the most valuable articles that could be found. The monarch smiled at this mistake, saying that he did not mean those by jewels in India. Go, said he, to the court of King Becromandith, and you will find nine jewels there. Indeed, this Becromandith had, we read in the book, “nobō ruttner shobha,” society of nine learned men, jewels of rare value, of whom the celebrated Kalidass was the presiding genius.

The Sanscrith was then the current language of the people, and every class, high or low, had access to it. I do not mean to affirm that every class had access to the sacred books, but that various other able works were open for the instruction of the people. The members of the lowest caste could then discuss the difficult points on logic, rhetoric, mental philosophy, who at this day cannot talk on common things without grammatical mistakes. What a change these few hundred years have wrought! The beauty of Sanscrith, which could have been found in workshops, is now strictly confined in the chest of the Brahmuns. The Sanscrith tree used to grow on the wayside, now it is found in the Brahminical soil only. Out of the thirty-four castes, only three have the right to study it comparatively. Brahmuns and Aucherjeăs can go through all the mystery of the language, while the physician can study as much as his profession would require; hundreds of their medical books being written in the Sanscrith, a good knowledge of this is necessary to understand them. It would seem absurd to a Christian to see the degree of reverence the low-caste Hindoos pay to this language. A priest can cause a large audience of the low castes to close the ears by uttering aloud a few words, such as “om” or “gānētry.” Even a Brahmun woman is forbidden to utter or hear them.

As there is no female education there at all, I will speak of the mode, the peculiarities of training the Hindoo boys. At the age of five, the boys begin to “touch the chalk by the hand.” It is the custom of the Hindoos to fix a day, after consulting the stars and planets and days, to enter on the beginning of anything. A man would not leave home on any day of pleasure, a woman would not come to her husband’s house at his or her own arrangement, without consulting the “poujeeka,” almanac. Thus they do on every occasion. In the common printed almanacs these things are stated thus:—“The Monday, 24th of April, sooc-clo puckho, white fortnight, tha-thosee, twelfth day of the moon, at 10½ A. M., is a favorable time to go towards the east or north, or to undertake some other affair.” Now when a day has been appointed in this way, the young boy is anointed and bathed. “Shurresh sutty,” or the Muse, is worshipped, then the father or some one marks letters of the alphabet on the floor, which the boy writes over with a piece of chalk. By and by he is sent to the “patshālā,” the place of instruction, where the “gooroo-moha-shay,” sir teacher, gives lessons in writing, reading, and ciphering to some fifty or more boys. The boys write on palm-leaves before they are advanced enough to write on paper. The reason is, palm-leaves are long and smooth, and may be used anew after washing, in the same way as slates are used. There are no chairs or benches in the patshālā, but they sit on the carpet: sometimes the boys bring a piece of carpet or mat nearly five feet long and three feet broad, which they fold round their palm-leaves and pen of reeds. The patshālā has no regular term, but keeps throughout the year, holidays excepted, which come almost every month. The Hindoos know no Sabbath nor Christmas. The school opens at six in the morning, and again at three in the afternoon, giving, in the mean time, a recess of four hours. The boy who comes first has a dot for his number, and the names of the rest are written as they come respectively. Now when it is time to close, the teacher strikes on the hands of the boys according to their number. Thus, he who keeps the record, being the earliest of all, gets merely a slight touch of the teacher’s whip, the second two, the third three, and so on. This is simply to enforce early attendance, because the first exercise in the patshālā is the reading aloud the prayer to the Muse, and repeating the multiplication-table. The late boys, of course, lose these exercises. A deep and unsullied reverence for the teacher is considered the best element in the life of the scholar, and very essential to his success; hence the Hindoo boy bows down to the ground before “gooroo mohashoy,” saying “bitha thau,” grant us knowledge. To serve him a little is worth several hours’ study. The pupils are required to bring tobacco for him, which most of them get at the grocer’s in exchange for the written banana-leaves, which he uses to make packages for salt, sugar, &c. If a boy be absent often, four smart boys are despatched to bring him by force, which errand they perform with great skill and courage. If the absentee be a real truant, and have a grudge against some boy, in this case you would find his enemies would go to bring him as the best chance of retaliation. He is brought into the patshālā in the way that ants carry a crust of bread into their hole. As they bring him, they sing thus:—

“Gooro moshoy, tomar pōrō hazir,

Achē-dundo chārā dow jol Khaia ashe.”

In English, “Sir teacher, your pupil is come, and give us leave for a few minutes to go out and drink some water,” &c.

The patshālā does not give thorough instruction in grammar, history, or philosophy, for the children of the privileged classes learn these in Sanscrith schools.

Under the British administration the old native system of training the youth has been almost done away in various parts of India, and English rules of discipline have been established, as far as it could be done without directly interfering with the superstition of the Hindoos.

There are high-schools, colleges, and numerous mission-schools in Calcutta and in other places in India. A university, a civil-engineering college, and a “School of Industrial Art,” have of late been established. Nearly fifty years ago there was not a decent school in Calcutta. Mr. David Hare, of Edinburgh, laid the foundation of regular schools in India. He gave his money and his whole energy and life for this one philanthropic object. His tenderness, fatherly care, and earnest attention towards the students are proverbial. The Hare’s Academy, the Hindoo and Sanscrith Colleges with their gigantic pillars and the intelligent and learned Bengalees openly speak of his disinterested love and Christian philanthropy. His mortal remains now rest under a marble slab, which may be seen on the College Square.

Indeed, one of the great blessings India has received from the West, and especially from England, is the system of educating her children in general. In her past histories (legendary age excepted) we do not hear of regularly organized colleges, where the children of all the castes could be instructed. The wretched condition of the low castes and their predecessors verify the fact. But I do not mean to say, as any of my dear countrymen should understand, that India had not trained her children before the English system was introduced. On the other hand, I wonder that she could produce illustrious poets, metaphysicians, logicians, astronomers, &c., without regular places of instruction.

Here and there, as we have observed before, there were Chow-Baries under the supervision of the Pundits, who in fact were the pastors, teachers, and guardians of the children of the privileged classes. No goldsmith nor washerman’s son was seen to breathe the philosophic air of these institutions or drink of the silvery stream of the Brahminical literature. Again, even the great learning of some of the philosophers, poets, astrologers, is attributed to the miraculous agencies more emphatically than anything else. The Mohammedans, who ruled India before the British, did not direct their eyes towards the Hindoos of the lowest castes, for their education, or regeneration. To raise the fallen, cheer up the depressed, exalt the low, enlighten the ignorant, is the peculiar mission of Christianity, and the nations which profess it, breathe its influences, carry its blessings wherever they go. Thank God, that England has done her part in some measure, shown the spirit of Christ in seeking prosperity and providing education for the despised low castes,—the “lost sheep” of the Hindoos. Besides the public schools and colleges established directly by the government, where all the castes might go for instruction, provided they pay schooling fees, there are thousands of “Government Aided Schools” lately instituted by the East India Company.

The condition on which the aid was given is something like this. The proprietor of a school, desiring aid of a certain sum, must raise a like amount by fees from the pupils and other private donations, and spend the whole for support of his school. Among others, a philanthropic Brahmun, Baboo J. K. M. (the landholder) of Ottor Parah, near Calcutta, established more than twenty-four primary schools in different parts of his estate, defraying one half of the expense from his own treasury, and drawing the other from that of the government. These schools prepare the boys for the college, where they go after passing the junior scholarship examination, which entitles them to prosecute their studies free in the higher branches for one year, and draw a monthly stipend of five dollars. Those who fail to go successfully through the examination have to pay for their instruction of course. The standard for the junior and senior examinations is not the same every year, but varies according to the general progress of the schools, and the discretion of the Directors.

The year before I left Calcutta, the “standard for the junior scholarship examination comprised the following books: Cowper’s Task, Tytler’s Universal History, Paterson’s Zoölogy, Stewart’s Geography, Grammar, Mechanics, first four books of Euclid’s Geometry, Algebra quadratic equation, Arithmetic whole, and other Bengalee studies.” The candidates who pass this examination are from sixteen to twenty years old. The sphere to move about for the successful students is broad and honorable; they may continue their scholastic course in the Presidency College, study medicine, or teach schools where the branches of study are low. Let it be said, to the credit of the Bengalee boys, that hardly a primary school fails to send out annually three or four students to the higher colleges, from its first class, which scarcely makes room for fifteen.

I do not know exactly the studies in the senior classes in colleges, nor feel able to fathom the depth of the acquirements there. I would use another’s tongue to show how much the Hindoo young men could do in their scholastic career. A writer in the Christian Examiner quotes from an able article on British India, in the London Quarterly Review, the following, which fitly answers my purpose:—“Young men (Indians) who have received an education, and have passed an examination, scarcely inferior in the variety and difficulty of its subjects to those of our English universities,” &c. I do not exaggerate the intellectual powers of my countrymen, when I affirm that their aptness to learn anything set before them, their capacity to improve, are remarkable. These are not however their borrowed faculties, but their native, a part of their being. The same article I quoted above says:—“No race, perhaps, shows a higher intellectual development than the Brahmins of Western India or the higher castes in Bengal. Their thirst after knowledge—whether for its own sake or for the object of obtaining employment—is unbounded.” India of to-day can show her pearls and jewels in her children, beside the celebrated R. M. Roy.

To speak nothing of her other cities, Calcutta alone has her numerous highly-educated sons;—the Reverend Messrs. K. M. Banerjea, G. C. Mitter, converts to the Episcopal faith; L. B. Day, of Free-church Institution; Baboos R. N. Sickdar, V. D. Banerjea, C. C. Singha, R. M. Mitter, P. C. Mitter, P. C. Sen, K. C. Mitter, R. G. Ghose, and others too numerous to mention. There was a short notice of the last-named gentleman in the Boston Journal:—“Baboo R. G. M., a native merchant of Calcutta, delivered, at the receipt of the Queen’s proclamation, an address that causes him to be called the Bengalee Demosthenes.”

Though the English schools are open to every class, high and low, yet the lowest classes do not send their children to them, under a mistaken idea that they have nothing to do with book-knowledge. Living in a degraded condition for a long time, they have lost entirely the right and claims of human beings, as it were. The miserable, pitiable state in which they live and die, and which is the effect of the despotic caste system, is regarded by them as the will and decree of God; consequently they dare not try to get rid of this yoke.

Most of the Brahmun young men study English as the money-making language, while others devote themselves to their professional studies. All the ancient Sanscrith books are written manuscripts; the pages are long, narrow, and colored. Some are written on palm-leaves, and “roogee pathroo,” bark of a tree. Every student under the tuition of the superstitious priests, is obliged to transcribe a book as he makes progress in his studies. But in the Calcutta Government Sanscrith College, printed books, beautifully bound and gilded, are used.

The Hindoos are averse to female education, and suffer their daughters to live in entire ignorance. The popular belief among Hindoo women is, that, if a girl should learn to read and write, she would be a widow. The widowhood in Bengal is the saddest part of female life, and its consequent sufferings are such as have caused millions to prefer death, by being burnt alive on the funeral pile of the husband. But experience has falsified the idea in a measure. Here and there one out of ten thousand of women knows how to read a little, and enjoys connubial life. There are other difficulties to be considered and removed which prove strong obstacles to the education of the females in Bengal. The Hindoo women have no free intercourse in speech with other men beside their husbands, father, and brothers; their faces are covered with thick veils immediately after the marriage, and from that time they are not allowed to walk out of the house. Unless these customs are rooted up, there is no hope at all for the regeneration of the female in Bengal. As I compare a woman in Bengal with one in America or England, I see plainly the difference between Christianity and Hindooism. Nothing but the divine influence of Christianity has ennobled the female condition in Christendom. May the Christian women be ever grateful to God for his peculiar blessings unto them, and pray for the rescue of their sisters in the bondage of ignorance in heathen lands!

CHAPTER IV.

The Second Birth.—Brahmun Consecrated Thread.—Discipline and Privileges of the Brahmun’s Life.

In the interesting conversation of Christ with Nicodemus, St. John iii. 3–7, we hear him say, “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Again, “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.” This doctrine or command, whatever name may be given it, has been known to the Brahmuns from time immemorial, and even unto this day it is considered as the vital part of this dispensation. How little does a Brahmun differ from our Lord in the importance of a second birth! Christ says, “born again,” the Brahmun says, “thejo,” second birth. There is a difference between Christ’s views and the Brahmun’s on this point, which shows the superiority of the former over the latter. Christ did not prescribe different modes of spiritual birth for different nations. “Man,” he says, “must be born of water and of the Spirit,” assume a new life of holy actions, of purity, of devout trust, of practical brotherhood, of disinterestedness, and of unsullied love, so as to make himself worthy to tread in the steps of the Saviour, and breathe the balmy odor that comes from the celestial groves; taste the fruits of the removed tree of life, drink the water that issues from the great Fount of all bliss, dress in the robes of immortality, join his voice with the sweet, swelling chorus of angels, and enter into the promised mansions, to rest at the feet of the God of all. But the Brahmun does not include the whole human race, as being under the necessity of a spiritual birth. He cares for one people, and even among them he prescribes different rites. As the ceremony for the second birth of the low castes is not very important, I will omit a description of it, and direct the attention to that of the three privileged classes, namely, Brahmun, Aucherjea, and Boitho, physician.

When a boy has attained his twelfth year his parents fix a day, to make him “thejo,” by offering him a piece of consecrated thread to wear round his neck. If, on the day previous to the fixed one, it thunder or rain, the ceremony is postponed for eight successive days, and if it should rain again, the same measure would be taken. On the morning of the day appointed he is anointed and bathed, within an enclosure made of four banana-leaves stuck into the ground. He is conducted to the altar, where the priest, after the preliminary services, cuts three locks from the hair of his head. He comes down from the altar for the first time to undergo other ceremonies. Now the family barber shaves his head all over, and passes two gold rings through the lower part of his ears. Here a merry fun is practised. The boy, when he sits before the barber, holds a banana in his hand, with which he is required to strike him when he has finished his duties. Sometimes the boy holds a green, and consequently hard, banana in his hand, so to warn the barber to be very careful in his operation, that he might not suffer afterwards. When all this is ended he comes up to the altar, where, besides the family priest, his father or uncle is required to take part in the ceremony. After invoking the presence of the deities and presenting offerings to the spirits of the fourteen ancestors, the father first puts a cord, made of hairy leaves of shur (a kind of white reed), round the boy’s neck, which lies on his left shoulder, and, hanging round the left arm, makes a fold thereby. Then a pobithoo, consecrated thread, made of three stitches tied into a knot, which symbolizes the holy, mysterious union of the three, Brohmo, Bishnōō, and Shibă, into one. A piece of shabor, skin of deer, is tied with that thread. He wears a yellow or red robe, holds in his hand dundŏs, two staves, one made of Bāle wood and the other of Baoor or Bass. The leaves and fruit of the bāle are the chief favorites of Shibă, so much so that a dry bāle leaf is acceptable to him before a thousand varieties of odorous flowers. (In fact, almost every Hindoo deity is peculiarly fond of some especial leaf or flower, without which their worship is invalid. Thus Shibā loves bāle leaf or tri-pothro,“three leaves in one stem.” Toolshēē, a leaf of a plant, is the favorite of Bishnōō; joba, a kind of large red flower, Kallee is fond of. The Shuresh-Shuttee likes bakus and gholghasa, the sun is fond of Corobēē, oliander, &c.) The mother of the boy comes first to give alms—a little raw rice, money, and a piece of thread—to the second born, who takes it in a yellow bag answering the purpose of a contribution box. The hundreds of guests who are invited in on this occasion are required, by their religious custom, to give gifts of a little money and a piece of thread. Occasionally some virtuous woman manages to offer the first gift, by paying all the expenses that accrue in the whole ceremony, which secures her the position of god-mother to the thejo. They then cover his face with a thick yellow veil, and conduct him to the room where he is to stay three or five days without seeing sun, moon, or the face of any one, except Brahmun. Henceforth he is a Brahmun, which means the “worshipper of Brohmo,” or the “knower of Brohmo.”

The discipline of a Brahmun life is grand in some respects, and in others tedious, dry, and fanatical, while its privileges are great and numerous. I will here briefly describe both. A Brahmun is to bathe early in the morning, regularly every day (if sickness does not interfere); worship and pray three times a day,—before sunrise, at noon, and in the evening; take one meal while it is day. The Hindoos do not use any table, china-plates, knives, forks, or spoons. When they take their meal they sit on the floor, put eatable things on marble or brazen platters, or silver, if they are rich. In place of knives and forks the fingers are used, which are furnished by Nature.[4] But over and above these, a Brahmun observes additional peculiarities, with which other castes have no concern at all. A Brahmun, when he sits to eat his meal, takes a drop of water on the palm of his right hand, touches it by the end of his tongue, saying “omrithō posthurnŏ moshee shō hă,” pours it on the ground, puts a little food five times to his mouth, saying: 1. “Pran-a-ishohā;” 2.“Opānā ishohā;” 3.“Shomānŏ ish oha;” 4. “Otha noish-oha;” 5. “Ba-naish-oha;” finally, he spares “hundred rice” at his plate, even if he has not enough. This I understand as charity taught in an indirect way, for the little remainder on his plate is for the ants, flies, &c. But what is most troublesome of all is the silence enjoined in the ceremonial discipline of a Brahmun’s table. He must not speak a word; if he does, he is to suspend his eating immediately, by taking out if there be anything already in the mouth, and going without food until after the evening prayer. A very small number of the Brahmuns observe this all the days of their life, though they are required to do so; but all observe it for a year or two. It is a difficult task to put aside the long-contracted habit at once, and begin a contrary one in its place. The peevish, talkative boys suffer a great deal. They speak at the table, and thereby lose the meal. Not to speak of others, my own experience has taught me to dread this ceremony, and though I was very mild and careful, yet notwithstanding all my carefulness, I had to go without my meals five or six times in the course of every month, especially during the first half-year of my Brahmun life. The very day I became thejo, at meal-time, my mother requested all present to leave the room, lest any should attract my attention, and make me speak. She herself, also, went out, slamming the door and giving me enough for one meal. Unfortunately, I wanted a little more milk, so calling my mother, by a new language, not by the use of the organs of speech, but by striking the floor with my left hand. Nobody understood my singular language, and reflecting awhile on the result of the new discipline and the advantage of talkativeness, carelessly, I sung out “Ma.” This sound reached her with the velocity of lightning. She rushed in, saying, “What is the matter?” “A little more milk, mother,” said I. “Poor child; to-morrow by this time you shall have plenty.” So saying, she took the plate away, with everything in it, charging me, if I wished for water, not to drink any until I had washed my mouth. I gazed around in vain. The yoke of superstition is really too heavy to bear. In desiring to have something more, I lost even what I had already!

The privileges of a Brahmun are great. His person is sacred. It would be a sin if any one should dare to touch him by the foot, for the foot is a profane part of the body, as they believe. The caste Soodras, rising from the foot of Brohmo, became the lowest. When one priest accidentally touches another by the foot, he asks his pardon, saying, “Bishtŏ-bă nōmō.” It would be considered a real favor if a Brahmun should tread on a physician or barber, or other low caste.

The religious Hindoos daily drink “pathuck joll,” before the first meal of the day. Pathuck joll is a little water, which they take on the palm of their hand, in which the Brahmun dips the end of his right toe. Especially do sick persons drink this water, hoping to be cured from the disease that troubles them. I have heard a great many people say that they have been entirely restored to health simply by drinking “pathuck joll,” or eating a little dust from a Brahmun’s foot. After a little acquaintance with the Christian doctrines, knowing what I owe to God and man,—that I am as sinful as others,—I abdicated the supremacy I had, and would not give the dust of my foot to any. As the consecrated thread which hangs round our neck distinguishes us from the other castes, and draws the sick and mistaken folks towards us, I used to hide it somewhere, under my clothes, in the streets of Calcutta or elsewhere in foreign places. Unfortunately at one time I had forgotten to hide it, and an old woman of nearly sixty came along and stretched forth her right hand towards me. Of course I understood what she meant by that, and in a loving tone said: “Mother, I cannot put my foot on your hand.” “Why not, child?” she replied. “I am not a Brahmun, according to your idea. I am no better than you. We shall both stand on the same level before God.” The old woman was ignorant and besotted, could not understand my meaning, and, in vain looking at me for the blessing, cried aloud in an angry tone, “If not a Brahmun, what are you then? A shoemaker, I guess.” Though I noticed her dim old eyes flashing fire and a color of indignation visible on her wrinkled cheek, yet I ventured a few words more. “There is no disgrace in being a moochēē, shoemaker. I would rather be a humble, meek moochēē, than a proud Brahmun.”

Brahmuns enjoy “brom-horthro,” free-lands, which have been granted to them by the ancient Hindoo sovereigns. The Moosulman kings, who ruled India before the British, did not encroach much upon this right of the Brahmuns, only here and there some Nabobs were eager to break this system, but to no purpose. Under the present government the Brahmuns enjoy their lands free of any tribute. But I must not deny that some priests possess several acres over and above what has been given them.

Some low caste people would sell any articles to a Brahmun at a low price, while others would not sell them to him, fearing he would not pay fully. When he touches anything by his hand, as fruits or vegetables, from a low caste’s farm, he will have it at any rate for nothing, or by the payment of a little or no money.

We read in our Scripture that the Brahmuns had absolute authority over the property as well as the life of other castes, and over their temporal and spiritual affairs. Frequent mention is there of some sad cases, which, though incredible, loudly speak of their despotism. On the other hand, we read of their acts of generosity, disinterestedness, and love. Of the former, here are some instances. Copeel monēē consumed sixty thousand offsprings of Saugur in the ashes simply by looking at them in anger. Porickith, a Kais-th king, having insulted a “monēē” by putting round his neck a dead snake, died by the anger of the insulted Brahmun. The king Corno sawed his only son of five, by the command of a Brahmun. Various instances could be cited to prove the power of this high class of men, but I will soon illustrate some of their generous deeds. A monēē Augusth, by his sanctity and power, put an eternal check on the monstrous cruelties of two giants, and relieved the millions of the poor victims from injustice and death. It is an imperative duty for them to entertain the guests of any caste, relieve the needy, restore peace, check injustice, and share one half of their sustenance with him who is without it.

“How are the Brahmun priests supported?” “Do they have a regular salary for their services?” &c.,—are the inquiries frequently made to me. So I think it worth while to answer these questions fully here, although they have been partially explained, and will be elsewhere. As the priesthood, the parish, the religious services in Christendom, are quite unlike those in India, it seems necessary to consider them briefly in order to give the Christian reader true ideas of them. In this country an energetic preacher can draw round him a large congregation. The people visit church after church in search of good, weighty, or sentimental sermons, and wherever they find what is agreeable to their taste they hire a pew, and become members of the same. Thus the father goes to the brick church, the mother to one of stone, the daughter to a wooden one, and the sons, not finding theology in either, spend the time at home. But in Hindoo countries everything is fixed, binding, and must be attended to. The priesthood is hereditary, gods the same, the theology is well protected, contrived, authoritative, and religious services uniform, mechanical, and pleasing. They do not and cannot seek after a change; wherever they go, they see the same god, worship in the same way, the lamps are lighted, flowers scattered over the altar, incense burning, &c. In order to be settled over a rich people, the Brahmun depends little upon his “pulpit eloquence” or spiritual career; let him have, so to speak, “Abraham for his father,” and plenty and comfort will be his. After the death of a Brahmun, his parish, containing any number of families living in the same village, or scattered around the country, will be equally divided among his sons like other property of the deceased. In case one of the sons proves unworthy of the charge, unable to attend to the religious ceremonies at the houses of his people, either being engaged in some other profession, as most of the Brahmuns are now, or owing to his ignorance of the services, his people cannot go away from him and settle another over them.

A rich, free-thinking farmer in my village, being guided by a party feeling, and detecting his priest in some acts of deception, bade him farewell, and sat at the feet of his brother. In a few months he was summoned to appear before the Priest of the priests, where there are no idols, on the throne of reality. His bereaved family interpreted his sudden death as owing to the visitations of the gods, feared that the children would fall victims to it also, and, after a season of entreaties, became reconciled to the old priest. As the people are not required to congregate together for the purpose of receiving instructions from the priest, or joining in worship with him, they dwell in different villages, and the priest visits them personally when his presence is needed by especial events, such as death, birth, marriage, or any private worship which the Hindoos observe now and then; and on general holidays he sends out his agents, himself being engaged at the house of some one rich Jorzman, parishioner. He has no monthly salary, but gets certain sums of money from each family under him on the day of worship. His income must be more or less in proportion to the wealth of his people. Sometimes one family gives him more than twenty could together. I know a rich Brahmun family, of low order, residing in a town four miles or more distant from the Calcutta Government House, who gave to the wife of its priest a lac of rupees ($50,000), because the gentleman of the family felt very much ashamed to hear his priest say his wife has not seen a lac of rupees at once. In this country the parish pays the preaching; in India they pay the priest.

There are numerous Brahmuns without a single family to attend to, yet they have an income. The very name Brahmun is a sea, and the rivers, channels, pour into it from various directions. It is customary with the Hindoos, especially with the wealthy ones, to distribute a certain sum of money, clothes, or useful metallic articles to each Brahmun family in the place, at the birth and marriage of the children. If there be more wealthy persons in a place, the Brahmuns will get more. Again, these rich men give annually winter clothes or summer dresses to the Brahmuns, this being part of their religion. By receiving these gifts continually, they keep the substantial things for their family use, and exchange the rest for what they need. Thus a great many buy fine brass dishes in exchange for goblets, or give napkins or clothes as the price of salt or sugar. The people bring fruits, vegetables, fish, milk, &c. to the Brahmun family, no matter whether they are their priests or not. During my stay in this country, I have noticed such practices carried out here in some degree. The farmers bring butter, potatoes, eggs, to the pastor; the difference being, that these bring presents to the pastor alone; the Hindoos do to the Brahmuns in general. Besides what they receive from these sources, the Brahmuns teach their children in secular studies, which secures employment for them in merchant or government offices.

Now almost everything is going on disorderly, as a forerunner of a great and good change I hope. From what I know, I should think the Brahmuns themselves (the most orthodox, conservative portions excepted) have little of that strong adherence to their profession which once characterized their predecessors.

My teacher, a Brahmun by caste, once remarked, that some priests would be willing to sell their sacred books, to buy Murray’s spelling for their sons with the price.

CHAPTER V.

The Marriage.—Polygamy.—Koolyn and Moulick.—Marriage.—Age.—Selection.—Agreement.—Anointment.—Bachelor and Maiden Feasts.—The Joy-Cakes.—Bridegroom starts for Bride’s House.—Reception.—Discussion.—Twelve Friends Party.—Throwing Stone Party.—Ceremony.—Good Interview.—Dining-room Plagues.—Distribution of Money.—Return.—Reception.—Bridal Feast.

This chapter will be devoted to the description of Hindoo marriage with all its numerous peculiarities. It assumes such a different aspect from that of this country, and contains such a host of absurd forms quite new to the Christian people, that I should like to detail it distinctly as it is. Marriage is regarded by the Hindoos as a sacred condition of human life, and essentially necessary to meet both our temporal and spiritual wants. Notwithstanding all the benevolent and charitable acts of life, the sanctity of the heart’s thoughts and all the purities of the soul, a Hindoo requires something else to redeem his spirit after death. It is believed that after the departure of the last breath from the body, or, in a Hindoo mode of thought, after the return of the five elements which compose the human body to their respective homes, the vital spirit invisibly walks round the house until some one of the male members of the family exorcise it by a peculiar ceremony. Hence arises the need of matrimony and its efficacy as tending to the spiritual benefit of man. In India a man and woman must marry. It is expressedly a divine ordinance and a violation of it is by no means an act for commendation. The ceremonies performed by every male offspring are requisite for the redemption of the Hindoo parents; hence when a man sees his wife the mother of girls only, or of no children at all, he is required by his religious law and for the safety of the soul to marry more wives until his demand has been met or ambition gratified. But it ought to be observed here, that the necessity of offspring does not entitle a woman to marry a second time, even in her widowhood, for her step-son would do just as well for her spiritual wants. Sometimes we see a man here and there who spends a bachelor life, either through an inability to support a family or from some vicious character of his own or his parents. For if a single member of a family should be found guilty of some abominable practice, such as adultery, theft, murder, irreverence to the Brahmuns, intoxication, or violation of caste regulations in eating or marrying low caste, the family would be outcasted; people, even the nearest relative, would withhold any social intercourse whatever in order to avoid the equal fate of the sinner. To intermarry with an outcasted family is out of the question; even the family barber and washerman withdraw their services. How far this contagion troubles our people, the following incident will show to the curious and inquisitive. A young Brahmun married a girl, in our village, whose mother was the daughter of a Brahmun of a low order, or more distinctly a priest of the fishermen, and whose poor father was outcasted on that account. In course of time, through entreaties, the Brahmuns took pity upon him, and agreed that he should be allowed to dine with them provided he should sit at a distance from them, and, what is the greatest of all favors, that they would eat confectioneries at his house, but not rice of his family cooking. This favor which they conferred upon him was for this especial reason, to marry his daughter, who had already attained the proper age; for, as I have before said, it is a sin to live a bachelor or maiden life. Again another thing is to be considered here, a man can marry at any age or as many times as he desires, but the girl is to be married under or at the age of twelve, and only once in her life. Now our friend, the young man, was not acquainted with the stain of his father-in-law’s family, and unfortunately did not inquire properly about it. The fact became publicly known, and his father, uncle, the priest who officiated, and the friends who attended the ceremony, were all outcasted, until some of them regained their former rank by undergoing some penances, which will be represented in the second part of this book.

Now to the point: I have spoken of the Hindoo regard for matrimony. I will ask the reader’s attention to the description of that monstrous system, polygamy, which has painted the Hindoo community with a dark hue, and is the mother of manifold disorders, immoralities, and vices. We hear that some Brahmuns had fifty wives,—some three-score; but even at the present day there are thousands, each of whom is the husband of a dozen wives! In order to enable the reader to understand distinctly this horrible system, I will furnish him with a large amount of information respecting its origin. Ballŏl Sen, a Hindoo king, in order to regulate the overflowing number of the Brahmuns, to check wickedness, to encourage learning and piety, divided them into two orders, Koolyn and Moulick. There is a beautiful definition of Koolyn in the Sanscrith language, which reads thus in English: “Good behavior, modesty, learning, popularity, visitation to the pilgrimages, force of will, means of support, devotional habits, and charity, are the nine essential characteristics of a Koolyn.” One wanting these godly qualities was called Moulick. The king, no doubt, was prompted by good and prudent motives in this classification, which every one will see as manifested in the very definition just cited above. After his death this system unfortunately underwent some modifications, which handed down the privileges of Koolyn, which were great, no doubt, to the heirs, and could not always give the qualities thereof. The peculiarities of the Koolyn order are these: they would get money if they should eat at a Moulick’s house, or marry a daughter, either Moulick or Koolyn. They would not drink a tumbler of water even in a clerk’s or a physician’s house, and if they should marry their daughter to a Moulick, they would lose the rank thenceforward and forever. As a Koolyn must marry his daughter to one of the same order, sometimes one accepts the hands of scores, partly for the want of a sufficient number of bridegrooms, and partly as an act of virtue and generosity to unburden the parents by marrying their daughters. These men do not always support their hosts of wives, who frequently stay in their father’s houses, and occasionally receive visits from them. I know of some unfortunate women who never saw the faces of their husbands more than once!

Early marriages are prevalent among the Hindoos. There is no fixed age for the marriage of a man, he can marry when he pleases; but if he be a Brahmun, he cannot marry under twelve, that is, without being “born again.” The marriage age for a girl is between six and twelve. You would scarcely see a girl of thirteen, out of thousands, unmarried. She is known (if there be any) as a real thoobree, spinster, and there is little hope of her ever being married without difficulty. My poor younger sister, only eleven years old, was (I am sorry to tell it) dragged to the altar to marry a man of the age of her grandfather, and of little refinement.

Among the Hindoos of the present day there are no such things as courting and engagement. In olden times the system was quite different from what we see now, and was called “itcha boree,” or marriage of choice. But I do not mean that they of old used to know each other well, attend to the meetings on holidays, or enjoy the grand spectacles and music in theatres and operas. No, nothing of this sort was known to them. They used simply to glance at each other’s accomplishments, both external and internal, in the shortest time possible. This, though a little defective to the Americans and English, at any rate is far better than the present fashion of no acquaintance and no interview until at once before the altar. Shith-ă, Drou-pothe, Doymonthee, and other renowned women, have married in noble ways. The caste system does not allow the Hindoos to select their own brides. For, suppose a young man found out a girl of promise, how will he know that she belongs to that peculiar caste or order from which he is to have his wife? There is another obstacle. There are no promiscuous gatherings of the sexes in Bengal, either in the temples or in the dwelling-houses. Hindoo women of high caste rarely come even to the outer department of the house in which they live.

Reading the Christian customs concerning weddings in the English books, I shrank at the thought of marrying one whom I never saw. How many times have I prayed to God in behalf of the blind ones of Bengal. I have had to contend against my mother’s will, for she of course wished me to marry a girl of ignorance in the ignorant way. Do the Bengalees really know what a wife is, and what social pleasures are? They are at once cut off from that society over which the gentler sex presides. It would be considered an act of shamelessness if a young wife should manage to see her husband in presence of any living creature. Twice a day when he takes his meal she can see him, if her eyes are very strong, through the meshes of her thick veil; or would she dare to draw her veil aside, the attendant girls or young women would hurl some rebukes at her. Poor thing, she cannot look at her own treasure! The plagues of some sort or other ever attend her, to trouble and put her to shame for trifles, which are neither sinful nor improper. Thus, while young, I troubled my good aunt for nothing serious. It was in the night, when the full-grown queen of the sky was shedding all her splendors on those Oriental regions, that we were standing in the yard of the house near the dining-room, where the gentleman of the house had entered to take his supper. We two were in the room, but at the approach of my father and uncle, she was obliged to come out. I too came out to cheer her loneliness for half an hour. But what did I? Just the contrary! There were two pairs of shoes on the dining-room steps, for the Hindoos do not carry into the room things made of leather. As the pair belonging to my uncle were elegantly embroidered with gold threads, and studded with small stones, which were dazzling as baby moons in the moonlight, my aunt took a fancy to thrust her feet into them and walked a few steps in the yard, with difficulty no doubt, for not being accustomed to wear shoes, and being so large that her feet seemed swallowed, as in small skiffs. Not knowing how to manage such a heavy pair, she made a horrible, rattling noise with the silver hoops round her ankles and the shoes, as she walked along. “What is the matter? What is that noise out there?” my uncle cried out. “Nothing, sir, only aunt was trying to walk in shoes.” “Walk in shoes!” he cried, “walk in shoes! A woman, and a Hindoo too! She is going to be a Kristan (Christian), I guess.” Who can describe her embarrassment? She sat down senseless, and for several days could not show her face to her friends!

When a girl has attained her seventh or eighth year, the father engages a ghotuck, procurer of his own caste, who is well acquainted with the different orders of the castes. It will be worth while in this place to speak of the ghotucks. They keep a record of all the marriages of the Koolyns in every part of Bengal, which they commit to memory and furnish as an interesting study to their children, who of course should follow the same profession. Let a Koolyn tell a ghotuck his father’s name, and he will trace his genealogy several generations back. Thus once we were sitting in the outer hall of my grandmother, a ghotuck came in and asked for some money for his travel homeward. He asked my brother’s name and also my father’s; then he repeated like a parrot the names of our several ancestors, and where and when they were married. Indeed he did it with as much precision as if he were repeating his own children’s names. Now when the ghotuck has found out a young man of the right order, the parents of the opposite party come to each other’s house to examine the bride, and the bridegroom in turn. On a fixed day they assemble in the gentleman’s parlor where the girl is conducted by a female servant, dressed in fashion and with taste. To ascertain whether the girl is dumb, lame, or disfigured, or not, one from the bridegroom’s party says, “What is your name, dear?” “Gollaup (Rose), sir,” in a low mild tone. “What did you say your name was? Please speak a little clearer that we may all hear. There! there you see the venerable gentleman, do you? He is very fond of sweet voices, but unfortunately he is a little hard of hearing.” After an exchange of jokes between the opposite parties, the girl, having regained confidence, in a more distinct tone, says: “My name is Gallaup, sir.” “What, Gallaup? O, how pretty! how sweet the name is! Gallaup in name and in looks also. Walk a little, will you?” Whereupon she walks, and the eyes of all are turned to watch her motions, whether they are graceful or awkward. The presiding member of the opposite party puts a gift of money into her hand, which she acknowledges with a salutation. Now comes the examination of the boy. This is conducted in the same way, only it is extended a little further, namely, to see what there is in his mind and head. His handwriting is produced, and his knowledge of letters is fathomed. This is done by some high castes only, for the men of the low castes who come to the boy do not know how to read or write themselves. Even among the Brahmuns, some possess but little book-knowledge, write so awkwardly that nobody can read but themselves, and read a page in an hour, spelling each word they find.

The older brother of my brother-in-law, who came to preside over the arrangement, being required to sign his name, began to tremble, and, with much embarrassment, wrote down his own name on the paper with one mistake! Some cunning fathers, before the coming of the girl’s friends, provide a room magnificently for his son’s study, borrowing a pile of books from the boys in the neighborhood, and, in fact, arrange everything so nicely, that it is hardly possible at first to tell whether the room is the boy’s study or merely a bookstore.

When both parties feel satisfied each with the other, they enter into a written agreement called “log-no pottrica,” which records every arrangement respecting the marriage. In the evening of a fixed day, the parties meet at the house of the bride, where the family priest is required to write the instrument, and an astrologer to appoint a day for the wedding ceremony, and the other friends to be witnesses. Before commencing to write, the priest marks the paper with dots of red and yellow powders, writes the name of “Doorga Ramà,” &c., on the top, and other things below. The following is the form of the agreement or “log-no pottrica”:—

“Sree Sree Doorga.”

“The well-wisher, Ram Chunder Deb.”

“Hereby in this happy writing, I promise to marry my first son, Sree Deno bundoo Deb, with your second daughter, Sree motly Modhoo Bindoo Debee, on the 24th of June, 9½ P. M., 1859. I promise, also, to pay all the expenses that shall occur on the occasion, provided you will give all the gold ornaments to your daughter, &c.”

The father of the girl writes a similar one, answering to and approving the points suggested in the other, and congratulating the proposed Bai-ba-hick[5] with a good will.

My American and English friends know very well what is to be done, i. e. what arrangements and preparations are to be made two or three months before the marriage. The Bengalee do just the same as far as the preparation is concerned. Among the former the young man secures a home, furnishes the parlor with everything to render both the short summer and long winter pleasant and comfortable, drives over to Chickering and Sons for a best, well-tuned piano-forte, and brings home all the newly-composed music that possibly could be procured in the music-stores. The friends of the young lady seem very busy in knitting, seaming, sewing, embroidering, &c. Among the latter, no separate house is required at all, for it is considered greatest of all earthly pleasures to dwell under one and the same paternal roof. If the young man should remove somewhere, even after the death of his parents, in order to live with his wife, the children in the neighborhood would ridicule him as the slave of his wife, and her as the author of discord. Hindoo parents, on their death-bed, charge their sons not to have their food cooked in a different kitchen, but to dwell peaceably in the same house, helping each other. I know a Brahmun family in my village, Bātli, which contained thirty souls at the same time. The house that sheltered them is something like a fortress, enclosing an acre of land. There is no need of separate houses from various reasons. A newly-married wife in Bengal is more fit for a primary school in Boston than for housekeeping. Again, if her husband be absent for half a day even, she would not go to the next house to ask for help if absolutely necessary. Shopping and singing are out of the question. Thus, while very young I was sick, and the physician, not finding my father at home, put a few pills on a plate, and requested my mother, who was then by the side of the door, to get some coorchēē, bark of a tree, and mix its juice with them. Though in the next house there were several persons, yet she could not manage to get any coorchēē. In the afternoon the physician came, and feeling my pulse, said, smiling: “Madam, you have not applied the medicine, nor given your boy the prescribed regimen. I know why you have not: brother Gangooly is not at home.” Going a few rods out of the house, he returned, calling my mother, saying, “Madame, here is the coorchēē, which grew on your lot.”

Now about the necessary preparations for the wedding. Nothing is to be more cared for than a good, faithful goldsmith, who is to make ornaments of various shapes and sizes. Three days before the marriage, both the bride and the bridegroom are anointed and bathed in their respective homes, by a dozen married women. The widows are entirely excluded from this and other ceremonies pertaining to the wedding. I have before observed, that the women cannot associate with men, and the question would naturally suggest itself, Do the married women anoint and bathe both bride and bridegroom? I will here be more distinct in portraying the scenes, for they are all new and different from those of my Christian friends. The women are for the most part elderly persons, and composed of sisters, aunts, and the like. This exception is made on an occasion like this. The bride and bridegroom are requested to keep a jathee, scissors, with them until the marriage ceremony is over. The relatives and other friends send valuable gifts, and entertain them in their houses. This mode of entertainment is called “the bachelor and maiden feasts.” The evening previous to the wedding is celebrated the feast of “joy cakes.” These cakes are made of cocoa-nuts, sugar, and rice-powder, and are cooked with much ceremony. When the raw rice is washed, they sound the sacred shells, trumpets, flutes, cymbals, &c.

As the couple will be joined in a fixed moment in the evening, the friends are very careful to reach the bride’s house before that time. When the bridegroom starts he dresses in red silken cloth, wears a hat made of cord and other glittering, fanciful material; then his mother, or in her absence, aunt, comes near him, and inquires, “Child,—where are you going?” “To bring you a female servant, mother,” he replies. If he be the son of a rich man, hundreds of persons go with him. The bands, both native and English, play before him all the way. Some young boys, a hundred or more, dress in uniform; walk with colored flags in their hands; the hired dancing-girls dance on the platform, carried by men on their shoulders. Various fancy things, such as hills, houses, halls, and churches, made of bamboo sticks, beautifully covered with paint and gilded paper, are displayed,—fireworks of various sorts are burned,—streets leading to the bride’s house are splendidly illuminated. When the bridegroom reaches his place of destination, he is received in an outer hall, accommodating hundreds. A party of twelve young men come and demand some money, which they get from every man who comes to marry in their place. This they dispose of at the public worship. Some little boys come, also, in the name of the “throwing stone party,” for some money, which they spend for a feast or other amusements. The priests of the opposite parties enter into a discussion of various topics, embracing mental philosophy, astronomy, poetry, scriptures, &c., while the schoolboys do the same, questioning each other in geography, history, grammar, &c. Some dull and less active boys sit apart on the cushions with the pretence of headache or something else. Sometimes the boys of the bride’s village disturb the others very much. I know of many instances in which they cut the best cashmere shawls to pieces, threw fire on them with a pretended carelessness, and painted the face of some poor dull boy with ink, who might happen to sleep at that time. Again, the “twelve friends” sometimes practice much violence if they do not get the exact sum of money they demand. I, unfortunately, once went to attend the wedding of our priest’s son, in a town nearly twenty miles north of Calcutta. The party above mentioned proved so troublesome that we were obliged to fly by the back door in the night, through bamboo forests, tired, hungry, and afraid lest they should overtake us, and we be handled roughly.

Now the appointed time comes; the bridegroom is conducted into the inner department of the house, where no persons are allowed to enter, except his father, priest, and the barber. As he passes through a narrow entry, the young women throw at him a copious shower of pastry made of raw rice and molasses. The place for the marriage ceremony is furnished thus: two painted seats of board for the bridegroom and the bride,—some other aushuns, small pieces of carpet, for the priests and the parents,—a set of all sorts of household furniture used by them,—and a small throne, containing some images of their gods. The service is conducted in the Sanscrith language, which none but the priests can understand. After the preliminary service the young couple look at each other for the first time, which is called Shooblo dirstu, good interview. This good interview, or rather first interview, relieves the young man from his doubts and fears in regard to the bride, and she, too, feels a like anxiety. Her face is covered with a veil, and she cannot see her husband,—she only knows that she is going to marry some one, and her definite knowledge of him ends with this fact. They require the bridegroom to stand on a piece of painted board, then the bride is brought, sitting on a similar seat and supported by two or four men, as the case requires. By them she is raised in the air, and as the bridegroom looks eagerly at her, the face being then unveiled, some young women give blows on his back, sides, and shoulders. Receiving the first-expected blow from the gentler sex, he turns to the direction from whence it comes, and others favor him with more from various quarters. He, no doubt, feels very badly, and greatly confused, and if he be a stout and grown-up young man he bears these blows with manly fortitude, and if not, he cries a little. I have heard of some boys, who, unable to bear these invasions, looking up, cried aloud, “Ma! I shall not marry.” They then exchange two flower garlands, which can be done in Bengal all the year round. The priest then binds their four hands with a cord made of flowers, and causes them to recognize each other as the lawful husband and wife. The guests remain sitting during this part of the ceremony, and the father of the bride, her uncle, or mother, is required to take part in the ceremony and dedicate her to the bridegroom. At the conclusion the priests receive their fees, according to some fixed order. For instance, if the bridegroom pays five dollars to the priest of the bride, her father is required to pay double the sum to the other priest. The entertainment of the guests then takes place in the yard, hall, porticos, and other places. The Brahmuns sit in one place, the Shoodras in another, and thus each according to the rank held in the caste system. Some difficulties yet disturb the bridegroom in the dining-room. The women contrive various sorts of fun to plague him. They set cakes made of rags, rice made of white corks, on the plate, and milk composed of white chalk and water,—good things are, of course, given by and by, but these he dare not touch lest there be other hidden difficulties. In order to give some distinct idea of the fun the young women practise on this occasion, I would mention the sad case of my uncle. They dug a vat in the floor, four feet square and as many feet deep, purposely to perpetrate a joke upon him, a piece of shaggy carpet was spread for the seat, supported by frail sticks. Poor uncle! unconscious of the hidden trap, sat on it, and down he went! In order to add more to his embarrassment, there was water at the bottom of the vat. Judging from these, and witnessing other kinds of plagues, I should say the marriage night is a rather hard time for a Bengalee bridegroom.

The “bashor ghor,” or bride’s chamber, is crowded with women during the night, who entertain the married couple with songs, make the bridegroom sing, and answer, if he can, some puzzling questions, enigmas, &c. The reader will notice that here there is allowed free intercourse in speech between the man and the women. But it should here be explained that these women must be sisters of the bride or her brother’s wives, near or distant relations. Her mother or aunts, who in law would be such to the bridegroom, do not enter into the mirth of the “bashor ghor.” The next morning his father has to pay some money to the following persons, the policemen of the village, the man who teaches in the school, the Brahmun who teaches free the Sanscrith scholars, the men who take care of the temple, images, &c., the poor, low caste people, and a generous sum to the women who entertain, or rather plague the night previous. He then starts for his own village with his wife and some of the servants. Both she and her mother bathe in tears as they part. Being received at his house, he stands in the yard on a painted seat, and the girl before him on a dish with milk in it. She holds a live fish in her right hand, and he stretches out and puts his hand on her head. Seven married women walk round them seven times, blowing some shunko, and pouring water on the ground from a pitcher as they walk. Then comes the “bride’s feast,” at which hundreds from different castes are invited if she be a Brahmun. The persons invited from the relatives and friends see the face of the bride, and put some money in her hand. When they see her, the attendant maid takes off the veil from her face and she closes her eyes. This mode is very good indeed, for nobody can notice the color and size of her eyes, whether they are dark blue, brunette, large, small or cross. When her own caste sit at the dinner, she brings a little rice to some of the leading men.

The full shorjai, or bed made of flowers, together with a large quantity of spices, confectioneries, fruits, and clothes, are sent by her father on the third day after the marriage, which are distributed to the families in the neighborhood. After staying through eight days she returns to her father’s house, and occasionally goes to her new home until she attains her thirteenth year, when she commences a regular married life. As it is my desire to relate the scenes of Hindoo life, its manners, customs, and peculiarities as faithfully as the rules of propriety will allow, I should say that there is a second marriage which occurs during two or three years after the first, which I forbear to describe. I cannot close this chapter without making some remarks on the Hindoo marriage. Escaping the maladies of superstition, and standing under the light of true religion, with feelings of love and refinement in my heart, I shudder at, and clearly see, the defects in the system we have considered. The very thought of marrying a person whose joys and sorrows I am to participate in, who is to become one with me, without knowing her character and seeing her face at all, makes me shudder. How many hundreds in Bengal are spending their days in wretchedness! There, with many, the affection between husband and wife is rather compulsory than heartfelt. True love does rarely grace the connubial life of the Hindoos. Their children do not know what innocent social comforts are. Vice, with its thousand branches, twines round their lives. Faithlessness to the married relations, discord between, and separation of two who are required to be strictly one, are the defective features of the Hindoo families in general. As there is no system of divorcement or a second marriage for the women, a hundredfold is added to their deplorable condition. A goldsmith, a neighbor of mine, bleeds his wife almost twice a month for some trifles done, such as looking on the street through the window, talking with women outside of the house, &c. He being her lord and tyrant does as he has a mind, and finds no check to his brutal conduct. Of course the gentlemen in the neighborhood remonstrate with him for his conduct, but this affects him for a season only. He was fined several times, but not divorced, which measure only could save the unfortunate woman from future sufferings.

CHAPTER VI.

Death.—Boithornee.—Bathing.—Anointment.—Sho.—Burning the Body.—Expression of Mourning.—Widows.—Shoratho.

“None but the sinners die under their own roof,” is the prevailing belief among the Hindoos. The person who dies at home, and on Tuesday or Saturday, is believed to be surely possessed of an evil spirit, roth jonēē. His ghost walks round the house and frequents the places where he rested in his lifetime. Hence, the moment the physician has declared that there is no hope of life for the sick person, the friends hurry him away to the ghaut on the bank of the river Ganges, where they lay him down in such a way that he may see and bow down to the sacred river. It must be observed here, that in almost every ghaut, either at the expense of the town, or of a single individual, some rooms are erected for the accommodation of the sick and their friends, because in some instances they linger a long time before death comes. In that case they all remain there day and night. If the sick person be a rich old man, having four or five sons living, a great many religious ceremonies are performed at the ghaut. In the morning and afternoon a priest expounds the sacred legends to a large audience, who come to visit the sick and hear the preaching.

“Boithornee” is performed at this time, either by the sick himself, if he is able to utter the words, or by his oldest son. It is believed that between the edges of this world and the other there is a river, Boithornee, to cross by those who go from this. There are no boats at all. Each one must provide the means for himself. Hence, at the point of death, or a little while before the departure from this world, the traveller dedicates a cow, and a large quantity of raw rice, pease, clarified butter, sugar, and clothes, unto the gods. As a compensation, the infernal spirit will provide him with a cow, which will carry him over to the other side of the Boithornee, and the eatable things will satisfy the spirits on the way. The reader will, no doubt, compare these with the funeral proceedings of the ancient Greeks, and see how nearly they resemble each other. Sometimes it happens that the sick man recovers after a while, and consequently desires to return home. This is a bad omen, and a sad case, especially if the man be aged. They would say the messenger of Jom, Pluto, had arrested him by a mistake, having the commission to take away another in the same family. Sometimes, through a mistake, they summon some one in the neighborhood!

When the man returns home, he closes his eyes on the way; the first thing he sees is an idol in the priest’s hand, and calls any person he may choose by name, who is expected to go to the city of Pluto in his stead. Hence he calls an old person in the family if there be one, because it will be a comfort to him, and his death is lamented less. I was once posted with an idol in my hand to receive a young lady, who had been carried by the forgetful “peons of death.” She opened her big, dark eyes, looked earnestly both at me and the idol (for this was the only chance for her to see a young man face to face), and humbly bent her head, saying, “Takoor, grant that no misfortune, consequent to my return, may befall the family.”

When the men see the sick person breathing his last, they plunge his whole body up to his neck, and shout, “Gunga Nara onŏ, Brohmo om Ramŏ.” But if they be Sudras they omit the word om, which is too sacred for them to utter. The reader will easily imagine how soon the last remnant of life flies from the body under such treatment, and, to add to the sufferings of the last hour, a man pinches very tightly the great toes of the sick until he dies. They then erect a pile of wood, which is nearly six feet long, three broad, and six high, on which they lay the dead body. Before doing this they anoint the body, and put a cross on the forehead with the sacred mud from the Gunga. When the corpse has been laid down on the wooden pile, the oldest son of the deceased walks seven times round it, with a blazing torch in his hand, repeating some words after a Brahmun of low order, who performs the funeral service. He then touches the mouth of the dead with the fire of the torch; the friends help him in this, and in the course of five hours they burn the body to ashes. If any one should touch a person of the funeral party, he must stay with them until the end of the service. They take a piece of the burnt body and enclose it in a mud cup, and throw it into the river. The Hindoos, as a people, burn the dead bodies of their friends; but to give the reader true information about this custom I should say, however, that there are some low castes, Potto and Jugēē, who burn or bury their dead as circumstances permit. Again, the children under one year of age, of any caste whatever, are buried on the river’s side; but no tablet or monument is erected on the spot. The reason why the infants are buried is, I believe, the unwillingness to put fire to their delicate frames.

They then wash the funeral place, remove the ashes, and bathe themselves before they leave the spot. The leading man of the party, i. e. the son of the deceased, erects a pole nearly eight feet long on the place just washed and cleaned, also sets there a colser, or water-pitcher, and a shora, or earthen saucer, with eight small sea-shells upon it, and slightly strikes the pitcher with a shovel, and turns his face in the opposite way. As he leaves the place he does not turn back to see the things behind him, for it is said, if any should dare to look back, he would see hosts of evil and infernal spirits dancing and feasting on human flesh. I have often thought I should like to ascertain the truth of this, by doing what is thus forbidden, but I had no opportunity, because, when my father died, I was young and superstitious, and the second son. Now, being outcasted, I have not the privileges of a son, consequently, even in the absence of my older brother, some one else in the family will burn the body of my mother when she dies.

The party then walks first to the house of the man that died, slowly repeating Horēē Cōle, touches some fire, cuts nim (a leaf having a little taste), and chews a few grains of raw rice, which are purposely kept on the street near the house.

The expression of mourning is shown in various ways. Those bearing the same family title, such as Gangooly, Mookerjea, Doss, &c., will not shave their heads, cut the nails, anoint the body with oil, nor use any sort of animal food, for some fixed time. If the death of a Gangooly be known to hundreds of Gangooly families, they would all observe these rules, and one additional, namely, they would not offer prayers or worship the idols. The Brahmuns and astrologers observe these mourning customs ten days, the physicians fifteen, and others a month, during which time the sons suffer a great deal. They all dress in white, go with wet clothes after bathing, eat rice, boiled potatoes, peas, &c., once in twenty-four hours, and sleep on the floor on a carpet, quite separate from wife, children, or any friends.

There are some peculiarities in boiling the rice, the only meal of the day. Almost every one is required to cook for himself at this time of mourning. The earthen pan is placed on three large iron nails driven into the ground, and the fire for the cooking is made of dry cocoa-nut leaves.

During those days of mourning the sons of the deceased call on every family in his native place, high or low caste, rich or poor. Entering into a gentleman’s house, they thus address him: “Sir, to-day is the sixth day of my father’s departure from this world. He has received the grace of Gunga. I am ignorant of a great many things, inexperienced, and know not what to do. I earnestly entreat you to be kind enough to go to my house, superintend everything necessary, advise me and others interested in my case, receive and entertain the guests in my behalf,” &c. It is customary to give some pecuniary aid to them, especially if they be poor, for it costs a large sum of money to perform the ceremony, and entertain several hundred persons, at least. The day before the ceremony,—which comes, as before stated, on the tenth day to a Brahmun, the fifteenth to a physician, and the thirtieth to the low castes,—they all shave their heads; the women simply cut their nails and bathe in the river. The oldest son, who is the chief actor in the scene, offers thus pindoo (made of rice, butter, [ghee,] and bananas) to the spirit of the departed father, as food for the ten days. Now, on the next day, comes the Shrawthō, or grand ceremony. The invitations, through letters and by messengers, draw immense crowds of relatives, friends, priests, monks, and beggars. In an open spacious place, either in the worshipping department of the house or outside of it, an earthen altar is erected, and brisho kastō, or funeral post, is placed near it. This post is carved out from a piece of wood, either bale, nim, or jug-go doomur, a kind of fig-tree. The priest marries a calf and a young bull before it, while it serves as a pole to which cords are fastened for the purpose of binding the queer bridegroom. They brand both sides of the bull, so as to make him conspicuous all the days of his life. A peculiar caste is hired to do this, because to burn go churmo, cow’s skin, is a profane act. Hindoos have different castes to do the profane as well as sacred part.

All sorts of household furniture are dedicated to the gods, and then distributed to the Brahmuns. Some choirs, composed of common men and women of ill repute, come to sing the legends of Krishno, for which they receive some compensation. Sometimes twenty, more or less, different choirs come, and the people know not which to hear. In such cases, however, they hear the leading ones, giving them a liberal sum, and sending others away with but little. But it ought to be mentioned here that the choir having a handsome young lady, well dressed and ornamented, as its head, will secure a hearing at any rate, and, the whole time being occupied with feasts and entertainments, she is engaged to sing again, when all will be quiet.

Three days after this ceremony, they all anoint themselves with yellow powder and oil, and form a long procession of singers, priests and relatives, carry the funeral post on their shoulders, and stick it into the ground by the side of the river. Every year, on the same day, the children or grandchildren of the deceased are required to repeat some part of this Sha-ahho, and entertain as many persons as their circumstances will permit. Hence a Hindoo gentleman entertains people in feasts nearly six times a year, in honor of his departed forefathers. Even a poor man is bound to do this, otherwise he will be regarded as an infidel and a sinner.

There is a Brishookasto, or funeral post, in the Salem Museum, where curiosities from India are placed for exhibition. There is also another at the room of the American Unitarian Association.

It seems necessary to me to give my Christian friends some idea of widowhood in Bengal. The very day a girl becomes a widow, her colored clothes, silver and golden ornaments, are all taken off, and a mark of red powder, which every married woman wears on the forehead, is rubbed out. Henceforth she is to dress in white, and wear no ornament of any kind whatever during her lifetime. Her daily meals are reduced to one, and that is prepared in the simplest way possible. She is strictly prohibited the use of any sort of animal food. This restriction has been carried to such an extreme, that, if a scale of fish be found in the plate of a widow, she must immediately stop eating and go without food the same day. Each widow is required to cook her own food, and to abstain entirely from food and drink two days, aka-thusly, in every month. There are other fasting days for this class of wretched women, but the young ones feel satisfied with observing the two fixed ones. Who can witness the sufferings, the sighs of the Bengalee widow of thirteen or fourteen years, on the fast-days, without pity? In the warm days of April, when the burning sun dries up the ponds of their water, scorches the leaves of the trees, these poor victims to the rigidness of superstition faint and pant in hunger and thirst. If they are dying on the aka-thusly day, a little water will be put to the lips, merely to wet them. In order to escape these continual sufferings, it has been the practice with many widows to burn themselves with the corpse of the husband, and though the subtle Brahmuns inculcate various rewards for the burning of the Shuttee, yet I cannot see anything more weighty than the putting an end at once to all their troubles, even at the guilt of suicide. They have no hope of ever cheering their widowhood in the world. A learned Brahmun, the principal of Calcutta Sanscrith College, is earnestly engaged in redeeming the condition of the widows by introducing the system of widow marriage. Having a deep knowledge of the national literature, also the Scriptures of the country, he traced back its customs and institutions, and wrote a pamphlet, in which he succeeded in proving that widow marriage had been known to the Hindoos of old. His reference to the ancients, his able arguments and pathetic discourses in behalf of the wretched millions, were met by the people with the ferocity of lions. Nearly sixty pamphlets were published by the enemies of the widows, against this great reformer. Amidst the heavy shower and thunder of reproach from his blind countrymen, this noble child of God, with a few friends by his side, with the love of humanity in his heart and the smile of his Father upon his head, stood firmly, and, summoning all his forces, maintained the honor and superiority in the field. With an elaborate work he answered his opponents, confuted their mistaken reasonings, and, to their great mortification, married a young Brahmun widow of sixteen to a suitable bridegroom. May he be successful in instituting this wished for system, which will save the females of Bengal from manifold sufferings and sins!

It ought to be observed in this place, that no widow is asked or forced to die with her husband. She who voluntarily takes up her cross and follows after her beloved husband of life, is welcome. Every preparation will be made to help her in this act of mistaken devotion. I have heard of some widows, who made all the necessary arrangements for this mode of suicide while their husbands were living. As it would be a disgrace to the family in case of her failure, the people ask her to consider the matter well, and, finding her firm in her position, bind her and her dead husband together with some cords, and lay them both on the Chitta or funeral pile, where she is burned alive amid the praises of the spectators. In many instances, the devoted widows, forsaking their little ones, and committing them to the care of others, have followed after their husbands. It is a heartrending scene indeed to behold the wretched children, who, with horror unspeakable, witness the death of their two dearest relatives on earth,—the one taken away by the natural death, the other, yea the sweeter, the tenderer of the two, a victim to superstition, a martyr to her conviction of the mistaken precepts of her priests.

My sisters in Christ, be grateful to your Father for the light you possess. Learn to appreciate the thousand blessings which crown your heads, and, comparing your privileges, your comforts, your associations with those of Indian females, thank heartily the great Giver of all. O, do not carelessly tread on the pearls cast so lavishly before you, but prize them, feel their influence, and make good and right use of them! Remember that to whom much is given, much will be required from the same. Pray for yourselves, and pray in behalf of your sisters in the bondage of superstition, pining and mourning in ignorance. God raise the hearts of the people of this country, especially of women, that some daughters of God, like blessed Mrs. Judson, Mrs. Mundey, and others, might take pity on the dismal condition of their sisters in the bright, yet dark, heathen India. Noble Christian men and women, who send only their male missionaries to India, do not know that the female India, which is the better and larger portion of the country, has no chance nor allowance to hear them. So the women grow up and die in ignorance, yea, entire ignorance, of the only wise God. Their lives are spent in the worship of the ideal gods and goddesses! In the dark days of their widowhood, which lasts with life, there is nothing to comfort them, no hope, no promise to calm their troubled spirits, no knowledge of literature, science, or true religion to draw instructions therefrom. Sad, dark, dismal, pitiable, their conditions are! Nothing but the lights of the true religion can emancipate them from their servitude, strengthen them in their weakness, and exalt them from the low and degraded surface they stand on. Let pity awake in your tender breasts, ye women of America and England, towards the suffering millions! God does everything by instrumentalities, you are the same in his hands. Work then if it be expedient, or send the female teachers to work in the harvest of your King. Behold, the harvest is great, but the laborers are few! Help them, and bless them with the light you enjoy,—yea, the light of the knowledge of the King eternal, immortal, and the only wise God,—and yours will be the blessings forever!

CHAPTER VII.

Domestic Life, Education, etc.

According to their ideas of good and bad, the Hindoos teach their children in their early days to love the former and shun the latter. They are taught to fear the gods, love their parents, respect the aged, and adhere to all the institutions of their ancestors, social or religious. As the result of such careful, regular training, a great many children do and say what they have no conception of, like the birds which the Hindoos teach to utter words. With a view to give some idea of this training, I would first notice the early days of the Hindoo children, but feel sorry that I have to begin with something quite ridiculous. It is the fear of the Vooths or devils,—the spirits of men, women, cows, &c., dying under peculiar circumstances. The number of these wicked spirits is immensely large in countries through which the sacred Gunga does not pass, because its sanctifying influences drive them a great way off. Again, as it is believed that those who breathe their last on the lap of their “Mother Gunga” with the consciousness of their approaching end, and say, “This is Gunga, and I am dying,” are conducted to heaven, almost all the sick persons are led thither to die. Hence there are only very few devils near the Gunga. The Hindoo mother sitting by the cradle of her baby sings the names of the demons as her lullaby. My dear mother had the following, which she was wont to sing when the children would cry and would not go to bed, or made any noise. “I am Ear-cutter, live on the palm-tree and cut the ears of the noisy children.” Such songs always have immediate effects; the little ones stop crying and hide their faces under the arms of their mother. As these grow older and are able to understand words, the lullaby turns to be a story of devils, tigers, lions, &c. After dark the mother, father, or the servants gather round them a youthful auditory, and tell them long stories of the devils,—how they wander about in the night, especially on dark nights; go from one to the other end of the village by a single step; encounter bad men in their nocturnal rounds, and require them to recite their prayers. The men or children who cannot say their prayers meet with very disagreeable experiences from their hands. These stories, too, have great influence upon the children; they learn their lessons, prayers, and hymns, by heart before they come across a devil, who is pretty sure to examine them as to their acquirements. The devils have their castes and orders; the spirit of a Brahmun is Doithó; of a woman, Patné; of low caste, in general, Vooths; of a miser, Joc; of a glutton, Pisha, etc.

The children learn the names of the male and female deities, and thank them when they go to bed. The mother takes her babe to the temple, and bends its head before the idols, if it be too young to show voluntary expressions of reverence. Often we find little boys or girls going to the temple with their parents, holding fruits in their hands.[6]

The discipline at the table is peculiar. The Hindoos do not use knives, forks, and spoons at their tables; but they teach their children to make good use of, and to handle delicately, the tools they have, viz. their fingers. The children must sit decently in their places, must not scoop away the contents of the plate at once, nor put their fingers into their mouths up to the whole length. To leave one’s seat before others have finished their eating is regarded as an insult to the party. It is not only an insult, but more than that, as the party would not eat any more and would leave their seats accordingly. The Brahmuns do not touch each other while at meals; if accidentally they should do so, the oldest of the party ceases to eat, but sits quietly until the end, when he leaves his seat with the rest, and does not eat any cooked food till evening. Anything left on the plate, whatever be its quality or quantity, is not taken into the kitchen or closet in order that it may be used again. Hence they take what they can eat, and the remainder is given to the servants, who are always from the low castes.

Discipline at the school is as follows. Love to the teacher, respect to his person, obedience to his commands, and attention to his teaching, are strictly insisted upon in our scholastic career. The Hindoo boys (for the girls are not sent to the schools or anywhere else for instruction, there being no such thing as female education) are taught first of all to regard, or, I might say, to idolize their teacher. To refuse him a service, or to speak a word before his face in the spirit of defiance, is a sin. Pupils really prostrate themselves before him, and offer prayer to him, as a personification of knowledge. So much confidence is put in him that the boys sometimes pay more attention to his words than they do to those of their parents. For obedience to and confidence in a teacher are preludes to scholastic success. Under any marked circumstances, for instance like the late school question in Boston about reading the commandments, in which the parents and the teacher were opposite parties, each demanding of the child submission, a Hindoo boy would obey the teacher while under his instruction, his sacred position awakening respect. I have known a boy who cared so much for the wants of his teacher, that he would not listen to the paltry excuses of his parents for not meeting them. The teacher had told him to bring his schooling fee, which he wished to remit to his family by a man who was to leave the place the next morning. The boy asked the money from his parents, but did not get it; they said, some time during the week they would forward it to the teacher. This did not satisfy the boy, who, in the absence of his parents, took away a heavy brazen jar, pawned it at a neighbor’s, and brought the money to his teacher. Being desired to give the reasons for his conduct, he replied, “The teacher ought to receive his fee when he needs it, and especially when he wants to send it home, and in due time; and that if they really wished to pay him during the week, they might just as well recover the jar then.” As most of their books are manuscripts, and liable to be torn, spoiled, or lost, the boys are taught to “love them as their friends, and watch and bind them as their prisoners.”

If, carelessly, a boy drops his book on the ground, he picks it up, dusts it with his cloth, bends his head before it, and kisses it with reverence. The judicious care which ought to be taken of books, writing-tools, etc. has grown into a superstition. When a boy touches his book, pen, or inkstand carelessly with his feet, he thanks Shores-shutty, and begs her pardon.

Duty is exacted towards all in the different domestic relations. Parents and all brothers and sisters are objects of reverence, and it is the first and great duty of a child to honor his parents by words, deeds, and affection, as by mouth, hand, and heart. The Hindoo children prostrate themselves before their parents, and, taking the dust of their feet by the hand, put it on their heads,—a way in which the Hindoos show their humiliation towards others. They do not take the names of their parents on their lips, unless it is for the information of others, and even then two or three respectful terms are used before and after each name. It is regarded impolite to inquire the name of a married woman. A separate term of honor is put before the name of a departed father, uncle, etc. To call a person by his name, who is older than one’s self, is an insult to him, as well as a sign of a want of good training in ourselves. In the family, the young boy does not address his older sister or brother as sister Mary, brother George, by their names, but uses, “First brother, First sister, Second brother, Second sister,” etc. A married woman does not, on any account, utter the names of her husband, his eldest brother, her father, and mother-in-law, etc., nor sound the very letter which begins their names. For instance, she whose husband’s is Shiba, uses F in the place of S, making Fiba. Goguth, being the name of a god, is a common name among the Hindoos, and thousands of women say, “Forguth-nauth” when they bow down to the celebrated Jugur-nauth. A man must not touch the person of his younger brother’s wife, unless compelled by some emergency. If he does so in seeming carelessness, he brings the world’s odium on his head. It is not respectful to laugh wildly, and make loose remarks, before father, mother, uncle, aunt, brothers, sisters, cousins, or, in short, before other grown-up persons. In conversation, to look or stare at the face of the person (especially if he or she be older) whom we speak to is very impolite; on the other hand, it does not look well to gaze at a person while he speaks to us.[7] Singing, or playing on any instrument, before grown up persons, especially if they are relations, is improper; hence, pianos or other musical instruments are not household furniture in Bengal. The music is made among persons of the same age, and where no father, uncle, or elder brother is present. This, however, is confined only to the males; Hindoo females do not sing to men or even to themselves. Occasionally, you will hear a girl singing, in a tone sweet yet so low that you will think she has just recovered from a dreadful fever; while her female hearers are on the look-out,—lending one ear to her song, and the other to catch the step of any one who might be coming. Proficiency in music or dancing is not an accomplishment to a Hindoo woman; her accomplishments consist in keeping silence before, and speaking gently to, her friends; in abstaining from wild laughter; in paying attention to the regulations for her sex; in offering due regard to others; in her familiarity with the art of cooking, and her reverence for all holy and pure things. Dancing is strictly forbidden among the males or females of any respectable standing whatever, and it is thought to be degrading, a savage practice, to move about or stretch the limbs with measured steps before an audience. In India, dancing men and women always belong to the disreputable class, who sell their services to the public. The Hindoos believe that the custom of dancing by both sexes originated among the savage people; although it is a main source of pleasure among the enlightened. A Hindoo father would rather see his children walk on crutches than waltz before anybody. Confined as the dancing is to the disreputable people, it is itself a difficult art; every one cannot dance according to rule, unless a systematic instruction is received. There are, I presume, more than forty different kinds of movements. When a girl dances, she imitates the sounds of the music, by means of the ornaments round her ankles. As she gently glides along before you, you will hear the low ringing noise of her ornaments, in perfect harmony with the sound of the music, and this designates the kind of the dancing. But it is to be observed here, that even the disreputable public people do not dance together, male and female leaning against each other’s bosom, and putting their arms round the waist. Among the high castes, any sport requiring the exertion of bodily strength is excluded.

The chess, cards, and other games, similar and superior to backgammon, are the prominent ones. But here, again, age and relation are to be considered. A gentleman does not play with his brother or children, or any nearest relation young or old; for it is impolite to play a game with or before grown-up friends; and, on the other hand, it is showing a shallow character to engage in a game with children. Again, the members of the low castes do not join in the sport with the Brahmun, lest they come so near his sacred person as to touch him with their foot, or to speak wildly to him in the heat of the action. Particular care is taken to teach young boys the art of writing letters to their friends. As each person is to be addressed by peculiar words, expressive of age, position, and relation, etc., there are some fixed rules which are consulted by the writer. In English, “My dear” answers almost every purpose, except in a lawyer’s letter. It is applicable to father, uncle, mother, brother, husband, wife, sister, brother-in-law, priest, children, friends, debtor, creditor, etc.; but in Bengalee the system is quite different. The writer must discriminate between a father and brother-in-law, by addressing each according to the relation he holds to the one who addresses him. In writing to father, mother, uncle, oldest brother and sister, father and mother-in-law, and priest, the address is “Right adorable,” and the writer’s name in all cases is used at the beginning. The address to those younger in years is, the “Object of blessing.” A man addresses the father or mother-in-law of his son or daughter by a distinct phrase, which could not be applied to any other. Low castes observe these rules while writing among themselves; but in case they write to a Brahmun, young or old, the phrase, “Most adorable,” or, “Obedience to thee is my joy,” etc., is used. The following is a sample of a father’s letter to his son:—

“Object of Blessing:—

“Know and accept my good wishes and blessing from this. For thy spiritual and temporal welfare I solicit the grace of God unceasingly, and in so doing consists my substantial joy,” etc.

In order to take a long or short journey, especially if undertaken for some important business, a “fortunate hour” is sought for, which the priests designate after consulting the day and its planet (each day, being named after the heavenly bodies, such as Sun, Moon, etc., has its attendant planet). Before starting on the journey, a man prostrates himself before his parents, bows to them reverently, bends his head also before the idols or pictures of the gods, asks their blessing, recites a prayer or two, which are always creed-like and authoritative, and finally bids “Farewell, I come then.” This is answered by, “Let success attend your steps,” “Gods be with you,” etc. If accidentally he should strike or touch his head against a door or wall, or if any one present should shout or sneeze, or if any one should speak to him, he would immediately take his seat for a few minutes. Such interruption is regarded a bad omen, and, if repeated, the journey is to be postponed.

In the streets, all the castes salute the Brahmuns as often as they meet them. The Hindoo would not let the priests go without his salutation. He folds his hands, holds them near his breast, and bends his head, saying, “Salutation to the feet of the Second Born,” at which the Brahmun gently raises his right hand a little, uttering, “Be victorious!” or “Live ever!” or “Blessing be thine!” Unless there be a deep interest or settled familiarity between the parties, they do not speak to each other in the street. Some persons inquire of their friends, “Well, I hope?” “All well at home?” and are responded with, “As you see,” or, “As you will,” etc. The low castes do not walk close by the Brahmuns, nor tread on their shadow, if they can help it. To whistle, sing, or smoke in the street, is ungentlemanly. The very lowest castes are found to do those things. A Hindoo gentleman would not eat anything between his meals in a car or in a carriage. So, in India, the cry of “Candy, sweet oranges, apples, Stewart’s gum-drops!” is not heard in railroad cars.

The tests of gentlemanliness are positive. From early years the children are guarded against falling into evil passion, fighting or quarrelling, etc. The grown-up, high-caste people very rarely come to blows, or even lay hands upon one another. Our parents, sisters, wives, would feel ashamed of us in the extreme if they heard that their children, brothers, or husband were fighting-men. Indeed, it would bring shame upon the whole family if one member of it were found making use of a club, sword, or gun against his brother.

A Hindoo gentleman does not appear before any stranger without arranging his dress; again, too much fixing is regarded foppish. He does not use unkind words to others.

The daily routine of the men is as follows. After washing their mouths, early in the morning, the castes attend to their respective business. The Brahmuns go first to gather flowers for worship, and afterwards attend to the idols at their own houses, as well as at those of their “parishioners.” A great many of them go to teach schools, or work in the courts, hospitals, or mercantile affairs, etc. But these are not all Brahminical. Other castes work until eleven or twelve; after that they bathe, offer prayers to the idols, and take their meals. In the afternoon they go to work again. The priests spend the afternoon in their studies, and in household affairs. Some of them occasionally meet, either in a parlor or in the open air, to play chess. The evening is spent in different ways. The good fathers gather their sons round them, inquire about the studies of the day, and give them instruction in parables and stories. Others go round visiting their friends, hearing music, or attending the meeting frequently held to consider local difficulties. At last, at nine or ten, comes the supper, which is served in their peculiar way.

As to the occupation of the females, I will speak only of the high-caste ones, as the head of the sex to which they belong. The first part of the morning is spent in attending to the sweeping of all the rooms, entries, yard, washing the kitchen, the marble or metallic plates which are used at late tea. These are done mostly by female servants, but as being of a different caste they are not allowed to come to that portion of the kitchen where the cooking-utensils are kept, or to the kitchen at all; the sweeping and washing here are done by the members of the family. The performance of the duties in the kitchen is a difficult one; for if anybody should touch a cooking-pan or a kettle before taking a bath, it would not be used any longer; so such things are placed beyond the reach of little folks. As the utensils are often liable to be touched, they are, however, mostly earthen-ware; so in case they are thrown out, as they often are, the loss is not great. After the sweeping has been done, the women get ready for the bath; anoint their bodies with oil common, or foo lud perfumatory, as circumstances permit. I have seen a rich, handsome, but vain Brahmun woman rub her arms and face with Kheer (thickly boiled milk), that a good fragrance might come from her person! They then go into the river or tank, where hundreds wash themselves together on some holiday. On their way home, the religious as well as elderly portion of them visit the idols in the temple; the young women, however religious, are not often suffered to go to the temple, lest they come into collision with young men who frequent them for this purpose. Reaching home, they help each other in the cooking. As the Hindoos do not set vegetables or fish whole on the table, and use highly seasoned and spiced dishes, great care is taken to dress fish, cut the vegetables, and grind spices. Widows do not eat anything touched by hands that have just dressed fish; so one takes care of vegetables, another of fish, a third grinds spices, and thus they pleasantly alleviate the labor which, if done by one, would be anything but easy, and of course would take more time. The Hindoo way of cooking things is really scientific; and it takes time and requires skill to do it. They do not think much of boiling, baking, frying; alleging, that only those who do not and cannot cook better feel satisfied with them.

Let a Bengalee woman prepare some common leaves or flowers, and, if you eat them, you will hardly know what you are eating. Out of one kind of fish and two or three of vegetables, she would prepare ten different dishes, perhaps, each differing from the other in regard to flavor, taste, and richness. In fact, in some grand feasts, the number of Ban-juns, or curries, as called by foreigners, exceeds forty! In the legendary accounts we read of fifty-four Ban-juns used by the gods. As there is no fixed time for taking meals, the men dine when they are ready, either together or separate, and the women afterwards. If there be a female visitor in the family, the newly married daughter-in-law would not eat anything before her, and to meet at the table with men is out of the question. My lady friends, in this country, have often asked me, “Who presides at the table there?” “Who waits upon the gentlemen?” etc.

The mother or any other elderly female serves food to the men, but she does not partake of it with them. If there be only a young woman present to help her husband or his brother, she skilfully manages to look at the condition of the plates, and acts accordingly. Sometimes she gives them what they do not wish for, or more than they can eat. The married women do not sit close by the widows, lest they touch them or their plates; in either case the latter are required by the religious regulation of their order to stop eating. Very commonly the widows do not eat any food cooked by married women, even if they were their daughters.

Immediately after the meal they go to the tank, which is always within a few rods’ distance from the kitchen, for the purpose of washing their hands, mouth, and feet. Almost all young women go into the water and wash the dress they had on while at dinner. Now they use meeshie, a kind of black powder to clean their teeth a second time, which, as a national peculiarity, are bright and smooth as pearls. This powder is a preparation of three or four materials; and, although it is black, leaves no darkness on the teeth. It has also a fine taste. The little children, unable to resist the temptation, eat the powder while cleaning their teeth with it.

Then comes the toilet. The head is decorated, the hair fixed with much care and skill. One woman sits behind her friend to fix her hair, which is always dark, thick, flowing, and sometimes so long as to reach the knees. They do not use hair-pins or ribbons; some delicate stitches of thread made in braiding the waste hair are used to tie the Kho-pă, or knot, which, when properly made, looks “splendid,” as the girls call it. A gay dress is worn, ornaments are put in their proper places, some attar of rose is sprinkled over the dress, hair, &c., and after this the young lady is all right,—ready to receive callers, or to go to parties, if it were customary. But they must see and enjoy praise, comment upon and find fault with each other’s dress or personal accomplishments by themselves, as hardly any outsider, especially a male, gets any chance to see them. Sometimes the women living in houses adjoining assemble in one, where they spend the time in playing cards, telling stories, or feeding on gossip. The subjects of their conversation are the following, which they speak upon briskly, even within the space of a few minutes:—First, the dinner, how it was cooked, by whom, and of what it consisted. Now one regrets she could not succeed very well in cooking fish, and puts too much salt in it; another specifies every material of which the Ban-jun consisted. Second, the ornaments, the price and quality of the gold and silver which they are made of. Third, husbands, their tempers, affections, liberality, and age, etc. Fourth, the property, the dress, ornaments, bodily and mental qualities of the neighbors, etc. In some of these I perceive that human nature is everywhere the same.

In this country the women do not regard it as useless talk, while busy in knitting or sewing, to inquire of the lady with the pink bonnet who made her dress, who cut the pattern, or to speculate upon the wealth of the man Sarah is engaged to, etc.

The Hindoo women have no sewing to do; there is simply a long piece of cloth worn round the body in a graceful manner, forming gown, sack, bonnet, and all. They now and then make fancy articles, such as small baskets covered with broadcloth, and elegantly set with shells of various description, flowers with wax, rags, or paper, hanging sleeves studded and fringed with shells and silk, etc. But these they cannot make money out of, as it would be a disgrace to a family to hold anything made by the gentle sex for sale.

Some poor high-caste woman, however, may dispose of her things privately among her nearest relations. The meeting of the young women in Bengal is often marred with sad incidents; it is quite certain that some one will go home with tears in her eyes, caused by jokes or unkind words of her comrades. Then the friends of the injured take the matter into consideration, and do not hesitate to commit vengeance with fourfold rash words and cursing. As they are not taught to read or write, the rest of their time is spent in telling or hearing legends of gods, stories of demons, tigers, etc.

Now Christian women, only think of the daily occupation of your sisters in Bengal! How would you like to be in your room all the time, to speak to only a few of your own sex, to take your meals in a solitary corner of the kitchen, to consume the golden time in telling or hearing nonsensical stories, worshipping idols made of “wood and stone,” and to die in ignorance and superstition? Would you be willing even for a day to lose the pleasure of reading your Adam Bede, Harper’s or Atlantic Monthlies, or be deprived of the privilege or power to investigate the contents of envelopes forwarded by parents, friends, and beaux? Having had the pleasure of spending a couple of years among you, the knowledge that I have of your condition, privileges, abilities, and culture, I know what answer you would make. Let us then pray to our God and their God that in his good time he would ennoble the condition of his daughters beyond Christendom, and raise noble, earnest souls as missionaries to work in His harvest!

BOOK SECOND.

INTRODUCTION.

The chief object of the following book will be to treat of the religion of the Hindoos.

By religion of the Hindoos, I do not mean the genuine Hindoo religion which was prevalent in India in remote ages,—not the Hindoo religion as it was, but as it is; not what the Bathăs taught, or the Rheeshies lived under, but what the Shastars, Poorans, and Tuntros teach, and the mass, both the Brahmuns and other castes, observe to-day, as the “life and light,” and the absolute way to reach Goluck (pleroma of Krishto, Happiness). What mighty revolutions time achieves in the religious, moral, social, intellectual, and political conditions of men! Read the ancient Scripture of the Hindoos, observe the pure, sublime doctrines they inculcate, watch the Monees and Rheeshies in their cottages of light, attend the court of Ram, Kornos, or Joodhistres, and then come down to the Shastars and the Thejos of the present day. You will be surprised to see the spacious gulf of difference between them. A manifestation of sad change will greet your eyes wherever you cast them,—either on the religion, the language, the manners, or the customs of the people. This sad change has reached the very fibre and nerve of Hindoo life, both external and internal. A noble, large-minded Brahmun, the learned principal of the Government of the Sanscrith College, says in one of his books to this effect, that by careful examination we see the Hindoos of the present day appear quite different from those of ancient times, so much so, that they seem like a different race.

Look at the sad contrasts and corruptions. The ancients believed “om ākŏ mabŏ thee te ung;” in English, “there is one God, without a second.” Now the people have hosts of gods whom they daily worship! There was no caste system, none such as we see now,—a system which forbids any close social relations between the members of separate castes. The Brahmuns often used to dine and intermarry with the Khatryas.

We read in the Hindoo religious books that the Brahmuns were often entertained by other castes, thus: Doorbāsha eats the food cooked by Throw-pothee; Krishto, in a Brahmun attire, demands hospitality from Koxmo. Ogusth dines at Hillol and Bathaw-bee’s; Sacoontola gives her hand to Doosh montha. Instances of a similar nature could be cited by hundreds, which would clearly show that the ancient Hindoos had no such religion, manners, and customs as those of the present day. The ancient Hindooism, though far inferior to Christianity, is superior to, and more rational than, the Egyptian, Grecian, or Roman paganisms. Yea, by careful examination, a candid man would see that even Judaism, just as it is, is inferior to the spirit of Aurjā.

As I compare carefully the instructions, the ceremonies, the mode of worship, the representation of the Almighty in those two ancient religions, I should suppose that modern Judaism was the corruption of primitive Hindooism, and that in falling into the hands of the nations round Judæa, who had comparatively a dark faith of their own, and on account of its being associated with Christianity, it became the object of their admiration. If the true worship is that which is free from forms, but is in spirit and in truth,—if neither this mountain nor the temple is strictly the seat of God or the place of worship,—if God does not care for sacrifices or incense, but chooses a true and contrite heart,—then the religion which prescribes such forms, no matter when, how, or under what circumstances, is not equal to one which is entirely free from any form or ceremonies. To bring this matter to the light, I would try to illustrate it with distinctness. There is a theory diametrically opposite in its substance to that which the Jews and the Hindoos receive of their respective religions. Even most Christians adhere to the theory, that in the world’s infancy, when the children of clay were not prepared to receive a revealed religion, to digest strong food, the All-wise Creator gave the Jews the law, commanded them to build Him a temple, an altar, to offer sacrifices and burn incense unto Him. But the Brahminical theory is different. It says that Hindoos, in the Sootojoog, or the age of truth, built no marble temple to God, but dedicated the pure, the contrite heart as the seat of Brohmo; used no material offering or incense, but faith, gratitude, and love, in their worship of their Creator.

But in course of time, impurity and injustice increased “with the increase of human population,” the mind of man learned to admire the things around him. His eyes were dazzled with the products of art in its various forms. The life of simplicity gave place to luxury; the pursuit of worldly pleasures so much occupied the attention of man that it seemed impossible for him to spend time in mere speculation concerning an invisible Deity. Shastars came forth to remedy these corruptions, by introducing substitutes for the lost faith. Temples of marble or of precious stone, altars covered with silver and gold, and dazzling images, filled up the length and breadth of the country.

The four great epochs, or the Zoogs, of the Hindoos, which show the peculiar features of the moral and religious condition of the people, have been treated of by several foreign writers. I would simply touch them in order to describe the changes therein. As I do not remember exactly the length of these Zoogs, how many years each contained, I would not dare to speak of them, but feel willing to bring out some leading points for our present use.

The first is called the Shorto, or the age of truth; the second is Treta, curiously called so, although it means “Third”; the third is Dwapur; and the fourth, or last, is Kolie, the age of darkness, sin, etc. In the Shorto Zoog, as we read in our ancient books, everything concerning the external or internal appearance of man indicated simplicity and peace. What we read of the simple, rural, righteous lives of Adam, Eve, and Abraham, was exactly so with the Hindoos of the first Age. Their dwelling stood upon peace, supported by pillars of brotherhood, and roofed by love. The inmates were simple in their dress, temperate in their food, childlike in their temper, pure in their affection, and strong in their faith towards God. The lion and the lamb met at the same crib in these cottages of love. No gods or goddesses were known or worshipped then except the Creator, “the Father of all.” They used to address each other by the terms debŏ, dabe, god and goddess, and to treat, regard, and recognize each other as the creations of Krishto, or by another word, the image of the same. All had the right to draw from out of the great source of spiritual comfort, the sacred Bāthos (Vedas). The loving Father, “Bisho Pitha,” the good spirit, “Porom Aut-on,” was alone worshipped, loved, held as sovereign, recognized everywhere and in every circumstance. Nothing was more earnestly and at first sought as the pearl of unspeakable worth, yea, more than that, as the true destiny, than the true manhood of piety, the path of righteousness, which leads men safely to the great terminus of our career,—the “Shorgo,” the Heaven of God. Other objects of life received but slight attention; the thought, What shall we eat, what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed? did not overwhelm them, for they believed in their own proverb, “Those who walk in the path of righteousness get their bread even in midnight;” that is, they know no disappointment, and have hope and faith forever. It must be remembered here, that this proverb of the Hindoos is a parallel to, or at least conveys the same spirit, as that of Christ’s saying, “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” They were not indolent, however; they did not wait until ready-made “manna” would fall from the sky, but attended to husbandry, developed and used their energies to help each other, and at the same time lived a pious, unspotted life.

The following anecdote gives a fair idea of the life of the people of that pure age. Krishto once sent his brother to seek out a poor Brahmun, that he might give him some alms. Accordingly he started on his sacred mission, and encountered a Brahmun in a rice-plantation. He was diligently engaged in picking up the stray grains of rice that had fallen down to the holes in the ground, by means of a stick with some glue on the end of it. Boloram, the brother of Krishto, watched his proceedings a few moments, advanced towards the Brahmun, and addressed him in the following words: “Deleō! (god!) may thy servant know the motive that leads thy hands to seek grains from the furrows in the ground, and not from the waving, golden stalks before thee!” “Child,” the sage replied, “with little labor I can gather these grains from the furrows, and so I do. These stalks, as you see, I have reserved for those warbling tenants of the air, the children of the Most High, whose short bills would not reach the stray grains in holes.” “Blessed sire,” Boloram rejoined, “it will take a long time to gather enough for your daily meal. My brother solicits the hands of a Brahmun, to put some gold into them. Should thy hands leave the things here, and thy feet tread his court, thy servants would deem it a great favor.” He looked towards heaven with deep reverence, and, turning his loving eyes towards Boloram, said: “Smile of Heaven, crown him who loves his fellow-creatures! Child, God has bountifully furnished me with all I need to earn my living. There are others who are not thus blessed. Go to them, child, and entertain them with your brother’s charity.” Krishto, having a curiosity to know more of this Brahmun,—his “piety at home,”—determined to visit him in his cottage. Late in the afternoon, filling his basket with rice, the Brahmun came home; his wife washed his feet, and then cooked the rice. The husband came out to see if there were any guest at the door, and, not finding any, went in, bade his wife to sit at meal, and thanked God for the mercy shown unto them. In the same moment, Krishto, in the disguise of an old Brahmun, appeared at the cottage door and blessed the inmates. They did not touch their food then, but left their seats, and, folding their arms, with reverence addressed their guest. “Joy sheds its charms upon us, this floor is holy at thy touch. Welcome to it! Thy servants, with all they possess, wait for thy command.” Krishto replied, “Peace be to your children!” It would please Brohmo to see us three dine together under this roof, and sing his praise.” “As it pleases our lord, be it so,” said the pious couple. They then divided the food equally among them, and partook of it with gratitude toward the Giver of all. Proceeding no further, I would stop here to speak of other Zooga.

The Zoogas that succeed Shorto present a different picture altogether. Men have in some measure departed from the state of simplicity, and have made the frolics of Krishto, with his sixteen hundred female friends, immortal by their genius. Like the Old Testament God he too chooses a favorite people, Pandubas, walks with them in their sojourn in the wilderness, brings them back to a land of their own, excites and helps them to fight with their enemies, etc. At one time he tries the faith of Korna, asking him to offer his only child of five years unto him, as did Jehovah of Abraham.

The present age is the Kolie. We who live in it know of course its leading aspect, the “house divided against itself,” the children rise against their parents; unnatural affections and disappointments come thereby; ambition, injustice, selfishness, disregard to holy things, have attained their full power. In the place of one God, the Hindoo worships millions; temples, pagodas, altars, are seen everywhere.

This is the dark age of the Hindoos. The following is an anecdote describing the transition between the Zoogas. In order to teach his favorite servant the knowledge of things, and store his mind with various experiences, Krishto accompanied him to take a survey over the world. They came to a farm where two men, apparently tired, begged them to stop for a moment and help them to adjust a matter that was troubling them very much. The one was a Brahmun, the owner of the farm, and the other a laborer hired to work upon it. As the latter was ploughing the ground, he accidentally turned out a large jar with pearls and jewels in it. Thanking God for his mercy, he ran to the Brahmun with the utmost speed, and informed him of the treasure. He came to the spot and saw the tale was true. The Brahmun told the workman to carry the wealth to his own house, for he saw it first; but he would not, fearing it would be a sin to take away the money found in another’s land. Thus both exhausted their logic in their attempts to convince each other as to his lawful right to the treasure; but to no purpose. Krishto did not mind their appeal, and proceeded on his journey. Shortly after, he returned, and saw both the Brahmun and the workman fighting and bruising each other. Each claimed the wealth. The Brahmun says it was found on his farm, therefore it belongs to him. The workman says he first found it, and it ought to be his. Krishto turned to his servant, and said, “Do you notice the change? It was just before the transition of the Zoogas that the man found the money. It was when self was little regarded; now it is another age when self becomes dominant and exercises absolute sway. The very man who refused the money then is fighting for it now. Look at the change, child.”

The purity, self-denial, innocence, that once graced their lives and homes, now seem restless, as if disgusted with their abodes, and ready to migrate to some more genial sphere. Here and there the banner of ambition floats on the palaces. Luxury succeeds; display and injustice dethrone charity. The heart ceases to be the temple of God. Its every corner is occupied by strange, unchaste, delusive propensities, found where nobler aspirations once dwelt. The altars are to be seen here and there, the offerings of beasts are dedicated unto the gods, ritualism takes the place of the worship in spirit. The great actors upon the stage are Rama and Rabōna, one a god and the other a monster. The conduct of Rabōna was such, that it filled the earth with fear. Both the Shoors and the Oshoors (gods or good men, and the monsters or cruel tyrants) trembled at his presence. The complaints against him grew universal; the gods solicited protection and the interposition of the great Rama, who alone had the power to check the tyrant Rabōna. Accordingly the incarnation of Bishto appears in the world to pour out a healing balm over its injured people. Now it was foretold that the age of Rama will be called Trita, the Third, but the condition of the world demanded his advent earlier, so the age he lived in, though second, being the immediate successor of the First, or Shoto, retained the name Trita, fulfilling the prophecy thereby. We are introduced to Dawpur now, which means the second. What the world sowed in the age previous is coming up luxuriantly in this, but the harvest is by and by. The Trita sows the seeds of confusion, injustice, impurity, ambition; the Dawpur waters them, and the Kolie gives the increase. Among others the chief actor on the stage is Krishto, another incarnation of Bishto. His mission in this is rather delicate in its nature. After the display of heroic deeds to relieve the world, which was groaning under the heavy yoke of Rabōna, he feels tired; perhaps comes to refresh himself, and spend his time in marriage, music, and romance. Handsome in person, a god in nature, active in movements, a good musician, he casts a net of charms around a host of young women, and draws them all out without breaking the net or sinking the vessel. Hindoo legends say that the prime object of his learning to play his Banay was to sing the praise of Radha, wife of Awe-an, and who is also his own wife from eternity.[8]

How much Christianity is needed to regenerate the Hindoos will be shown when I treat of their idolatrous worship, festivals, etc., in the following pages. The great mass of the people, properly speaking, have no idea of God, true humanity, and a future life. In this country, I notice the death of men does not excite so great a horror as it does among the Hindoos. A Christian mother calmly resigns herself to the decree of her God, and commits her treasures to His safe keeping; for she has hopes of meeting them again in her “Father’s mansion.” But I have seen Hindoo mothers who in their ignorance beat their breast, and curse their gods, at the death of their children! They believe that death breaks the chain of love and affection forever! My mother is in the habit (as is common with the Hindoo women) of weeping over the sad remembrance of her lost children and brother: and I used to comfort her by saying, there is a future state where they from the east, west, north, and south will meet in their common home. Indeed, Brahminism is dry, mysterious, sensual, contradictory in itself, and, with its various forms, pleases the senses, but does not meet the thirst of spirituality. It does not, or rather cannot, guide the mistaken, humble the proud, comfort the sorrowing, and teach us in all the vicissitudes of life to repose our trust in the saying, “Thy will be done.” It has sanctioned the worship of thirty-three million of gods and goddesses, most of whom you will find in this world, and in the sky. Of course the Brahmuns say they do not worship these hand-made idols; these are only the representatives of the unseen deities; but the lower castes, the large portion of the people, take them for the gods themselves. I admit the Brahminical ordinances have some hidden beauty underlying them; but the time has come when everything which aims to promote the temporal or spiritual condition of man ought to be as clear as spring, as accessible as air, and as bright as the sun. Certainly the time has come for the dim lights, here and there, to be absorbed by the great salutary Light,—for the return of the erring children to their Father’s home, that they may bend their knees before the throne of Grace.

Being born and trained in a Brahmun family, I well know the magnitude of its superstitious life. Almost every day you will hear of the institution of a new mode of worship, and the discovery of some new idol. The people, especially the young men, are tired of these things. Being educated in the missionary and government schools, under the influence of European knowledge, these young men prove strong obstacles to the bigoted Hindoos in their discovery of new idols. I know hundreds who used to drag the images from their seats, and place them somewhere in the road, fields, or some dirty places. On my way to a friend’s house, with an image of Shalgram, I looked at it to see whether a trace of divinity or life could be seen in it or not; and finding but a round, smooth, black pebble, I dropped it on the ground. The poor senseless thing fell into a bush, and I had to hunt for it nearly ten minutes. Not only enlightened young men do such things, but some priests themselves place and replace idols for their own interest. In Krishto-poor, a village nearly twelve miles northwest of Calcutta, there is a stone image of Shiba, which they say is full of life, power, and compassion. Whether it is naturally so, or carved to signify this, I cannot tell. It has a rough, thorny surface. A story says that the “mool-shun-ash” (head votary) had been sick of small-pox for several days, and in the night before the Shun-ash, the god, took the small-pox in his own body, enabling thereby the sick man to join the festival. Some one, hoping to secure the living idol in his own hand, and to trouble its former priest, stole it away in the gloom of night, and it was not seen for years. They erected another in its stead, but lately the old fellow, tired of seclusion, lone and homesick, came again to his former place.

Now I will begin to treat of the Hindoo worship, religious festivals, and ceremonies; and, to aid the reader, I will describe the circumstances which gave rise to these things. Foreign writers describe them as they see them outwardly. Each of them has some meaning, good or bad, rational or foolish. To narrate these things in order and precision, I will begin from the month Bois-ak, April, which is the first month of the Hindoo year, and will describe the holidays, festivals, worships, etc., that come in the successive months. It ought to be said here, that, owing to the changes in the almanac, the increase or decrease of the days in the month, the holidays sometimes vary their time; thus the car of Juggernauth is drawn on the 27th of June, or sometimes early in July.

CHAPTER I.
BOIS-AK, APRIL.

The New Year’s Day.—The Change of Account-Books.—Sacred Choir.—Dedication of Water-Pitcher.—Women’s Ceremony.—Way-side Hospitality.—The Idols in Water.

Although there are months many and days many, the Hindoo regards some with peculiar reverence, believing they have in their very nature some efficacy and sacredness which others have not. The acts of benevolence, charity, and devotion performed in them will be of more value than the same things done at any other time; thus a gift to a Brahmun in the day of full moon would be more efficacious, bear more fruit, than at any other time. As I have determined to state the significance of some of the Brahminical institutions, I would ask the reader to fix his eyes on the prudence and somewhat innocent cunning of the learned priests. As Brahminism regards faith as fruitless unless manifested in deeds, it joins some acts of charity to every form of worship or devotion. Now the poor people cannot possibly offer gifts or bring sacrifices to the temple often. For their convenience some especial months, days, or hours have been selected that they might do something, which is, after all, “better than nothing.”

Three months out of the twelve are regarded comparatively sacred by the Hindoos; viz. Bois-ak, Kartic, and Magh,—April, October, and January. Bois-ak and Magh are the most sacred. The former commences the Hindoo new year, and everything assumes a new aspect. The merchants, the storekeepers settle the accounts of the past year, by paying their debts and receiving their payments. The stores and offices are fancifully decorated; the scales and weights are washed and worshipped; debtors and all customers are invited to spend the evening, &c. In the evening the store is beautifully illuminated. The head-clerk or the master himself sits on the cushion with a writing-desk and account-books before him, in which he enters the names of those who pay their debts in part or full. Some, as an expression of good-will, deposit money in advance; while others, on the contrary, cannot pay their real debts, and consequently miss the cakes, sweetmeats, fruits, and music with reluctance. However, on the whole, with the inability of some, and the liberality of other customers, the book commences the year cheerfully. On the head of the first page of each book two round figures are marked with red and yellow powders. Every day the book begins by depositing a little money to some deity, and at the close of the year this little money is accurately collected and disposed for the worship.

During the sacred month, a band of singers, composed of from two to six persons, comes to the door early in the morning to sing a hymn. They get some compensation at the end of the month. Sometimes two or three parties come at a time; and one sings while the others wait. It would be an irreligious act to turn them out; whether you care for them, and wish to hear their music, or not, it would not make any difference. The fact is, the praise of the gods is to be sung at the door of each Hindoo. Sometimes a man or low-caste woman comes to the door to do what a Christian is strictly forbidden to do, that is, to take the name of the Lord in vain. One hundred and eight times the name of Krishno is repeated in different ways!

Dedication of Water-Pitcher.—On the first day of this month the Hindoos of all castes dedicate ghut, or pitchers, to the gods, deceased forefathers, &c. These ghuts are earthen, brazen, or silver, according to the circumstances of the dedicator. The common belief of the people is this, that the ancestors, long since dead, feel thirsty in the hot Bois-ak, and the water thus dedicated by sacred words (mon-tro) will be beneficial to them. The ignorant mass believe so, otherwise they would not do anything of the kind. But the prudent priest will tell you that in the honor, and to the name of, and as a token of respect to, the deceased fathers, we dedicate these and distribute them to the Brahmuns. There is no particular number of the ghuts. It varies from three to any indefinite number. They are all placed in rows, with trays full of fruits on their tops. The first is offered to the favorite god; the second, to the dead or living pastor, gooroo,[9] of the worshipper; the third, to the father, if he is dead; the fourth, to grandfather, &c. In this way, following the thread of genealogy, they go, step by step, to a great distance back, both on the paternal and maternal side.[10]

In this month, the Hindoo women perform religious ceremonies of various sorts. These differ according to the age of the females. The maids, that is the girls under seven, eight, or nine, perform those of an elementary character, which initiate them into higher grades of religious observances. For the amusement of my Christian sisters, I will narrate some ceremonies performed by my sisters in Bengal. “Jom Pooker” (Pluto’s Tank) is a vat dug in the earth, nearly three feet square and one foot deep; some water-lilies are planted in it, small alligators and sharks made of earth are put in also; the images of Pluto are placed on the four corners of the tank. Before breakfast the young girl comes, to worship the tank, with flowers. Sitting by it she pours a little water into the tank, then puts flowers on the head of the Plutos, offering prayers in poetry. Here is the translation: “I worship this tank of Pluto. As a reward, I will feed on cream-cakes on plates of gold, and wear shun-kho forever.” In the afternoon is the worship of Shā jooty. There is a large collection of drawings on the floor. This custom is good, in one respect at least, for it requires the girls to draw the pictures of houses, animals, rivers, boats, trees of all sorts, carriages, temples, gods, sun, moon, &c. every day.

The accompanying plate contains “Shā Jooty,” with the pictures as drawn by the Hindoo girl. She uses prayers in rhyme, and I will translate one which she offers to Shiba: “O, good Shiba, grant that I may not fall in the hands of a dunce.”

Now I will leave the girls and see what the married women do in the sacred month. To speak of the matter intelligently, I must proceed in order, because they observe a great many ceremonies from the morning to the afternoon. Where do those women go, with flowers in their little baskets and small pitchers in their hands? They go to bathe in the river; let us follow them and watch their proceedings. See, they take a little water in their hands and sprinkle it over their heads before they go in. The reason is, they deem it sin to touch the sacred Gunga by the foot; but as they have got to go in, they put a little water on the head as a token of reverence, and slowly say, “Mother, forgive!” There you see they turn their faces towards the north as they dive. There are reasons for this too. In the north there is the mountain, Hymalaya, from which the river rises; and, again, it is desirable to have the sun on the right. Facing north, they pay respect to both sacred objects at the same time. What do they put flowers in the water for? That is the way in which the Hindoos worship their gods. Look at the right, a little way off, and you will see the men are doing the same. When I was a little boy, I used to go to bathe with my father, and pick up the beautiful flowers, the rose and lotus, as they floated on the silvery water of the Ganges. But there are other ways of getting flowers; you need not take the trouble of picking them up; simply take one flower from the water, set it on the basket, and the basket with its contents will be yours. Or you may do this: touch the basket with your toe, or smell a flower and drop it over the others. I hated to do such things because it would only trouble the worshippers as well as show our own indecency.

The women have done their bathing and worship; they are filling their brazen and copper pitchers with water; not for their own use; you will see in a minute what they do with it. Strange! why do they walk round that large tree? And what a splendid tree is that! That is the Bannian. I dare say in your geography there is mention of this sacred tree of the Hindoo. They call it Burr, and hold it sacred, for in the time of the universal deluge, their god, Un-un (the Endless) had floated on a Burr-leaf. The fact, although merely a poetical one, has placed the tree in the rank of the gods. The Hindoos, as you have seen before, worship it, adorn the stem with flower-wreaths, paint it with all sorts of powders, and water the roots with great care. They do not cut and use the banian wood for fuel. When it grows old, decays, or dies, only one Brahmun out of hundreds would be willing to use it. The laws of the Hindoos protect it, and a fine or some other punishment is inflicted upon a person who should chop it with an axe. But a Brahmun can do it without experiencing any trouble. I think it is an admirable law which protects such a shady tree as Burr. The learned men call it a natural curiosity. Those cord-like roots, now hanging in the air, will, a few years hence, reach the ground and form new stems.

We have followed the Hindoo women back to their houses, now let us patiently witness the rest of their superstitious observances. There, you see, as they go they bow down to the gods of “wood and stone,” which crowd the sides of the streets and highways in India.

The servant brings a cow, which these mistaken women would worship, as you will see. First of all, the worshipper pours water on the feet of the cow, as she cannot wash them in any more convenient way; then she puts some oil and yellow powder on her forehead; and gives her some fresh, green grass and bananas to eat. The reason why they worship the cow is this: it is believed that “Doorga,” the great goddess, once took the form of a cow, at another, the form of a hawk, and, again, the form of a jackal, and the Hindoos worship them on that account. How much reverence is paid to the cows, and with what care they are treated, will be described by and by.

Fol go-chāno (Gift of Fruits).—This religious act is performed by giving some kind of fruit, a poetha, and a little money to a Brahmun. This ceremony has its order. In the first year the girl offers a nut, a banana in the second, a cocoa-nut in the third year. After the expiration of the term, the Brahmun who had received the first nut will be entertained at dinner and get a suit of clothes.

Bois-ak Champaka receives its name from the month in which it is observed, and the flower champaka, which is put into a Brahmun’s hand to smell. The women take a vow to feed a Brahmun luxuriously every day in this month. As they are forbidden to eat or drink anything until the Brahmun has been fed, and as it often happens that he is not to be found, they secure him by the invitation the day before. Sometimes a Brahmun gets several invitations in one day, but he accepts only the one which comes first. When he comes in, his hostess washes his feet, wipes them with her un-chol, the border of the dress, and leads him to a room where he is entertained with all the dainties of the season. Frequently a funny affair at this time takes place in the dining-room. As the custom is for a Hindoo woman to keep silence and veil her face before almost all persons, and as it is a natural desire in young men to see her face, or hear her voice, especially if she is young, the Brahmun guest plays several tricks to accomplish his end. He would not eat heartily, but merely put his hand on this and that, or cut a piece of cake with his teeth as if he had no appetite; hoping his youthful hostess would beg him to help himself. In such cases, she who is faithful to, and a sincere observer of all the rules and discipline of her sex, goes out for a moment to bring some elderly woman with her, who acts her part, though to the utter disappointment of the guest. But if she be regardless of the regulations, and wants a pretext, in that case everything goes on very nicely. He then washes his hands and face after dinner and sits down to rest a little, when she gives him some money to pocket, a few flowers, Champaka, to smell, and fans him for four or five minutes.

Matha Bantha comes in the afternoon. Each woman invites one to visit her house, whom she entertains in the following manner. In the first place she anoints her guest with perfuming oil, combs and fixes her hair, and gives a lunch of cakes and confectioneries. The guest is always from the Brahmun caste, but no widow is entertained on the occasion. There are others of the same kind, but I omit them, for, as I fear to increase the bulk of my book, I would use a limited supply of my materials.

The Way-side Hospitality.—It has been observed before that the Hindoo religion teaches some truth, and inculcates acts of charity, in various ways, which at the first appearance look mysterious and foolish. Thus the dedication and distribution of the water-pitcher, fans, umbrellas, etc., in this fiery month, has some visible good meaning. We can see the loving heart of its founder underlying them all. But I am sorry to observe that most of the charitable acts of the Hindoos do not fall like the dews of heaven, blessing the widows, the orphans, and the needy in general. A man desiring to give alms out of his limited means, would pass “the poor, the lame, the blind, and the halt,” unnoticed, and offer his gift to a Brahmun, whether he be the true object of charity or not. The wayside hospitality, as an act of love, deserves commendation. Although it is a “respecter of persons,” it assumes an aspect of universality, and sheds its light over people of all classes, colors, and creeds; even the irrational creatures, the beasts of burden, are recipients of its blessings. Cottages are built by the side of the roads, where the tired passengers refresh themselves, by means of the hospitality of private individuals.

Each cottage has a hired host who asks the passer-by to walk in and be rested. The Brahmuns very rarely go to such places, for it does not seem respectable to them to partake of a charity so public. Low-caste passengers resort to these places, and are entertained with sugar, wet peas, and cold water. Large tubs with water in them are placed outside of the cottage for the cattle and other beasts of burden.

The Hindoos bathe their idols every day in this month. The reason for doing this will be easily known. In this warm month, the Bengalees (most of them at least) bathe themselves twice a day; the young children swim in ponds; even the cattle are led to the water and are bathed. The Hindoo is taught to “serve others like himself,”—“auttio buth sabā,”—so when he feels hungry, thirsty, tired, sleepy, warm or cold, he believes the idols do the same, and he ministers to them under these circumstances as he would like to be ministered to. Hence the images have warm clothes for winter and thin for summer; they are provided with all the necessary comforts of the season. The mode of bathing the idols is the following. After offering the dinner to the gods of stone or metal, the priest puts them on a copper vessel, burying them under fragrant flowers of various kinds, and another vessel with water in it is hung right over the whole. This has some small holes at the bottom, through which water drops on the gods below and keeps them cool thereby. Toolshee, a favorite plant of Krishto, is treated in the same way, only it is not put in a copper vessel. The priest, who has the care of a great many idols in different places, walks round in the evening to take them out of the water, wipes them with towels, and offers them some luncheon to eat. In wealthy families this meal is very luxurious, capable of feeding twenty persons with all the varieties of fruits and confectionery. As this lunch is sent to the Brahmun families, the low castes cannot partake of its contents unless the receiver gives them a little. In a place where there are two or three fame-seeking rich men, the dishes compete with each other to the satisfaction of the Brahmuns, who, of course, get a great deal on this occasion. There are two ways of disposing of the contents of the dish; the one, as I have observed, in sending it to the houses of the Brahmuns in turn, and the other in inviting them to refreshments in the evening.

If the weather be insufferably warm in May, no water or luncheon will be offered unto the idols; the first and last days of April are two impassible limits, which seem to say, “Thus far shalt thou come and no farther.” Again, the poor lowest castes cannot be the direct recipients of this charity. They carry the loaded dish by the cottage whose inmates are in poverty, fasting, and helplessness, and leave it at the door of a priest. As I reflect upon the inferiority of the low caste to the Brahmuns, and think that the Hindoos hate to set anything before them which belongs to the priest, I remember the saying, “Give not that which is holy unto the dogs.” The low caste is just as polluted to a Brahmun as an unclean beast. If a Brahmun carelessly touch a dog, he will wash himself, and in case he touch a shoemaker or hog-keeper, the same precaution is to be taken!

Thus ends Bois-ak the first month of the Hindoo year, doing good to the people in general, but caring more for the favored caste, the Brahmuns. The heavenly wisdom says, “God is no respecter of persons.” He maketh His sun to rise upon the just and unjust. It tells us to invite, not the proud, rich, and high, but the poor, the lame, the blind, the halt; for such are the true objects of our love and sympathy,—through these channels our love ought to flow like a stream, to soften the parched and dry ground.

CHAPTER II.
JO-ISTO, MAY.

The Worship of Shus-ty.—Son-in-law invited.

This month has only a few leading religious observances which have no sanction in the Shasturs. The worship of Shus-ty, the watching goddess of the babies, is entirely a female affair. The men pay very little homage to her although they regard it as sacred and help the women in its arrangements. It can be easily understood why this goddess is worshipped, from the fact that the mothers and would-be mothers take much interest in the worship; the childless widows take no part in it. Shus-ty means sixth, from the day in which she is adored. It will be remembered that on the evening of the sixth day after the birth of a child this goddess is worshipped with much ceremony; and whenever her general worship comes, it does so on the sixth day of the full moon. Sometimes her image is placed in the water, at others in some conspicuous place in the house. This is quite different from other modes of worship, in regard to some of its peculiarities. A large quantity of plantain, some bamboo leaves and banian leaves are particularly needed.

At the house of some venerable matron, who is widely known for her devotion to the religious ordinances, the women from the neighborhood congregate, bringing with them their respective babies, that they may receive the benediction from the officiating matron. Each woman brings also some raw rice, a certain number of plantains, and a few stitches of cotton thread, which latter they color with yellow powder, and put on round the neck or arms of the children. The fashionable adults do not like to wear this clumsy wet thread on their arms; the mother, by persuasion or force, touches their forehead with this consecrated symbol, and wears it round her own arm for a fortnight, but often she loads her yielding child with the share of those who have refused. The thing which stands as the representation of the goddess is a churning-stick made of bamboo, or sometimes a mill-stone. In some villages there are statues of Shus-ty made of “wood and stone.” The honored matron scatters flowers, green leaves, powders, etc., on the image, bathes it with Ganges water, and offers it food to eat, which it cannot do in any visible way. At the close she recites a legendary anecdote of Shus-ty’s kindness to the children committed to her care by consecration, and her displeasure over those not duly dedicated to her. Of course, this fills the heart of Hindoo mothers with joy,—that is the thought of having had their children put under the protection of Shus-ty, whose blessing will help them to grow in stature and in life![11] On this occasion, the Hindoos invite their sons-in-law to attend the worship. It is a general custom, from the highest to the lowest castes, to entertain their sons-in-law in their houses. It is entirely a matter of social pleasure in its very nature, but, being attached to the worship of the goddess, is considered as a religious institution. If a man has five married daughters he sends letters of invitation to their husbands. In case of one being absent from home, his portion of the entertainment, composed of a handsome present of dress and confectioneries, will be forwarded to his parents. Not only to the husbands of daughters is such hospitality shown; it extends in different ways to the husbands of cousins and nieces. When every family in the town has been crowded with these welcome guests, a neighbor invites his friends’ sons-in-law. Thus every house wears a garment of festivity. The music and sports are everywhere. If it be the first visit to his father-in-law’s house after his marriage, the young man is taxed very much. He is bound by the custom of the place to entertain a pleasure party in a feast. As the women do not meet with men in social gatherings, an extra arrangement is made in the inner department of the house for their satisfaction. It is worth while to observe how in these social pleasures and amusements the Hindoo cannot attain that degree of sociability and love which the Christians have. After eighteen months’ stay in America, I can imagine the magnitude of the grand time which this people would enjoy on occasions like this of the Hindoos. In this country, the music, dancing, speeches from both sexes contribute much to the ordinary enjoyments of life, but among the Hindoos the case is quite different. In their festivities or social pleasures we see a conflict between the natural affection and artificial regulations. While one draws toward another with that brotherly love which is implanted in every breast by nature,—the caste system with its hideous features stretches forth its hand to keep them asunder. It spreads four seats, and sets four separate tables for men of four distinct professions. If a man of high caste carelessly treads upon the place where the low castes sit at the meal, he will bathe immediately.

CHAPTER III.
AUSH-ER, JUNE.

The Bath of Jogger-nauth.—The Worship of the River Gunga.

It has been observed in the beginning of this book that the structure of modern Hindooism is the work of time. The fancy, ignorance, and interest of men have decorated its different parts with golden hues which fascinate the senses, and satisfy the minds of the weak. After the laying down of the corner-stone it has received abundant supply of forms and new institutions from various quarters, and consequently grown fast and bulky within a few hundred years. Although it has grown old it retains a healthy, youthful vigor, keeps on growing, and will continue to do so until the “pure and undefiled religion” shall strike like thunderbolts on its thousand cemented headstones, and reduce its tall form to the very base which stands on simplicity, truth, and love.

The bath of Jogger-nauth is comparatively a new institution, and owes its birth to a fictitious legend. There is a great temple of Jogger-nauth in Orissa on the sea-shore above Madras. The images of Jogger-nauth, Bollo-ram his brother, and Shoo-vothra, his sister, are costly, but very awkward, made of a peculiar kind of wood called Nimbh. All other Hindoo idols are beautifully constructed in male or female human figures, quite unlike these of Jogger-nauth and his friends, which look neither like man, woman, horse, nor dog. A great many of the Hindoos make fun of Bisho-corma (Universal Artist), who is believed to have built the temple and image of Jogger-nauth. Here is the remark: “The construction of Jogger-nauth has displayed the poor taste of Bisho-corma in delicate arts.”

However, the homeliness of the image does not interfere with the reverence and love which the people have for it. I have heard the remarks of those who had visited Jogger-nauth, saying: “That when on our way, which is long, inhospitable, and uncomfortable, I said, Let not my enemy whose ill I seek after come this way; but standing before the gate of the temple, I exclaimed, Would that I had the millions of stars for my eyes, that I could see the ‘moon-like face’ of the god! O, let the mothers forsake their babies, husbands their wives, and wives their husbands, and come to feast themselves on the sacred graces of Jogger-nauth.” It is very natural that they should say so, for there are two ways which guide us in our decision in regard to beauty and accomplishment. To some the external beauty of an object takes the place of an internal accomplishment; while to others the inward accomplishment, tenderness, and purity of character stand instead of the outward beauty of the casket. When we are quite pleased with some charming object, we are apt to take for granted what is not visible in it. And again, when we see an object through the glass of love, it stands before our eyes, if not before the world, with a charm which is rarely visible to others. There is a fine anecdote illustrative of this. A handsome Bengal young man was ridiculed by his friends for his love of a homely woman, whose fine mental and moral culture was unrivalled. The young man begged them to see her through his loving eyes.

The Hindoos sincerely believe that Jogger-nauth is the great god of the universe, and is full of mercy, grace, and goodness. Hence they overlook the outward defects, and are satisfied with what there is within. An eminent Bengalee gentleman of Calcutta, in one of his books, says: “What a pity it is that a diamond of inestimable worth should sparkle on the forehead of an ugly idol of Orissa.” For the information of those who might not have a chance to see a Jogger-nauth, I would describe it just as it is, for it is invariably constructed in the same way everywhere. Its face is circular, and contains an area which would hold almost its whole body; the place where the nose grows is as level as a prairie, his eyes resemble pretty much the Indian snow-shoes in shape, and his arms are mere stumps. I have said before that Jogger-nauth has great influence over the Hindoos, even the obstinate caste system prostrates itself down in his presence. Myriads of men and women visit Orissa annually to attend to the bath and the car of Jogger-nauth ceremonies, which follow each other within a month’s interval. The Jogger-nauth, no matter what it is in substance, is a name of significant meaning, “the Lord of the Universe.” Jogguth, with various endings, is the common name of persons in India, thus: Joggo Bundhoo, Friend of the Universe; Joguth Chunder, which is my name, means the Moon of the Universe.

Within the enclosure of the temple there is no respect to castes; and that which destroys caste is freely recognized. In the “aunundho bazzar,” market of joy, which is within the enclosure of the temple, the Hindoos of every caste would eat of one dish, and what is more surprising than that, is to see them walk with rice-curries in their pocket, and putting some into each other’s mouth as they pass. But I am sorry to say, that, though brotherhood, the sense of equality, the disregard to castes, is felt and allowed within the walls which surround the temple, no sooner do the people come out of the enclosure than this levelling influence dies an instantaneous death! I have often asked of my Hindoo friends, that if it pleases Jogger-nauth to see love and equality cherished in us for one another, why cannot we do that wherever we live,—at our homes in Bengal as well as in his temple in Orissa? Wherever be our bodies, we are before his presence; the walls cannot hide us from his sight. If he is God Almighty, his eyes will easily penetrate the massive walls to watch his children without.

The bath of Jogger-nauth, as a public religious institution, was unknown to them of olden times. The following circumstance gave rise to it. Jogger-nauth, in disguise of a boy, had come to bathe in the sacred river Ganges. He chose Mahesh, a place fourteen miles above Calcutta, for his appearance. Taking some refreshment at the store of a confectioner named Kalli Shunker, he gave him a golden ornament in exchange, and in a minute disappeared from the store. As a testimony to his divine presence there, a large Nimbh tree bore blossoms of Champaka. The people were surprised beyond measure to see such a miracle wrought on the tree, but none could conceive of the agency which thus manifested its power. The priest of Jogger-nauth not finding the ornament in the person of the god, began to search the temple, bedroom of the idol, etc., for it. Careful inquiry was made in the temple; some junior officers were suspected as having stolen the “sacred property.” In the night the chief Panda, votary, saw Jogger-nauth in a dream, and heard him speak as follows: “I had been to bathe in the Gunga yesterday, where at the store of Kalli Shunker, I exchanged my ornament for my lunch; that the fact might be a memorial to the succeeding generations.” The story affirms that they found the ornament in possession of the confectioner, which circumstance, together with the Champakas on the Nimbh, proved the affair to the satisfaction of all. Hence is the origin of the institution of “Stau Jatra.” From the fact of the god’s appearance in Mahesh, although there were hundreds of places on the Ganges, it received great renown as the chosen, favorite place of Jogger-nauth. A wealthy Bengalee gentleman of Calcutta has built a temple and a car on the spot with the outlay of an immense sum of money. The bathing is performed on a high altar made of brick, in the midst of a wide field, which groans under the feet of myriads on this occasion. It is the next exciting scene to that of Orissa, but it excels the other in its licentious shows and amusements.

The next general worship is that of Gunga. Very few images are made of this goddess. They offer the sacrifices on the bank of the river. Every Hindoo family sends offerings of flowers, incense, eatable things, and clothes to her. Its water is believed to have a greater degree of purifying influences on this day than on any other, so that almost every one who can possibly avail himself of this opportunity, bathes in the river. I have seen several men wash their dogs, cats, and birds on this day. It is also believed that the venomous serpents lay their eggs to-day, and if it should rain, the amount of poison would be less dangerous! “Monsha,” the goddess of the serpents, is worshipped, as her favor is regarded as the only sure protection against poisonous creatures.

There are several noble rivers in India, and why should the Hindoos regard Gunga as sacred so much so that the intrinsic sanctity of its water can redeem men from their sins, however dark they are? A prayer offered universally by the Hindoos to this noble river, reads thus: “Ready Redeemer of all iniquities, Destroyer of all distress, Giver of happiness and salvation, O Mother Gunga, thou art our only way.” Why they hold it sacred above other rivers in Hindostan, is a question of importance which ought to be answered. As the legendary origin of the sacred river of the Hindoos is known only to them, I would venture, having the true knowledge of the same, to describe it, and thereby solve the mystery to those unacquainted with Hindoo mythologies. But earnest as I am to communicate it to my friends, I find a great difficulty in my way. It is a long channel of a story, with tributaries coming into it from various directions. I hardly know where to take it up, and where to leave it, and at the same time to convey the true, distinct knowledge of the origin of the sanctity of Gunga to a Christian reader. I shall not, however, fear the absurdity of the story, as I do not believe it myself, nor ask the reader to regard it as true. Odd as this may sound to any one, it shows him the Oriental method of treating truth, in rich, glowing allegories; the truth is hidden in their bosom. The river Gunga is another representation of the goddess Doorgă, the daughter of the Hymaloy mountain, and the wife of Shiba the Hindoo god. Look at the truth, figuratively expressed! Rivers issuing from the mountains are their sons and daughters, no doubt, as the Hindoos name them, and hence the Gunga is the daughter of Hymaloy. Let us hear the whole story. After the marriage of Shiba with Parboti (mountaineer) or Giriza (mountain-born), the daughter of Hymaloy, the god went to reside in Koylas, a romantic chain of the same mountain. The Hindoo poets call this place finer than any in heaven, which I doubt not that it is, otherwise the god would not have made it his favorite abode. The soil is golden, the trees bend under the weight of delicious fruits, while others smile with bright, fragrant flowers; the breeze is balmy, and the birds handsome, merry, and singing. On a certain day, Doorga was sitting on a golden throne with Shiba, when there appeared a crowd of male and female figures, some with hands broken, others with legs badly bruised, and the rest had their faces turned backwards; in short, all of them were disfigured, maimed, and hurt in the extreme. Shiba smiled at them, at which his wife asked him: “Lord, who are these that stand before us? Their unhappy fate enlists my sympathy; my hands and heart are ready to serve them.” Thus, the god replied: “If it would please thee, goddess! to hear from me the names and the circumstances of this injured group before thee, lend thy ears then to the sad story. These are six male and thirty-six female tunes. The children of the earth had attempted to sing them, and not being able to manage harmoniously, have left them a quarter or half-finished; even those who have finished the song, could not preserve the harmony; for a song and a tune are two different things. Therefore, thou seest one is with broken wrist, the second is without nose, the third has his limbs broken, etc.” The goddess wanted to know if there was any way of making them whole again. Shiba assured her that there was, and that in his own power too; “that these poor suffering Tunes had in vain sought redress from the renowned singers on the earth, and finding that human power could not confer upon them the adequate help, are now before me; I will make them whole.” Accordingly invitations were sent round the heavens to the gods, and a large audience of the celestial beings was held at the pleroma of Shiba. A Sage invented a musical instrument for the occasion, which was called Tăn poorā, or Tune-perfecter.

I need not say anything about the singing of the god, which satisfied the whole gathering. Now Krishto being naturally mild, delicate, and pleasure-seeking, was so much moved at the music that he perspired. The astonished gods held a counsel, and commissioned Bromha to receive the perspiration that was dropping from his feet in his pitcher “Comoondul,” and to preserve the sacred relic in his possession. So he did. With a heart overflowing with joy the Creator held his Comoondul under the feet of Krishto, for he knew that out of them issued the life and immortality for the Hindoo sinners. They called the water (perspiration of Krishto), Gunga. Here is the brief account of the birth of the Sacred River of the Hindoos, showing from what a sacred source it is derived, how and under what circumstances, etc. I will now turn to the fact which brought it into the world from the house of Bromha; which advent is looked upon by the Hindoos with as much joyous enthusiasm as that with which a Christian looks upon Christmas. For there is this point of resemblance between the mission of Christ and that of Krishto: Christ washes the sin of the world, however dark it is, with his blood; while, on the other hand, the perspiration of Krishto redeems the Hindoos from their sins, washes away the impurities that stain their lives, and brings immortality to the dead and lost. Indeed, to a Hindoo a drop of water of Gunga is itself a Life and Light, and the only way to enter into the everlasting joys in the Goluck of Krishto. Christ saw Satan fall from the sky; his advent took out the sting of Death, so we hear the stories of Jom (Death) complaining of the emptiness of his womb or cell. Frequently we read the account of the quarrel between the angels of Krishto and Jom touching the fate of a man who, spending his whole life in sin and unbelief, had thrown himself into the water of the Ganges in his last moments. The services of Ganges are more beneficent to the Hindoo than the blood of Christ to the Christian. We are taught to believe in Christ,—his holy mission,—his fullness of knowledge and sanctification; but it is quite a different case with a Hindoo. Even if he did not believe in the sanctifying influence of his religious nature, and the redeeming power of the Gunga, he goes to heaven, provided his body or ashes are thrown into its sacred water. Hence the bank of the Gunga has been a Cross to the Hindoo; it has been the best place for them in which to die that they may live again. Thousands—young and old, male and female, pious and sinful—are brought hither to breathe their last, to throw off corruption and ascend the Goluck of Krishto. To a Hindoo death in or near to his Sacred River is a Gain. The true end of his being is accomplished if he succeeds in dropping in and dying near the Ganges, or Gunga.

The following is an universally-believed account of the advent of the Sacred River of the Hindoos into the world. The Book containing it is read and expounded by the learned and eloquent priests to the listening crowds. The children read it in their school-books, and the Hindoo monks sing it from place to place. There was an illustrious family called Shoòjo Bungshoor, the Offspring of the Sun, and which has been made immortal by Balmica in his celebrated poem Ramayona, as being the tribe which Rama, the great god, chose, and of which he became a member. In this family there lived a king of the name of Saugor, renowned in and esteemed by his time. To use the Hindoo phrase, he was a terror to the tyrants and a friend to the peaceable, help to the needy and the delight of the age he lived in. It was customary with the ancient Hindoo kings to do “Ausho’ med,” a religious ceremony, to extend his power, peace, help, love, etc., all over the world. When a king has succeeded in this, has brought every country on the surface of the globe under his power and protection, the throne of Indra will be his reward. The throne of Indra had been aspired to by several kings, but none of them ever reached the prize, the reason being that he used to interfere with their plans, frustrate their precaution, and cause them to desist from the undertaking forever. The leading features of this ceremony of Ausho’ med, and the ways in which it used to be conducted, are these: A horse, bearing on his forehead the inscription, “Let him who denies the power of the master catch the horse,” was sent round the country to the dominions of kings and nobles, accompanied, however, with armed soldiers. The horse was sent about the land for the purpose of demanding submission from the world. In some places he travelled unmolested, and securing submission for his lord; and wherever the people did stop him, it was understood that they hated the yoke of dependence. The soldiers would immediately inquire distinctly the real motive of the man who stopped the horse, whether it was curiosity or a mistake or a purpose that actuated him. If it were a mistake, or fancy, they would pardon him, and recover the horse and unfurl the banner of their king on the spot. If otherwise they would resort to war. This Saugor, the celebrated king, forwarded his “sixty thousand” sons in a triumphal expedition, into all the countries known at his time.[12] They visited the uttermost parts of the world, ascended the mountains, crossed the rivers, proclaimed the power of the name of their illustrious father, and brought almost all the world into subjection. Arriving at a place near the sea, the princes congratulated each other on their success; and finding no place where to direct their steps, resolved to return home to their longing father, who, on their successful return, would perform the ceremony. Elated with joy at the success of their mission, they all sat down on the sea-shore to review their past adventures, while the majestic waves of the sea rolled before them, defying their power, and with thundering voice declared the power of Him who alone can tell them, “Thus far shall you come and no farther.” The cool, balmy breezes from the neighboring forests blew upon them; their joyous spirits felt the weariness of the flesh, and one after another the veteran princes wore the garment of sleep; while the horse, incapable of musing upon the glorious career he had gone through and the victories he had won, bent his eyes upon the green, shaggy ground before him. The place was so remote from the populous country, that while it was mid-day there reigned a death-like silence; no “hurries and bustles,” no sound of mechanics’ hammer were heard there, save that the distant sea thundered now and then. The only inhabitant of the place was a Saint Copeel, who, retiring from the active, pleasure-seeking community, had selected this romantic spot for his hermitage, to spend his life in prayer and fasting.

Now Indra, the king of the sky, who had been watching the progress of these princes with an anxious eye, left his airy throne, descended upon the earth in the form of a man, and stood on the very spot where the children of Saugor unconsciously lay. “They have,” he said to himself, “obtained victory almost over the whole world, and enlisted all the crowned heads as their subjects; there is no one under the sun to catch their horse or to obstruct their triumphal course. If they return to their father to crown him with the world’s victory, to place the vanquished sovereigns as stools under his feet, Krishto would offer him the supremacy of the sky. I too, hitherto the lord of the gods, should become his subject. It is not too late yet. Let me seek a Brahmun’s wrath to turn the course of the princes. Krishto’s will be done,” he said, and in a moment he held the rein of the triumphal horse. He led him to the cottage of Copeel, tied him by his side, and ascended the cloud for his palace, and from thence looked down at the result.

Now the tired sun seeks his home beyond the western seas, the singing tenants of the air bound towards their leafy homes, the wild beasts in yon forests return to their lairs, while others leave their dens; and the canopy of darkness is spread over the creation. It was then that the sons of Saugor rose from their grassy bed. “Early in the morning,” they say, “we guide our steps towards home—the blessed spot on the earth! The greetings of our friends, the tender arms of our parents will receive us. The Ausho med will be celebrated in the presence of the astonished world; the vanquished kings will be invited, the Brahmuns worshipped, the poor entertained, the music, dance, and feast will be observed, and the earth will wear a garment of mirth!” Early in the morning they arrange their things to start for their home. “Bring the horse,” one says, “where is he?” Some go after the horse, but do not find him. He has gone to the forest they think, and a party go in search of the beast. In vain they roamed through the woods! The horse could not be found. After a day’s toil, they come near the cottage of Copeel, and, to their utter surprise find the object of their search, tied near the altar of the Saint. The venerable saint presented a curious sight to the princes. He had a piece of “tiger’s skin” for his raiment, his hair flowing down his shoulders in graceful curls, eyes closed, hands folded. They took him for a horse-thief. Still as the rule of the ceremony would not permit them to recover the horse without the consent of the supposed thief, they called on him to answer for his conduct. But, alas! there was no sensibility in him. His heart and soul have bade farewell to the world’s pleasures, and been fixed upon the throne of Krishto. He did not know what was going on around him. The princes grew tired of waiting for the answer from Copeel, and began to speak to him in the following way: “Friend, if you are really afraid of us, and feel sorry for what you have done, say so; we shall choose mercy and not sacrifice. We have sworn before the gods to protect the horse, and, wherever he is caught, not to recover him in secret. What object have you in bringing the horse here? Is it poverty, pride, or fancy that actuated you to hold the triumphal horse of Saugor? Return our horse to us, and we will pardon you, and give you other horses if you wish for them; or if you dare to be our rival, tell us distinctly, that we may take the necessary course.” The entreaties, persuasions, reasonings, threatenings, effected nothing. It seemed as if they spoke to a senseless statue. Failing in their efforts to adjust the matter satisfactorily to both parties, and knowing it would be shameful to carry away the horse, one of them kicked the innocent Brahmun. The insulting touch of the foot to his sacred person broke the spiritual dream of Copeel; he felt this intrusion in the extreme; thought some evil spirits were trying to endanger his life; he looked upon the sons of Saugor in wrath, and they were instantly burnt to ashes.[13] The account of this disaster reached the anxious king, who came himself to the spot to soothe the injured Brahmun with prayer and worship, and thereby to beg of him the salvation of his sons.[14]

The Saint Copeel took pity upon the king, and said that the only way to redeem the souls of his sixty thousand sons was the blessing of Gunga, then in possession of Bromho. Saugor returned to his own palace, and soon after joined his sons in the upper world.

Now the gods assembled in heaven to consider what was to be done towards the sons of Saugor or his family. As there was no male child in it to help its growth, the first and the last fell before the wrath of the Brahmun. This Bongsho (Stock) is to be preserved, or Rama will not come out of it for the redemption of the world. Accordingly a Monie (saint) was sent to this family of widows to bless and console them in their sorrows. At the presence of the Monie at the door, one widow came forward to receive him, and fell down on the ground to kiss his sacred feet. “Be thou the mother of a child, daughter!” were the words of blessing that fell from the lips of the Brahmun. The embarrassed woman rose from the ground, and with tears in her eyes addressed him as follows: “Lord, thy daughter is a widow; how then should she be a mother? It has pleased Krishto to extinguish the family of Saugor, so at once the sixty thousand sons perished in the wrath of Copeel! Thou knowest all this,—the magnitude of the sad story, holy father!” “Be comforted, daughter, lament not,” the Brahmun said; “the sons of Saugor will be redeemed and his family be continued, for Rama has chosen it for his incarnation. My words that have fallen upon thee must be fulfilled. It is the will of the gods that thou shalt bring forth a son for the redemption of the family. He will find favor in the sight of Gunga, who, leaving the house of Bromho, shall come into the world first to wash away the iniquities of the sons of Saugor, and then of the world in general.” In due time the widow queen, at the visitation of the blessing of the saint, gave birth to a son, which circumstance brought universal joy to the world. The Brahmuns came to bless the babe, and called him by the name of Vogiroth. The child, owing to the peculiar circumstances of his birth, had no bones in his body; was a mere lump of flesh, could not walk or move about without making awkward gestures.[15] As he was busy one day in arranging his playthings, a Monie called him Oshto Bunko. (He was very awkward in his person, and crooked; so they called him by the name, “eight curves,” his body being in so many places broken perhaps.) The prince, although only four years old or more, had been trained by his mother to salute the Brahmuns reverently, and to pay them the due homage. Seeing the Brahmun coming before him, he left his playthings in order to salute him, but, being without bones in his body, his movements enraged the object of his worship. The Brahmun thought the boy was making fun of him, by imitating his ungraceful gestures; and thus interpreting the child’s innocent deeds, cursed him. “Proud prince, darest thou mock my awkward person, which Krishto has given me? In despising my person thou dost despise my maker. Let it be according to thy will; if pride has led thee to mock at me, be thou awkward like me; and if owing to some defect in thy own person thou didst make the irreverent gestures, be thou whole, and henceforth live a handsome child.” To the joy of the child and his relatives, the “cursing of the Brahmun begat blessing,” at that very moment he stood before the saint with a well-proportioned, stout, and handsome person!

At the age of five he was put under the tuition and guidance of a celebrated sage. Besides the mental and physical training, the sage took particular care to develop the spiritual nature of his pupil, to set his infant step in the path of truth, to inspire his simple heart with the love for the gods. His relations did not bring the knowledge of the great calamity that had befallen the family to the child’s notice. Every precaution was taken to keep from his knowledge even the word father. One day, as he was playing with the young children in the neighborhood, he heard them ask each other’s father’s name. The turn came to him, and a boy asked him what his father’s name was. A difficult question to answer, for he had never heard the name of father in his house, and never seen a man who was so related to him, except the teacher and other Brahmuns, who often came to console the widows with their kind words. “Friends,” he said, “ask the names of my mother, aunts, teacher, &c., and I will tell you; I do not know who my father is. In our house we have no such relative.” The children burst into laughter, to the mortification of Vogiroth, and began to express their surprise in their childish way. The fatherless prince left his gay comrades for his mother, who he hoped would adjust the matter, and teach him to answer the questions of the children in future. The joke of the boys had pained him so much that his blooming face seemed pale. Embarrassment threw a thick veil on his forehead, and it looked like the moon in eclipse. His hasty steps trod the chamber floor, and drew the anxious household around him. “Mother!” burst forth the insulted child, “I was very much pained by unkind words of the boys, one of which I did not fully comprehend, so I came to you to have it explained. Strange words, mother, they uttered, which I alone among them was unacquainted with. ‘Father’! what does it mean? The boys asked me the name of my father, which I could not tell; where is my father, and what is his name, mother?” The troubled queen heard the sad recital with sighs; and, as the child seemed determined to know all about the mysterious term father, she could not keep the fact in secret any longer. “Krishto’s will be done,” she said; and reviewing all the circumstances that characterized the child’s birth, unfolded the sad fate of the family to the eager ears of Vogiroth,—how the sixty thousand sons of Saugor were consumed to ashes by the Brahmun whom they had insulted, &c. Every word that fell from the lips of the queen penetrated the soul of the child, and filled his heart with deep longing about the redemption of his ancestors. “Mother, is there any power in the world that can redeem them from their cursed death?” “There is none, child! The insulted Brahmun has kindly told us that the sacred water of Gunga would wash their sins, if that could be brought into the world.” “Where is the abode of Gunga, mother, and who is she that washeth away the sins of men?” Trusting to Gunga, as the result of these inquiries, the queen informed the child of the name and attributes of the goddess. The child seemed to be satisfied with these explanations. Calmness passed upon his stormy soul, but it was for a short time only. He felt anxious to know how the blessings of Gunga could be obtained; he believed it was his duty, as the offspring of Saugor, to serve the spiritual good of his family, and thereby blot out the stain which it had brought upon itself by insulting the Brahmun. But he was too young for the undertaking; a mere child of five, strong and manly as his will appeared to be. At the usual hour of the day, his tutor, the Brahmun sage, came to the palace, and the child took his seat at his feet. He could not recite his lesson with the usual facility; he looked sober, and that was enough to apprise the tutor of the sad state of his pupil’s mind. Affectionately drawing him close to his breast, he asked him to tell him what ailed him, and was surprised at the recital. The child begged him to favor him and help him in the undertaking, as he had fully determined to obtain the mercy of Gunga, to redeem the children of Saugor, even if it would cost his life. He further desired the sage, in that simplicity and inexperience that are peculiar to his age, to inform him of the place of Gunga,—how he could arrive there, how long it would take, and how much it would cost, what kind of a person Gunga was, etc. The venerable sage attempted in vain to dissuade him from the enterprise, saying it was hardly possible for an ordinary man to have an interview with the great goddess in this world of sin; that the sages have spent their lives in prayer and fasting, away from home and kindred, amidst the wilderness and its ferocious inhabitants, without any material success; that the heavenly hosts—the gods—desire to see the goddess, but cannot. The child heard all these with much solicitude; and, instead of reflecting upon the discouraging aspect of the case set before him by his teacher, asked him one more question. It was, by what address he should call upon the Gunga,—what relation she bore to him? “She is the Mother of the universe,” the sage replied, “and whoever wants to come unto her, will find that address appropriate and sacred.” The child overflows with joy on hearing that the goddess is his mother; the dark prospect before him vanishes away, and he sees the path easy and sunny. “What,” said he, “shall I fear to go to my mother? The sweet name! It will melt the heart of the goddess, even if it were made of rock. I do not know the way; but faith will surely offer its service and be my guide; the Kanon wilderness is infested with savage beasts; my love will charm them; there are other obstacles indeed; my firmness will surmount them all.” Emboldened by such thoughts, and being determined to reach the prize, he revealed his cherished plan to the trusting heart of his mother.

After a long discussion, which, of course, took place on the occasion, she being assured by a “divine voice” of the child’s successful mission, gave her reluctant consent. A Hindoo poet describes the parting scene to the following effect. The little pilgrim stood before the weeping household to bid them farewell. The queen, conscious of the happy success that will crown her son, and unable to resist the influence of her affection toward him, could neither bid him stay nor go. It required an effort to utter either. “Great Goddess Doorga,” she prayed, “thy handmaid commits her babe—her only child—to thy protection. Let thy all-seeing eyes watch his steps, thy loving-kindness minister unto his wants. Mother Earth! whose name is Patience, do not take any offence which the infancy of my child is liable to offer unto thee! Lofty, wide-spreading trees! you whose branches form canopies over the earth and obstruct the sun’s rays, shield my little one under your shade,—when he is tired, let him rest under your branches,—when hungry, feed him with your fruits, and when in danger, inform me of it by nodding your heads that reach the sky. Wild beasts! be ye friendly to him. Do not prick his tender feet, ye thorns; and ye stones, do not hurt them by any means. Day, when you bid farewell to the world, commit my child to the hand of your successor; and Night, when you retire, put him into the hands of Day; and finally, do you both, good Day and Night, return him safe to the anxious arms of his mother.” The legend proceeds on with the young pilgrim, who bids good-by to his dear mother and other relatives, and starts on his journey into the wilderness.[16] The Hindoo poets paint the early part of this child’s life in the desert with amusing colors. Wandering a few days among the wild trees, with no word save “Mother Gunga” in his mouth, he thinks the time has already come for an interview with the goddess; he encounters a wild beast, and taking it for the messenger of Gunga, addresses it in the following way: “Did you come from my Mother Gunga, to bring me hope and consolation? Glad I am to know that my prayers and tears have reached her gracious throne, and met with success. Tell me, noble friend, what message have you for me, the little pilgrim,” etc. Year after year rolled away, leaving young Vogiroth at his altar in the wilderness. The goddess, although she was all the time walking with and watching him invisibly, did not bid his troubled heart be still. Now she sends her angels to tempt him, and try his faith and adherence to the undertaking, who now frown upon him with their hideous appearances, then urge him to go back to his home, alleging the undertaking was too difficult for him; sometimes they promise the world’s supremacy,—the pleasures of the Kirnoras,—provided he will give up his cherished plans, etc. But he heeded little their temptations, and aiming at the mark, made his way through trials and temptations with manly fortitude.

At last pity awakes in Gunga’s breast. She comes to bless the child, stands before him, puts her divine hands upon his head, seats him on her lap, and assures him of her protection forever. When the boy begged her to come into the world and redeem the children of Saugor, the goddess at first declined, but at the unceasing prayer and earnest entreaties of the child she consented to come. Now who should receive the sacred stream, as it flows down from the Pitcher of Brahma, was a difficult question, for it was feared the earth would be torn to pieces by the force of the sacred stream. Shiba, at the solicitation of the young saint, volunteered to receive Gunga on his head, when it should fall from the pitcher of the Creator; but the goddess, proud of her own strength, feared he would not be able to sustain its fury. He read the secrets of her heart, bent his head to receive the stream, and detained it for some time within his curls, thereby giving the goddess some idea of his astonishing power. It is to be observed here, that the sacred water, as it issued from the possession of Brahma, divided itself into three drops, or equal portions,—the one ascended to heaven in the name of Monda Kenū, the second descended to the region under the earth in the name of Vōgōbuthy, and the third, Wlluk-non’dā, remained on the earth,—thus at once sanctifying three different spheres. Now as, if the stream should run, it surely would wash away cities, towns, and whatever happened to be on its way, it was thought prudent to open channels in the earth, in desolate places, that it might course through them. Human power was too inadequate for the purpose. Oyrabut, the mighty elephant of Indra (King of heaven), was called upon, and by means of his teeth he dug a grand canal on the earth. The legend says, that as the compensation of his labor he demanded the hand of the goddess, and she in wrath rushed upon him, breaking his bones to pieces.

As the stream glided along, it happened to sweep away the Kasa of a Monie.[17] The Brahmun drank the whole stream, and drained the canal of its last drop. Vogiroth fell at his feet, told him the sad story of his undertaking, and begged him to return Gunga to him; because, without her water, his family would find no salvation.

The venerable Brahmun complied with the prayer of the child, but knew not how to bring the sacred stream out of his stomach, as it would be irreverent and wicked to let it issue through either of the Nobo-dār, nine openings of the body.

Considering the matter seriously, he at last tore the skin of his Janoo, knee, and the river flowed out of the opening. Hence, another name of Gunga is Jarnovy. She inquired of the child how far there was yet to go, and where the ashes of his ancestors were deposited. He could not answer at all, so she became hundred-headed, and went in different directions in search of the ashes of the children of Saugor. Thus do the Hindoos account for so many mouths of the Ganges that meet the sea.

Such is the legend of Gunga, the sacred river of the Hindoos. It is universally believed to be a true account of the goddess. The place where the river meets the sea, particularly near the Saugor Island, is regarded as a sacred spot, and is visited by the Hindoos once a year, in the month of Maugh, or January. Here the assembled myriads bathe in and worship the Gunga. It being more than an ordinary bath, and performed in such a sacred spot as the Sungh-um—the confluence of Gunga with the sea—it is deemed by very many necessary to avail themselves of the opportunity, and make the best possible use of the occasion. Before plunging the body into water, the man stands near the Brahmun priest, and confesses to God whatever sin he has committed and can possibly remember.

This is the Hindoo mode of Repentance.

We are told of a real conservative priest of Eastern Bengal, who would have his people confess audibly and distinctly the iniquities they had committed, specifying them by their name, nature, and circumstance, and thus making the matter worse, after all.

But now the confession is made and heard by the individual sinners themselves; no ears of the priest or bystanders hear anything. It is believed that the goddess, who heareth in secret, shall forgive and reward them openly.

In conclusion, it would not be out of place, I think, to speak, in this connection, of the reverence the Hindoos pay to their Sacred River. The long arms of caste cannot reach a victim if he happens to be on its water. In sailing as well as in row-boats, which crowd on the Ganges, the members of all castes sit side by side, talk to each other, smoke their hookas, and take their luncheon; but these things could not be done in a vehicle on land. A Brahmun would eat his luncheon on a boat having a low-caste man,—a shoemaker, perhaps,—only a few feet from him, because the holiness of the river takes away, in some degree, the difference that exists between the two castes.[18] They sprinkle its water upon everything almost, for purifying purposes. Those who bathe in ponds drop a few drops of Gunga water on their heads. A Hindoo who would speak lies, or bear false witness against his brother, with a hard heart, if urged to do it with a cup of Ganges water in his hand, would keep his conscience clear, for he will not dare to speak lies then!

In courts of justice the witnesses had to touch the holy water in giving their depositions; now they are simply reminded of its presence. If any one should speak truth, calling the Gunga for his witness, it is regarded sinful. It often happens that when a rich man is robbed of his gold or silver, and the police recovers it, he is required to claim it by oath, that is, by touching the water of the Ganges, but he would not. The very idea of swearing or taking oath in the presence of an adorable object is abominable to him; he would rather go away poor and suffering than retain or acquire money that way. In order that it might be regarded most solemnly, the Hindoos believe that when a man swears falsely in the name of a holy person or thing, not only he is condemned, but also “fourteen ancestors” suffer for it. There are, however, thousands who do not observe all these rules. I speak of the rules themselves.

CHAPTER IV.
SHRA-BUN, JULY.

The Roth Jatra, or the Car of Jogger-nauth.

Foreigners in general, misled by the reports of missionaries, have some incorrect ideas of the worship of Jogger-nauth by the Hindoos. They say that the Hindoos throw themselves under the wheels of his car, as a voluntary sacrifice, and are crushed to death. I do not agree with them in this assertion, although I have no sympathy with any of the forms of worship of my countrymen. The “Car of Jogger-nauth,” as foreigners call it, is worshipped and drawn for a different purpose. The ceremony connected with it has its origin in the following legendary incident, which, to me appears a historical one. Krishno, an incarnation of Bishno, was the only child of Joshoda and Nuntho of Gocool,—the modern Agra. Kong-sho, the tyrant king of Mothoora, made a great Jogeo,—a religious festival, and invited the sovereigns and people of various countries to attend it. Nuntho, the father of Krishno, being the king of Gocool, was respectfully invited to appear at the court of Kong-sho, with his son, whose chivalry was then the popular object of admiration. As a token of especial honor, Occroor, a sage widely known for his eminent piety, was commissioned by Kong-sho to bring the young prince of Gocool to the festival. He accordingly went with a Roth or car for that purpose. Krishno went with the sage, and did not return to his parents again. Now to commemorate his departure from his native land, the “Car of Jogger-nauth” has been instituted, which is worshipped and drawn as follows.

THE CAR OF JOGGURNAUTH,

WITH SKETCHES OF SOME OF THE ARTICLES WORSHIPPED BY THE HINDOO GIRLS. DRAWN BY MR. GANGOOLY.

The cars are constructed of different sizes, but the shape is always the same. They are of the form of a pyramid; square at the base, and become pointed at the top. Some are of stupendous size, being fifty feet high, more or less, and beautiful wooden statuary and paintings adorn them from top to bottom. A car has five, nine, or thirteen cupolas, the highest, or main one, is the seat of the idols. As it is drawn, the bells ring and silken flags wave on the cupolas. There are four cars in my village, and I will speak of them. The first was dedicated by a rich landholder, the second by the high-priest of the priests, the third by a dairyman, and the fourth by a rich Brahmun widow, who settled in our village a few years ago. Her car is said to be one of the handsomest, with nearly fifty statues, and a large silver chuc-cross, the throne and ornaments of the idol are of gold.

In the morning of the day in which the car is drawn thousands of people are entertained at the dinner, by the owner. In the afternoon the procession is formed before the car in the following manner. Men walk in rows with flags in their hands; the bands with hundreds of drums, flutes, cymbals, etc.,—the Krith-on, or a band of singers who sing the praises of Krishno alone. The car in motion, drawn by hundreds, makes a tremendous noise, and grinds everything to powder that comes under its solid wheels. It is everywhere believed in Christian countries that the Hindoo devotees throw themselves under the Car of Jogger-nauth in order to be crushed to death. But that is not a true statement of the case. Self-torture is practised, sacrifices are offered, and in many cases even suicide is committed, to satisfy some Hindoo deities, but nothing of this nature is allowable before Jogger-nauth. He does not take delight in cruel, bloody shows. His love for his creatures is so great that no animal food is offered to him. His worshippers, a peculiar sect of the Hindoos, called Boish-tule, do not kill or eat fish, nor look on pictures representing scenes of battle, murder, or assassination. The loss of lives under the Car of Jogger-nauth is owing to the carelessness of the people. It is believed by them that he who pulls the ropes attached to the car will be carried away after his death, to the heaven of Krishno by his Pooshpo Roth,—flowery car. Elated by the false promise of heaven, an immense crowd comes forward to give at least three pulls of the sacred car, and some among them accidentally falling down are trodden by the feet of men or crushed by the wheels of the car. I have seen four stout men go to heaven that way, being ground to pieces by the car of the rich widow mentioned above. Of course, while a Hindoo, I believed like the others, but do not remember of ever drawing the car at all. Being a Brahmun, and widely known as a sincere lover of the idols, I used to sit on the top of the car, fan the idols, receive the shower of flower-garlands from the crowd and throw them again at the men, women, and children below as a benediction. Such was my devotion and affection to the images, that while almost everybody deserted the car on account of a heavy shower, I alone sat by and took care of the idols, believing they would reward me abundantly hereafter! No worship of the Hindoos is free from some act of immorality or vice. The Brahmuns, especially the young ones, from the high seats on the car, find out, with keen eyes, and lustful hearts, some handsome females in the crowded street, or in the house-top, and hit them severely with the bananas.

There is no Scriptural reference to the place where the car shall stop. It is sometimes carried to the distance of a mile and is left there for seven days, during which time the idols are worshipped in some temple or house built or hired for the purpose. On the eighth day the car is drawn back to its former place, where it remains motionless until the next year. They make large eyes for the car with paint, that it may look at all and be careful not to crush any cruelly. After the death of four men under the car in my village it was found that the painter had not drawn the eyes on the top of the car!!!

CHAPTER V.
VAUTHRO, AUGUST.

The Birthday of Krishno.—Fasting and Worship on the Occasion.—Rejoicing of Nuntho; the Worship of Monsha,—a Goddess whose Messengers are Serpents, Adders, Toads, etc.

The Hindoo mythology relates the birth of Krishno as having taken place in this month, on the “eighth day after the full moon.” He was born to redeem the world, which was then trembling under the feet of a tyrant. His parents were in a humble prison at the time of his advent. In the presence of the heavenly babe the fetters that bound the prisoners were broken asunder, the cell began to dazzle, joy and sorrow overwhelmed the unhappy parents. “A heavenly voice” whispered to the father to fly with the child to Gocool, across the river Jomuna, which was immediately done. The tyrant who sought to destroy the child felt mortified, seeing his precaution frustrated, and sent some messengers to kill all the infants in the neighboring places.

The Hindoos hold this day sacred, and spend it in fasting and worship. They abstain entirely from food and drink for more than thirty hours, at the end of which Krishno’s image is worshipped, and the story of his birth is read to the hungry worshippers. In connection with the birth of Krishno comes Nunth-sobe,—the rejoicing of Nuntho, the king, in whose palace the infant Krishno was left in the shade of night.

On this occasion the Hindoos anoint themselves with all sorts of perfumatory oil, attar of rose, etc., and spend three days in grand festivities, music, and dancing.

On the thirtieth of this month is the worship of Mōnshā, which, on account of a singular feast that accompanies it, is quite different from others of the same sort. The name of this feast is Ur-run-thun. Cooking is strictly forbidden on this day; no fire is to be put in the oven. They cook all their food the evening before, with much care and ceremony, such as offering prayers to the goddess, sounding the sacred shell, etc.

In the morning of the thirtieth, the cactus trees are worshipped, which grow high in India. The stem is washed, and anointed; flower wreaths are hung on the branches, the sacrifice of a he-goat offered, etc. As the messengers of the goddess are serpents, and cannot be conveniently handled, their pictures are worshipped with due respect and awe.

CHAPTER VI.
AUSHEEN, SEPTEMBER.

The Doorga pooja.

This is the grand worship of the Hindoos. Men of humble circumstances cannot bring the image of Doorga into their houses, because it requires a large amount of money to make the necessary preparations. The image itself is always the largest and most expensive; to speak nothing of other things which, though economically arranged, demand a large sum. Fifteen days or more before the worship, the whole country is in excitement. Men who, under various circumstances in life, spend their days as exiles in distant places, come home on this occasion to greet their dearest relations once more. The distribution of presents to, and reception of them from, the friends and neighbors is universally observed. Even the very poor, low-caste man, who can barely clothe his children in winter, and must go barefooted all the time, would buy new dresses, shoes, etc., for his little ones, in the Doorga pooja holidays. The rich, charitable Hindoos give Barshick—an annual gift of money and new clothes—to the Brahmuns, as well as to the domestics and poor people, that they may not appear naked and grieved before Doorga, their common mother. The amount of the sale of all sorts of articles is proverbial,—“The very dust of the Doorga pooja market is dear;” “There was such a crowd at the store that you could crack twenty heads by one stroke,”—such are the phrases they use to describe the market in September. The mechanics, the artists, the jewellers, the farmers, bring the results of their respective labor and skill to contribute to this occasion. But notwithstanding the joyous festivities, the presents and profusion, I am sorry to say the thing has a hideous feature. Those who spend their means in wicked and riotous living desire more than usual, on these days, to satisfy their own sensual appetites, and those of their wicked companions; and, failing to do it, resort to unfair means, and act as thieves, pirates, and murderers. The penitentiaries are crowded with these unfortunate people, who, hoping to spend the holidays merrily, live wretchedly under the strict regulation of the prison and the weight of their fetters! A sad contrast indeed! Before I describe the image, the preparation, and the worship, I will consider who the Doorga is, whom my country regards as the great goddess.

Doorga was the only child of Hymaloy and Manoka, who ruled the mountainous region of India in times of yore. There is a great deal of mysterious conjecture in regard to the name and nature of Hymaloy, the father of the great goddess; and I would bring them to the notice of my Christian readers. A story universally believed by the Hindoos, says: In ancient times the mountains were living, movable bodies, endowed with the use of senses, and could fly in the sky by means of wings, and this Hymaloy was their king. In course of time, these mountains grew very troublesome to their fellow-creatures, the men; and, jealous of each other’s power, they began to make inroads upon the cities situated on the side, vale, or top of their antagonists. They did not use any arms in their warfare; but, to accomplish their end, used to fly in the air, and aiming at a certain doomed place, fell upon it, and buried thereby houses, trees, men, women, and all! To put a stop to these outrages, Por-oosh Ramah,[19] a deified king, cut off the wings of all the turbulent mountains, which thenceforth lay as immovable masses of earth. As I write this, fancy carries me to the top of the Rollstone in Fitchburg, Mass., where I saw a heavy boulder, which they say is an entirely different species of rock from the Rollstone. I think (in fun though) that the statement of the Hindoo legend is true; this boulder, if not the son or grandson of the old hill, was perhaps the child of its neighbor, came there to make a call, and, amid the general slaughter by the god, who spared neither age nor sex, lost its wings, and consequently has lain on the bosom of the Rollstone ever since! The legend deserves another remark. It was a noble, heroic act in Por-oosh Ramah to cut off the wings of the injurious mountains which were then filling the world with horror and devastation. But it is a hard thing to stop the course of nature. The naturally cruel mountains, having lost their wings and unable to fly about and tyrannize over others, now and then open their monstrous jaws, and send forth fire, ashes, and melted lava to the neighboring places, and destroy everything therein. Thus the beautiful cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum were destroyed by the cruel Vesuvius.

Now to the point: I think the father of Doorga received his name from the mountain Hymaloy, or the mountain from him. It was, and now is, the fashion to name places, mountains, and rivers, after some distinguished persons, or the persons after the places. Thus, we have Alexandria from Alexander, Rome from Romulus, St. Louis, St. Lawrence, Mount Washington, and Scipio Africanus, etc.

Let the Hindoos believe whatever they will about the parents of Doorga, she herself was, beyond question, the delight of her subjects, and the pride of the age she lived in. Her popularity among the people, her wide renown of noble, generous character, as painted with the dazzling hues of Oriental imagination, had made such an impression on the minds of the people, that, in succeeding ages, the ignorant but grateful posterity deified and made her the “Great Mother” of the universe. Her worship rose from the following fact.

It is the custom of the Hindoo females to visit their parents once a year, at least. Doorga was married to Shiba, the Destroyer. At the invitation of her parents she forsook the pleasures of Hoylas,[20] and came to cheer up their lonely hearts by a kind visit in this month. She came only for three days, for her husband could not come with her, nor live in her absence. To commemorate that event, the Hindoos construct her image, and with great rejoicing worship it for three days.

Here I will describe the image, with all its peculiarities. I use the technical term of the Hindoos when I say “the image,” or “Prothima,” for it contains nine different idols, although they call it one.

I am sure the description of the goddess will be amusingly absurd to the Christian reader; but I will represent it just as it is, and finally show that, far from being the real representation of some deity, it is merely an ideal thing,—the contrivance of Fancy.

The goddess is like a young female of sixteen, with ten hands, three eyes, deep yellow complexion, and stands in a posture placing her right foot on the back of a lion and the left on the shoulder of a monster. The monster, “Mohisha Soor,” comes out of the neck of a buffalo, in whose body the lower half of his person is deposited. He has a sword in his hand with which he meant to strike the goddess. On her right are Shoreshotee and Gonesh,—the one the goddess of poetry and music, and the other the god of success. On her left are Kartic and Lock-hee, the god of the babes and the goddess of riches. These four are the children of Doorga. Besides these she holds a serpent by one of her left hands, which bites the monster,—the enemy of its mistress. Looking at the image carefully I perceive it is nothing more than the embodiment of all the necessary comforts, pleasures, hopes of life. We want relief from the overwhelming sins which beset us in every direction; the monster is the representation of them, whom the goddess is cutting asunder. We want wealth, learning, success, children, and behold there are the symbolical representations of all these in the names of the sons and daughters of Doorga. Thus the ancient Brahmuns have painted whatever they have touched with philosophic colors, and arrayed before the people hosts of deities, which are essentially the painted, clothed, personified attributes of One God. The system was well adapted to the capacity of that distant age,—the age of figures, allegories, and sentiment; but the present age demands a clear, simple, and intelligible faith.

The worship commences on Shop-tomee,—the seventh day of the full-moon,—and occupies three successive days. Early in the morning of the first day is the bathing of “nine leaves,” of which the banana is the chief. This is done with much ceremony, in the presence of thousands; the bells ringing and trumpets sounding by hundreds. They place the “nobo-pothrica,” nine leaves, by the side of the image, dressing it like a female.

As the Hindoo mode of worship is almost always the same, and quite different from that of the Christian, I will here detail it in full, instead of describing it partially here and there. The image is placed in the middle of the hall, facing the main entry into the house. Two Brahmuns officiate at the same time; the one conducts the practical and the other the theoretical part of the ceremony; in other words the former does what the latter tells him to do. Thus the first, the head priest, sits before the image with a pile of flowers and perfumatory powders on his right, and a bell on the left; while the second takes his seat only a few steps from the first, with his sacred Scripture laying open before him, which he reads to direct his colleague how to proceed. The priest, first of all, is required to purify himself, the place he sits on, and the water he uses in the worship, by some ceremony. The doctrine of self-purification is good in its nature, and a Christian one too. Christ inculcated such on his disciples. But what a sad contrast stands between a Brahmun’s and a Christian’s mode of self-purification before worship! A Christian is taught to search the innermost parts of his heart, and bring out, if there be there, any impure, selfish, or passionate inclinations; and, leaving the sacrifice before the altar, go and make peace with his brother, or in some other way expel evil thoughts, and then pray. A beautiful process of self-purification indeed! But the Brahmun repeats some Sanscrith words, puts a flower on his own head, and turns his hands round his head, for the same purpose. This symbolism takes a prominent part in the Brahminic dispensation.

Lest the sprinkling of water and the shower of wet flowers might soil the dress of the idol, or wash away the painting, a copper tub is placed between the priest and the image, into which he casts flowers, pours water, etc. Some prayers are offered to the children, the friends, the servants, the messengers, even to the ornaments and household furniture of the goddess.

The offering of Noi-bitho comes in course. Hundreds of wooden or brazen trays are loaded with wet, raw rice,[21] fruits of nearly sixteen kinds, and other sweet things. These eatable things are set on the right hand side of the image, with the belief that it will cast its glance at them. The priests entreat the idols to accept the offering they bring, and drink the honey, milk, and water, etc., which they place before it. After these have been accepted by the goddess (as they believe), they are distributed to the Brahmun families.

Then comes the sacrifice. The Hindoos cherish the same notion of this offering as the ancient Hebrews did. In the Old Testament we read of the peace-offering, and the burnt-offering, and of the children of Adam bringing lambs, vegetables, etc., to the altar of the Almighty. The difference is, then, in the choice of the beast for the offering. The Hebrews used to kill oxen, which the Hindoos do not. The latter slaughter goats, sheep, and buffaloes, of the male sex, in presence of their idols; and, at the end, cut sugar-cane, pumpkin, etc., into pieces.

The place where the beasts are slaughtered is the middle of the yard, where a wooden block, with a jog on its top, is stuck in the ground. The blacksmith is the only caste to kill the victim for the others, although some Brahmuns do that part, to the displeasure of others.

The executioner, his scimitar, the block, the victims, animal or vegetable, are all washed and purified with sacred water. Nobody is allowed to lean against or touch a pillar, wall, or anything else. All stand straight, separate, and silent. One holds the hind-legs of the he-goat by his left hand and its fore-legs by his right, places its neck on the block, and then the blacksmith lifts up his fatal weapon, and the people shout aloud, “Victory to thee, O Mother!” The moment the last word, “Mother,” has been uttered, the head of the victim falls bleeding on the ground, the bells ring, trumpets sound, the people jump in joy, and clap their hands. There is no precise number of the animals for the offering; it may be more or less, according to the circumstance and the inclination of the worshipper.[22] If the man fails to kill the beast by one blow, it is regarded a mischievous omen. Hence, at the successful blow, the master of the house takes the executioner by the arm, puts flower garlands round his neck, and presents him with some money, clothes, etc.