Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water

The trains are heavy and enormously long, on account of the immense numbers of natives travelling, their rates being as low as one-third the first-class fares. The native servants are locked into a compartment next to the first class, where their masters are. There are outside venetian shutters to all the carriages, and every other window of the long carriage has blue or coloured glass—very charming, doubtless, for the glare of summer, but a great nuisance now, with short days and an early twilight. The refreshment-rooms on all the lines are exceptionally good; we have often dined there in preference to the hotel; but as for the luxuries of Indian travelling you often hear about, we did not find them. True, the Anglo-Indian invariably travels with an army of servants, a well-stored hamper, and thinks sixty pounds of ice in the carriage indispensable, but he is an exceptional mortal. A triangle, or fork of steel, thrice struck, and which gives forth a clear, melodious tone, is the signal at the stations for the "all aboard." Such is a description which fairly answers to all our succession of long railway journeys in India.

At 1 p.m. we crossed the bridge over the Kurumnasa, a river abhorred by the Indians, hence its name, signifying "virtue destroyer," and which forms the boundary-line between Bengal and the North-West Provinces. A branch line brought us to Rajghat, the station for Benares, as the city lies away on the further bank of the Ganges.

We crossed the Ganges on a bridge of boats, and from here obtained that magnificent coup-d'œil of the river frontage, with its palaces, its mosques and temples, its terraces and flights of steps, that is so striking. Rising above all the confused mass of buildings are the two beautiful minarets of the Mosque of Aurungzebe, slightly turned eastwards to catch the first gleams of the rising sun over the sacred waters.

It is four miles to Sekrole, the European quarter, and to reach it we drove through the narrow, crowded lanes of the native town, clustering most thickly near the river. Mud has been a mighty factor in the making of Benares. It is of mud that the walls of the huts are built; mud that forms the fence around fields and compounds; mud that protects the newly planted trees; and, lastly, it is mud in which the little brown babies in the streets are dabbling to their heart's content.

There are hedges and bushes—rather trees I should call them—of cacti growing in all directions. Here we saw weaving being carried on by the roadside, in a very primitive fashion. A double row of stakes were placed at long intervals, and women, walking up and down, were winding the thread in and out. It produced a very pretty effect when the thread was of bright red, and the simple loom some yards in extent. Then we saw for the first time that comical little native carriage called the ekka. The trappings of the pony are gaudy, and the bamboo shafts are attached by coloured cords to the high-peaked Spanish collar. The carriage itself is like a diminutive gig with a bamboo head, producing exactly the effect of a "curricle" standing on end.

On arriving at Clark's Hotel we found we were just in time for evening service, for which the bell was tolling from the church in the compound opposite.

Monday, January 19th.—By seven o'clock we found ourselves driving down to the banks of the Ganges, to see one of the most animated and picturesque sights of India.

The bathing-ghât is a bright-coloured hive, swarming with a religious people performing the ceremony of bathing in the sacred waters. A "budgerow," or ancient barge, glides slowly with us up and down along this splendid river frontage. For one mile these palaces and temples line the bank, facing every way, joining each other at right angles, with ancient stairways and broken walls hidden under the foliage of some sacred peepul or feathery tamarind.

These palaces take pink or green or yellow tints—those tender shades, those pale varieties, seen only in eastern climes, under the true azure clearness of an eastern sky. The dark weather stains and the crumbling cornices are all in harmony. The basement of these palaces presents a plain surface of wall, and the living rooms are in the two upper stories, whence spring the arches and the pillars, the fretwork of the balconies, the carvings,—all those varieties and medleys of architecture which render these palaces so quaintly curious. For the most part they belong to the native princes, the maharajahs and rajahs, who, beside their provincial palaces, each have one at Benares, where they come yearly to perform a cleansing pilgrimage. The women of the zenana and the members of the household are brought here also to die.

On the broad steps of the ghât, and on the hundreds of platforms running out into the river, the entire population of Benares are gathered to bathe at this early hour of the morning. A gorgeous coup-d'œil the banks present. The steps are bright with the thousands of brass pots which each worshipper brings down with him. Rainbow patches are seen at frequent intervals, where the pink and yellow, green and orange saris, spread out to dry on the beach, form long streaks of colour. And these are repeated above in the same gay streamers depending from the windows and balconies of the palaces, and that are floating lazily in the breeze. A brilliant spectacle it is, which, when examined in detail, presents at every turn some strange picture, some new feature of the Hindu religion.

On the steps are squatted men, with eyes tightly shut, saying their prayers towards the rising sun, laying their fingers to their noses, touching the water with their foreheads three times. An old Shastri up there is chanting the sacred words in droning tones, another is seated under the shade of one of the bamboo umbrellas that dot the banks, selling garlands for offerings to the gods, or ready with his clay to remake the caste mark after bathing. Many, with upturned chins, are having a cold shave; some washing their heads with mud, which lathers up, and does not make such a bad substitute for soap after all. They are using the toothbrush, or substituting a finger for the same. There are Brahmins, generally bathing in batches together, and known by the white thread around their necks: here are some women preparing their little offerings of leaves and flowers to throw into the river, the whole surface of which is strewn with the orange marigolds thus sacrificed. There are three women coming down the steps, a brilliant study of orange, amber, and russet: here a whole family-party bathing together. From one of the palaces above proceeds forth weird, deep-toned, and monotonous music, sounding forth over the heads of this vast multitude, reaching even to the few coolies who are bathing from the mud banks on the further shore.

Under the gilt dome and square red pagoda of the Nepaulese temple, that lies under the shadow of the King of Nepaul's palace, there are a file of pilgrims but just arrived from their distant border country. In the midst, and not in the least apart from the careless, chattering throng, is the Manikarnika Ghât, the most sacred of all the burning-ghâts of the Ganges. The charred remains of one body are on the smouldering pile, and another, the body of a woman, wrapped in a bright violet sari, lies floating feet foremost in the water. The head is uncovered, for the priests are shaving the hair, and placing the clay in the mouth.

A fleet of budgerows like our own are drifting along the bank, and here and there we see moored a "mohrpunkee," or peacock barge. The head of the peacock forms the handsome prow, while the tail is represented along either side, a very favourite and sacred boat with the Hindus. Here the steps are sinking slantways into the water, and we are shown the Leaning Temple, which is quite out of the perpendicular, gradually subsiding into the river, but only like several others around it. A huge yellow monster sits propped against the wall, the thankoffering of a paralytic cured by bathing in the Ganges. Numberless Hindu temples, known always by the tower of crenelated smaller towers tapering to the largest and crowning one, are seen behind and in between the palaces. They are found in every part and corner of the sacred city. Above all is always seen the landmark formed by the slender minars of the Great Mosque.

We went up into one of the palaces, and you are surprised at the beautiful carving of the pillars leading into the inner courts, the carved doors and lattice-work, the rambling dimensions, and the rabbit-warren propensities of the building.

We then climbed up a mountain by steps to reach the Man Mandil Observatory. Here we saw a most wonderful collection of rude astronomical instruments, constructed 150 years ago. On the flat roof of the building there are several charts of the heavens drawn roughly into the stone, and still traceable. There are some instruments of gigantic size, which include two enormous arcs, reached by a stone staircase in the centre, belonging to the "gnomon," an instrument for ascertaining the declination and distance of any star or planet from the meridian. Then there is the mural quadrant, for taking the sun's altitude, which has walls eleven feet high and nine broad, built in the plane of the meridian. The observatory brought us out by some narrow back streets to the carriage, and we were glad to think of returning home for breakfast.

Before visiting any of these "shrines of the Hindu faith," I will just give the outline of the Hindu religion. Like all mythology, it is infinitely complex, but two great divisions are distinguished, in the followers of Siva and the followers of Vishnu. Under various names, and in varied forms, these are the two gods most worshipped.

Siva is at once the Destroyer and the Reproducer, the emblem of life and death—the god of sound philosophical doctrine. In a more terrible aspect he is worshipped as the Roarer, the Dread One. He is represented with a human head with five faces, and a body with four arms, with a club and necklace of skulls. His wife is Devi, the goddess, worshipped as the gentle "Una," or "Light," or in the terrible form of Kali, or Durga, "a black fury, dripping with blood, hung with skulls." The Brahmins, true to the higher instincts of their caste, worship Siva as the destroyer and reproducer of life, hanging garlands about the god, and leaving the lower castes to pour out the blood of their victims before the terrible Kali.

Vishnu, or the Unconquerable Preserver, has ten or twenty-two incarnations, or avatars, on earth, which give rise to an almost equal number of pretty legends. He is an easy-going god, very human, and the popular deity. He is worshipped under the various names of Krishna, Ráma, Jaganath or the "Lord of the World," and Ganesh, when he is represented with an elephant's head.

Buddhism claims many of the nation as its followers, and its birthplace was at Benares. Gautama Buddha, "the Enlightened," was born near Benares in 543 B.C. He preached to the low caste, and taught "that the state of a man in this life, in all previous and in all future lives, is the result solely of his own acts." He advocated no sacrifices, but great duties, combined with perfect self-control. No wonder that, with a religion approaching so nearly to the true one, he still numbers in Asia 500 millions of followers. Buddhism has more adherents than any other religion in the world.

Very closely connected with the subject of religion is that of caste, which forms the basis of all society and religion in India.

There may be said to be four great divisions of caste. The Brahmins or priests; the Kshattriyas or Rajputs, who are warriors; the Vaisyas or husbandmen; and the Sudras or serfs. The Brahmin in ancient days was the priest, the poet, the philosopher, physician, astronomer, and musician of the people. For twenty-two centuries he was the writer and thinker for the whole nation; he formed its grammar and literature. Even now he is distinguished by his slim figure, fair skin, and long thin hands unaccustomed to work, from the flat nose and thick lips of the low caste.

The Brahmin used to say, that at the beginning of the world "the Brahmin proceeded from the mouth of the Creator, the Kshattriya from his arms, the Vaisya from his thighs or belly, and the Sudra from his feet." The legend is so far true, that the Brahmins were the brain-power of the Indian people, the Kshattriyas its armed hands, the Vaisyas the food-growers, and the Sudras, the down-trodden serfs.

The castes may not intermarry. None of the higher caste may eat of the food cooked by a man of lower caste. The greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon a Hindu is to be turned out of his caste. All Hindus are vegetarians. They nearly all wear the disfiguring caste marks, white stripes across the forehead and breast, or a white and red spot in the centre of the forehead.

In its social aspect, caste divides the Hindus into guilds, each trade belonging to a different caste and forming a guild for the mutual support of its members. These guilds act also as a kind of trades' union, and its members have been known to strike, if necessary. All domestic servants such as syces, kitmutgars, and bheesties belong to a low caste. Caste is a very complex question, depending as it does upon three divisions, viz. "upon race, occupation, and geographical position." Besides the four great castes above mentioned, there are more than 3000 other minor caste divisions.5

The Mahommedans form an important unit in the population of India. Of the 200 millions of people under British rule they number forty-five millions. The Mussulman may be distinguished from the Hindu by two features in his dress. His coat is fastened on the left side, in contradistinction to the right side of the Hindu. His turban is formed of yards of stuff loosely wound round his head, while that of the Hindu is generally tightly wreathed or plaited.

The city of Benares is a "holy of the holies" to the Hindu. Half a million gods are said to be worshipped in the shrines and niches lying in and round about the city for some miles. One thousand temples are within her walls. The streets are full of the aged and dying, brought here to expire, for they think Benares is "the gate of heaven." Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims come annually to bathe in the waters. Those afflicted with that terrible deformity of elephantiasis take refuge here, and lepers lie about in the streets exciting the compassion and alms of pilgrims. Leprosy is seen in both its forms; that one, the most painful and agonizing, too revolting for description, and the other, when the skin literally becomes "white as snow," presenting a very awful appearance when seen in partial effect on the dark skin of the natives.

After tiffin we resumed our sight-seeing, beginning again with that long dusty drive to the city, of which we were wearying already. Threading our way through a lane of the native quarter, pursued by the hungry crowd of beggars and guides, all greedy for endless backsheesh, we entered a small square. Here, under a red temple in the centre, was a well, into which women were casting flowers. It was the child-bearing well, where childless women come with floral offerings to propitiate the goddess. Just in front stood a huge stone bull, the sacred bull of the Hindu worship. In every part of the city you see tame bulls, roaming about at will, who are yet never killed by the Hindu. They live in the temples and mosques, and share with the flocks of goats kept for sacrificial purposes the refuse of the city.

The filth, the dirt, the smells of these temples are indescribable. After passing through one which had a curious cupola and a minaret at each corner, with fine open-work carving, we mounted some steps and stood opposite the Golden Temple. The spire of the central dome, and the four smaller domes flanking each corner, are covered with pure plates of gold. This is in accordance with the bequest of one Ranjeet Singh. The temple is dedicated to Siva, the presiding deity of Benares, and in each division we find a "mahadeo" or monolith, a plain conical stone set upright. The mahadeo is the symbol of the "linga," or creative principle, and is found in every temple or shrine, in every niche set up by the roadside, throughout India. It becomes a familiar object of the Hindu worship.

After this we had a long drive to the Durga Kund, the celebrated Monkey Temple.

The antiquity of everything in India strikes us very much. The women in their muslin draperies drawing water at the wells bring to mind some Biblical picture. Their earthenware jars and pitchers resemble the old Egyptian vessels, while the rude ox-carts, with their clumsy wooden wheels, are like the Roman chariots.

As we drive along we are delighted with quaint carvings over gateways, wayside temples, and rude drawings on the wall, representing hydra-headed monsters, or blue and scarlet elephants, meeting with their trunks in deadly combat.

We are first aware of being in the neighbourhood of the temple, by the monkeys who are perching on the housetops and swinging in the trees. Fed regularly by the attendants, numbers swarm in and about the temple, fat, portly fellows of a rich orange colour, all "living deities" to the Hindu.

The Durga Kund is built in a graceful pyramidal form, quaintly carved with all the animals of the Hindu mythology. It is painted a dark red colour, and the porch at the entrance is brought into relief by silver lines. Here hangs a large bronze bell, the gift, it is said, of a European magistrate. The silver goddess is seated inside a shrine, and before the Revengeful Durga stands a bowl of blood, mingling with some floral offerings, The fat Brahmins in charge collected a crowd of monkeys in the court by scattering some grain. From all parts they sprang up, mothers with their babes clinging round their bodies, and patriarchal monkeys gibbering and swinging down from the airy pinnacles of the temple. Outside we noticed the wooden block and hatchet, smeared with blood, where the kids are killed for sacrifice; and the monkey-tree, a hollow tree where all the baby monkeys are born.

There was no time to visit any more of the 1000 temples of Benares, many of which are dedicated to strange uses; such as that of the Goddess of Hunger, where a large number of beggars are daily fed; that of Dandpan, the policeman of Benares, whose priest chastises the offender against law and order with a birch of peacock's feathers; or the Manikarnika, a well of putrid water, held very sacred, and supposed to have been filled in the first instance by the perspiration of Vishnu; nor the Well of Jali, where the future is seen reflected in the water at noon, the only hour when the sun's rays reach its surface.

Then we visited a bazaar or chowk. It is a picturesque little world, very busy about its own business, and confined in a thoroughfare only a few feet wide. Above, the gables of the houses nearly meet, and the overhanging balconies with wooden carvings obscure the light. Cross-legged on the step over the street sat hundreds of active workers, with their varied merchandise spread out before them, open to the street. Of course we were in search of the Benares brass-work, and with great interest we watched the simple method by which the elaborate patterns are traced. An ordinary nail run deftly up and down, and gently hammered on the brass vase or bowl, forms the fretted ground, while the pattern is picked out carefully afterwards. Quite young boys were employed on this and on the kincob work, the gold and filagree embroidery on cloth for which Benares is also famous. "Up two pair back," and in dark workshops, we found and chose what we wanted.

Whilst the inevitable waiting for the packing up ensued, we were summoned to the balcony by the sound of the tom-tom, and the shrill and plaintive note of the bagpipe flute. Down the narrow mediæval street, carrying us back to the twelfth century, came a gay procession, preceded by a merry crowd, pushing a way for itself. It was a wedding-party returning after the ceremony. The boy bridegroom mounted on a white horse was being led in the centre, the girl bride followed in the same way, and then there came the relations and friends carrying the presents and offerings in kind and produce.

Returning home through the bird-market we saw a disgusting act of cruelty. Four crows were lying on their backs on the ground, their feet and wings tied together, while a fiendish old man with white hair kept watch over them. For two or three days he would have kept them like this, without food or water, trembling with fright, on the chance of some pious Hindu passing by and paying a few pice for their release. We indignantly gave him an anna, and had the real happiness of seeing them all released and fly away, though one we feared still had his feet tied together, as he only just reached and dropped on to the wall in safety. The natives are hideously cruel to animals. They twist the tail of a bullock round and round till you hear the muscles and sinews cracking. It is rare to see a cart drawn by a bullock without some running sore where the yoke chafes, and donkeys and horses are so tightly hobbled that they cannot move or lie down.

A gentleman truly remarked to us, "There are three stages through which Englishmen pass when travelling or living in India. First there is extreme sympathy with the native, and surprise at the rough treatment of the Anglo-Indian; this is followed by intense disgust at their cruelty, laziness, and ingratitude; and, lastly, he passes into an indifferent state, accepting the native as he is." This second stage I think we reached to-day, after having certainly gone through the first on landing.

The Grand Duke and Duchess of Mecklenburg Schwerin, with Don Carlos, the unsuccessful candidate for the Spanish throne, are staying in the hotel. When we arrived home this evening we found the balcony covered with baskets of fruit and vegetables, bouquets of flowers, with baked sweet-meats, brought to them as offerings of respect by the natives. The laughing of jackals around the house, and the trumpeting of a neighbouring elephant, made night hideous for us.

Tuesday, January 20th.—We had again to be up very early, and drive down to the ghât, where the Secretary of the Maharajah of Benares (the Maharajah himself being away on a pilgrimage to Allahabad) had promised to have a boat in readiness to take us across the river to the Old Fort and Palace. Through some misunderstanding we failed to find the boat, but we were just as happy and interested in again rowing up and down the ghât for two hours, seeing a repetition of yesterday's gay scene, till it was time to go to the station for the train to Allahabad.

At the junction of Mogul Serai we saw an amusing scene. Some purdah ladies on a pilgrimage to Benares were hurried out of their compartments, and, with their heads completely covered, hustled across the platform and pushed into a reserved carriage. Here a curtain was hastily hung up over the open grating which alone divides the third-class carriages.

During the afternoon we passed Chunar, celebrated for its quarries of fine yellow durable stone, and Mirzapore, a large cotton-manufacturing town. At five o'clock we were crossing the Jumna on a magnificent bridge, and about to reach Allahabad.

Allahabad, or the "City of Allah," is a very sacred place, situated as it is on a tongue of land formed by the junction of two such hallowed rivers as the Ganges and the Jumna. The Hindus say there is a third river which is invisible, flowing direct from heaven, and adding its waters unseen to the others. We are fortunate in being here now, as January and February are the great months of pilgrimage, and during that time hundreds of thousands come down to bathe. Allahabad is known to the ordinary and non-religious world as the seat of the Government of the North-West Provinces and Oude.

In the dusk we explored the compound, where polo was just ending, and the wandering length of miles about Canning Town. Up and down the broad and dreary roads bordering the burnt-up plains of grass we drove in search of Mr. Lawrence's, the District Commissioner's bungalow, which we found, only to be told he was away. Quite familiar we became that evening with the principal feature of Allahabad, the long straight military and civil lines, with their rows of bungalows.

Wednesday, January 21st.—A cold, bright morning. After that indispensable meal of the Anglo-Indian, chota hazri, or early tea and toast, we drove out to the Fort. Such a wonderful spectacle presented itself to us as we emerged out into the open. Across the broad plain flocked thousands of pilgrims, in one continuous stream, all going down in the early morning to bathe at that sacred spot where the Ganges and Jumna effect a junction. They formed a bright ribbon of rainbow colours, streaming across the flat plain, winding with the turnings of the road. For a mile or more the line extended, and the throng was constantly swelled by stragglers hurrying across the plain to join them. As we drew near we saw what a motley procession it formed. Crowded ekkas with the members of an entire family perched up or clinging to its sides, solitary horsemen, children mounted on donkeys, vendors and mountebanks, mingling with the throng of pedestrians,—of men, women, and children, all bound on the same errand, all hurrying to the same spot.