spacious, and in the usual Mussulmaun style of building mausoleums; viz., a square, with a dome, and is ascended by a flight of broad steps. This building stands about three miles from the city, in a good situation to be seen from the road. I was told that the family of Oude kept readers of the Khoraun in constant attendance at the mukhburrah; and I observed several soldiers, whose duty it was to guard the sacred spot, at the expense of the Oude government.
In explanation of the word Soobadhaar, it may not be uninteresting to remark in this place, that when the government of Hindoostaun flourished under the descendants of Timoor, Soobadhaars were appointed over districts, whose duty, in some respects, bore resemblance to that of a Governor; with this difference, that the soobadhaaries were gifts, not only for the life of the individuals, but to their posterity for ever, under certain restrictions and stipulations which made them tributary to, and retained them as dependants of, the reigning sovereign:–as for instance, a certain annual amount was to be punctually transferred to the treasury at Delhi; the province to be governed by the same laws, and the subjects to be under the same control in each Soobadhaarie as those of the parent sovereignty; the revenue exacted in the very same way,; each Soobadhaar was bound to retain in his employ a given number of soldiers, horse and foot, fully equipped for the field, with perfect liberty to employ them as occasion served in the territory which he governed, whether against refractory subjects, or encroachments from neighbouring provinces; but in any emergency from the Court at Delhi, the forces to be, at all times, in readiness for the Sultaun’s service at a moment’s notice.
The gift of a Soobadhaarie was originally conferred on men who had distinguished themselves, either in the army, or in civil capacities, as faithful friends and servants of the Sultaun. In the course of time, some of these Soobadhaars, probably from just causes, threw off their strict allegiance to their Sovereign, abandoned the title of Soobadhaar, and adopted that of Nuwaub in its stead, either with or without the consent of the Court of Delhi.
As it is not my intention to give a precise history of the Indian empire, but merely to touch on generalities, I have confined my remarks to a brief explanation of the nature of this office; and will only add, that whilst the Soobadhaars (afterwards the Nuwaubs) of Oude swayed over that beautiful province under these titles, they continued to send their usual nuzzas to the King of Delhi, although no longer considered under his dominion; thus acknowledging his superiority, because inferiors only present nuzzas. But when Ghauzee ood deen Hyder was created King of Oude, he could no longer be considered tributary to the House of Timoor, and the annual ceremony of sending a nuzza, I understood, was discontinued. The first King of Oude issued coins from his new mint almost immediately after his coronation, prior to which period the current money of that province bore the stamp of Delhi.[6]
Shah Nizaam ood deen[7] was one of the many Mussulmaun saints, whose history has interested me much. He is said to have been dead about five hundred years, yet his memory is cherished by the Mussulmauns of the present day with veneration unabated by the lapse of years, thus giving to the world a moral and a religious lesson, ‘The great and the ambitious perish, and their glory dieth with them; but the righteous have a name amongst their posterity for ever.’
I was familiar with the character of Nizaam ood deen long prior to my visit at the Court of Delhi, and, as maybe supposed, it was with no common feeling of pleasure I embraced the opportunity of visiting the mausoleum erected over the remains of that righteous man.
The building originally was composed of the hard red stone, common to the neighbourhood of Delhi, with an occasional mixture of red bricks of a very superior quality; but considerable additions and ornamental improvements of pure white marble have been added to the edifice, from time to time, by different monarchs and nobles of Hindoostaun, whose pious respect for the memory of the righteous Shah Nizaam ood deen is testified by these additions, which render the mausoleum at the present time as fresh and orderly as if but newly erected.
The style of the building is on the original, I might say, only plan of Mussulmaun mukhburrahs–square, with a cupola. It is a beautiful structure on a scale of moderate size. The pavements are of marble, as are also the pillars, which are fluted and inlaid with pure gold; the ceiling is of chaste enamel painting (peculiarly an Indian art, I fancy,) of the brightest colours. The cupola is of pure white marble, of exquisite workmanship and in good taste; its erection is of recent date, I understand, and the pious offering of the good Akbaar Shah, who, being himself a very religions personage, was determined out of his limited income to add this proof of his veneration for the sainted Nizaam to the many which his ancestors had shown.[8]
The marble tomb enclosing the ashes of Shah Nizaam ood deen is in the centre of the building immediately under the cupola; this tomb is about seven feet long by two, raised about a foot from the pavement; on the marble sides are engraved chapters from the Khoraun in the Arabic character, filled up with black; the tomb itself has a covering of very rich gold cloth, resembling a pall.
This tranquil spot is held sacred by all Mussulmauns. Here the sound of human feet are never heard; ‘Put off thy shoes’, being quite as strictly observed near this venerated place, as when the mosque and emaum-baarah are visited by ‘the faithful’; who, as I have before remarked, whenever a prayer is about to be offered to God, cast off their shoes with scrupulous care, whether the place chosen for worship be in the mosque, the abode of men, or the wilderness.
I was permitted to examine the interior of the mausoleum. The calm stillness, which seemed hardly earthly; the neatness which pervaded every corner of the interior; the recollection of those virtues, which I so often heard had distinguished Shah Nizaam’s career on earth, impressed me with feelings at that moment I cannot forget; and it was with reluctance I turned from this object to wander among the surrounding splendid ruins, the only emblems left of departed greatness; where not even a tablet exists to mark the affection of survivors, or to point to the passing traveller the tomb of the monarch, the prince, or the noble,–except in the instance of Shah Allum,–whilst the humble-minded man’s place of sepulture is kept repaired from age to age, and still retains the freshness of a modern structure in its five hundredth year.
There are men in charge of Shah Nizaam ood deen’s mausoleum who lead devout lives, and subsist on the casual bounties gleaned from the charitable visitors to his shrine. Their time is passed in religious duties, reading the Khoraun over the ashes of the saint, and keeping the place clean and free from unholy intrusions. They do not deem this mode of existence derogatory; for to hold the situation of darogahs, or keepers of the tombs of the saints, who are held in universal veneration amongst Mussulmauns, is esteemed an honourable privilege.
In this sketch of my visit to the tombs at Delhi, I must not omit one very remarkable cemetery, which, as the resting place of the last reigning sovereign of Hindoostaun, excited in me no small degree of interest, whilst contrasting the view it exhibited of fallen greatness, with the many evidences of royal magnificence.
The tomb I am about to describe is that erected over the remains of Shah Allum;[9] and situated within view of the mausoleum of the righteous plebeian, Shah Nizaam. It is a simple, unadorned grave; no canopy of marble, or decorated hall, marks here the peaceful rest of a monarch, who in his life-time was celebrated for the splendour of his Court; a small square spot of earth, enclosed with iron railings, is all that remains to point to posterity the final resting place of the last monarch of Hindoostaun. His grave is made by his favourite daughter’s side, whose affection had been his only solace in the last years of his earthly sufferings; a little masonry of brick and plaster supports the mound of earth over his remains, on which I observed the grass was growing, apparently cultured by some friendly hand. At the period of my visit, the solitary ornament to this last terrestrial abode of a King was a luxuriant white jessamine tree, beautifully studded with blossoms, which scented the air around with a delightful fragrance, and scattered many a flower over the grave which it graced by its remarkable beauty, height, and luxuriance. The sole canopy that adorns Shah Allum’s grave is the rich sky, with all its resplendent orbs of day and night, or clouds teeming with beneficent showers. Who then could be ambitious, vain, or proud, after viewing this striking contrast to the grave of Shah Nizaam? The vain-glorious humbled even in the tomb;–the humble minded exalted by the veneration ever paid to the righteous.
I was persuaded to visit the ruins of antiquity which are within a morning’ s drive of Delhi. Nothing that I there witnessed gave me so much pleasure as the far-famed Kootub, a monument or pillar, of great antiquity, claimed equally by the Hindoo and Mussulmaun as due to their respective periods of sovereign rule. The site is an elevated spot, and from the traces of former buildings, I am disposed to believe this pillar, standing now erect and imposing, was one of the minarets of a mosque, and the only remains of such a building, which must have been very extensive, if the height and dimensions of the minaret be taken as a criterion of the whole.[10]
This pillar has circular stairs within, leading to galleries extending all round, at stated distances, and forming five tiers from the first gallery to the top, which finishes with a circular room, and a canopy of stone, open on every side for the advantage of an extensive prospect. Verses from the Khoraun are cut out in large Arabic characters on the stones, which form portions of the pillar from the base to the summit in regular divisions; this could only be done with great labour, and, I should imagine, whilst the blocks of stone were on the level surface of the earth, which renders it still more probable that it was a Mussulmaun erection.
The view from the first gallery was really so magnificent, that I was induced to ascend to the second for a still bolder extent of prospect, which more than repaid me the task. I never remember to have seen so picturesque a panorama in any other place. Some of my party, better able to bear the fatigue, ascended to the third and fourth gallery. From them I learned that the beauty and extent of the view progressively increased until they reached the summit, from whence the landscape which fell beneath the eye surpassed description.
On the road back to Delhi, we passed some extensive remains of buildings, which I found on inquiry had been designed for an observatory by Jhy Sing,[11]–whose extraordinary mind has rendered his name conspicuous in the annals of Hindoostaun,–but which was not completed while he lived. It may be presumed, since the work was never finished, that his countrymen either have not the talent, or the means to accomplish the scientific plan his superior mind had contemplated.
At the time I visited Delhi, I had but recently recovered from a serious and tedious illness; I was therefore ill-fitted to pursue those researches which might have afforded entertaining material for my pen, and must, on that account, take my leave of this subject with regret, for the present, and merely add my acknowledgments to those kind friends who aided my endeavours in the little I was enabled to witness of that remarkable place, which to have viewed entirely would have taken more time and better health than I could command at that period. I could have desired to search out amongst the ruined mausoleums for those which contain the ashes of illustrious characters, rendered familiar and interesting by the several anecdotes current in Native society, to many of which I have listened with pleasure, as each possessed some good moral for the mind.
It is my intention to select two anecdotes for my present Letter, which will, I trust, prove amusing to my readers; one relates to Jhaungeer,[12] King of India; the other to Kaareem Zund, King of Persia. I am not aware that either has appeared before the public in our language, although they are so frequently related by the Natives in their domestic circles. If they have not, I need hardly apologise for introducing them, and on the other hand, if they have before been seen, I may plead my ignorance of the circumstance in excuse for their insertion here.
I have already noticed that, among the true Mussulmauns, there are no religious observances more strictly enforced than the keeping the fast of Rumzaun, and the abstaining from fermented liquors. It is related, however, that ‘A certain king of India, named Jhaungeer, was instructed by his tutors in the belief, that on the day of judgment, kings and rulers will not have to answer either for the sin of omission or commission, as regards these two commands; but that the due administration of justice to the subjects over whom they are placed, will be required at the hands of every king, ruler, or governor, on the face of the earth.
‘Jhaungeer was determined to walk strictly in the path which he was assured would lead him to a happy eternity; and, therefore, in his reign every claim of justice was most punctiliously discharged. Each case requiring decision was immediately brought to the foot of the throne; for the King would not allow business of such importance to his soul’s best interest to be delegated to the guardianship of his Vizier, or other of his servants; and in order to give greater facility to complainants of every degree, the King invented the novel contrivance of a large bell, which was fixed immediately over his usual seat on the musnud, which bell could be sounded by any one outside the palace gate, by means of a stout rope staked to the ground. Whenever this alarum of justice was sounded in the King’s ear, he sent a trusty messenger to conduct the complainant into his presence.[13]
‘One day, upon the bell being violently rung, the messenger was commanded to bring in the person requiring justice. When the messenger reached the gate, he found no other creature near the place but a poor sickly-looking ass, in search of a scanty meal from the stunted grass, which was dried up by the scorching sun, and blasts of hot wind which at that season prevailed. The man returned and reported to the King that there was no person at the gate.
‘The King was much surprised at the singularity of the circumstance, and whilst he was talking of the subject with his nobles and courtiers, the bell was again rung with increased violence. The messenger being a second time despatched, returned with the same answer, assuring the King that there was not any person at or within sight of the gate. The King, suspecting him to be a perverter of justice, was displeased with the man, and even accused him of keeping back a complainant from interested motives. It was in vain the messenger declared himself innocent of so foul a crime; a third time the bell rang, “Go,” said the King to his attendants, “and bring the supplicant into my presence immediately!” The men went, and on their return informed the King that the only living creature near the gate was an ass, poor and manged, seeking a scanty meal from the parched blades of grass. “Then let the ass be brought hither!” said the King; “perhaps _he_ may have some complaint to prefer against his owner.”
‘The courtiers smiled when the ass was brought into the presence of the monarch, who upon seeing the poor half-starved beast covered with sores, was at no loss for a solution of the mysterious ringing at the bell, for the animal not finding a tree or post against which he could rub himself, had made use of the bell-rope for that purpose.
“Enquire for the owner of the ass!” commanded the King, “and let him be brought before me without delay!” The order promptly given, was as readily obeyed; and the hurkaarahs (messengers, or running footmen) in a short time introduced a poor Dhobhie[14] (washerman) who had owned the ass from a foal. The plaintiff and defendant were then placed side by side before the throne, when the King demanded, “Why the sick ass was cast out to provide for itself a precarious subsistence?” The Dhobhie replied, “In truth, O Jahaum-punah![15] (Protector or Ruler of the World), because he is grown old and unserviceable, afflicted with mange, and being no longer able to convey my loads of linen to the river, I gave him his liberty.”
‘”Friend,” said the King, “when this thine ass was young and healthy, strong and lusty, didst thou not derive benefits from his services? Now that he is old, and unable from sickness to render thee further benefits, thou hast cast him from thy protection, and sent him adrift on the wide world; gratitude should have moved thee to succour and feed so old and faithful a servant, rather than forsake him in his infirmities. Thou hast dealt unjustly with this thy creature; but, mark me, I hold thee responsible to repair the injury thou hast done the ass. Take him to thy home, and at the end of forty days attend again at this place, accompanied by the ass, and compensate to the best of thy power, by kind treatment, for the injury thou hast done him by thy late hard-hearted conduct.”
‘The Dhobhie, glad to escape so well, went away leading the ass to his home, fed him with well-soaked gram (grain in general use for cattle), and nicely-picked grass, sheltered him from the burning sun, poured healing oil into his wounds, and covered his back to keep off the flies; once a day he bathed him in the river. In short, such expedients were resorted to for the comfort and relief of the ass, as were ultimately attended with the happiest effects.
‘At the expiration of the forty days, the Dhobhie set off from his home to the palace, leading his now lively ass by a cord. On the road the passers-by were filled with amazement and mirth, at the manners and expressions of the Dhobhie towards his led ass. “Come along, brother!–Make haste, son!–Let us be quick, father!–Take care, uncle!”
‘”What means the old fool?” was asked by some; “does he make his ass a relation?”–“In truth,” replied the Dhobhie, “my ass is a very dear old friend, and what is more, he has been a greater expense to me than all my relations latterly: believe me, it has cost me much care and pains to bring this ass into his present excellent condition.” Then relating the orders of the King, and his own subsequent treatment of the beast, the people no longer wondered at the simple Dhobhie’s expressions which had prompted them at first to believe he was mad.
‘The King, it is related, received the Dhobhie graciously, and commended and rewarded him for his careful attention to the animal; which in his improved condition became more useful to his master than he had ever been, through the King’s determination to enforce justice even to the brute creation.’
The second anecdote, translated for me by the same kind hand, is often related, with numerous embellishments, under the title of ‘Khareem Zund’.[16]
‘Khareem Zund ruled in Persia. One day he was seated in the verandah of his palace smoking his hookha, and, at the same time, as was his frequent practice, overlooking the improvements carried on by masons and labourers, under the superintendence of a trusty servant. One of the labourers, who was also named Khareem, had toiled long, and sought to refresh himself with a pipe. The overseer of the work, seeing the poor man thus engaged, approached him in great wrath, rated him severely for his presumption in smoking whilst he stood in the presence of his sovereign, and striking him severely with a stick, snatched the pipe from the labourer and threw it away. The poor wretch cared not for the weight of the blow so much as for the loss of his pipe: his heart was oppressed with the weight of his sorrows, and raising his eyes to Heaven he cried aloud, “Allah Khareem!”[17] (God is merciful!), then lowering his eyes, his glance rested on the King, “App Khareem!” (thou art named merciful!), from whom withdrawing his eyes slowly he looked at his own mean body, and added, “Myn Khareem!” (I am called merciful!).
‘The King, who had heard the labourer’s words, and witnessed with emotion the impressive manner of lifting his eyes to Heaven, had also seen the severity of the overseer to the unoffending labourer; he therefore commanded that the man should be brought into his presence without delay, who went trembling, and full of fear that his speech had drawn some heavy punishment on his head.
‘”Sit down,” said the King.–“My sovereign pardon his slave!” replied the labourer.–“I do not jest; it is my pleasure that you sit down,” repeated the King; and when he saw his humble guest seated, he ordered his own silver hookha to be brought and placed before the poor man, who hesitated to accept the gracious offer; but the King assured him in the kindest manner possible it was his wish and his command. The labourer enjoyed the luxury of a good hookha, and by the condescending behaviour of the King his composure gradually returned.
‘This King, who it would seem delighted in every opportunity that offered of imparting pleasure and comfort to his subjects of all ranks and degrees, seeing the labourer had finished his second chillum[18] (contents of a pipe) told him he had permission to depart, and desired him to take the hookha and keep it for his sake. “Alas, my King!” said the labourer, “this costly silver pipe will soon be stolen from me; my mud hut cannot safely retain so valuable a gift; the poor mazoor[19] inhabits but a chupha (or coarse grass-roofed) hut.”–“Then take materials from my store-houses to build a house suited to your hookha,” was the order he received from the King; “and let it be promptly done! I design to make you one of my overseers; for _you_, Khareem, have been the instrument to rouse _me_ to be Khareem (merciful); and I can now approach Allah with increased confidence. Who is the only true Khareem!”‘
[1] Akbar Shah II, King of Delhi, A.D. 1806-37.
[2] _Mahall_.
[3] _Darvesh_, ‘a religious mendicant’.
[4] Mansur ‘Ali Khan, Safdar Jang, Nawab of Oudh (A.D. 1739-56), his successors being–his son, Shuja-ud-daula (1756-75); his son, Asaf-ud-daula (1775-97); his reputed son Wazir ‘Ali (1797-8); Sa’a dat ‘Ali Khan, half-brother of Asaf-ud-daula (1798-1814); his son, Ghazi-ud-din Haidar (1814-37). The tomb of Safdar Jang is near that of the Emperor Humayun. ‘This tomb in one of the last great Muhammadan architectural efforts in India, and for its age it deserves perhaps more commendation than is usually accorded to it. Though the general arrangement of the tomb in the same as that of the Taj, it was not intended to be a copy of the latter’ (H.C. Fanshawe, _Delhi Past and Present_, 1902, 246 f., with a photograph). For a different appreciation, see Sleeman, _Rambles_, p. 507.
[5] _Subahdar_, the Viceroy or Governor of a Subah or Province of the Moghul Empire.
[6] Ghazi-ud-din announced his independence of Delhi under the advice of his Minister, Agha Mir.
[7] Shaikh Nizam-ud-din. Auliya, one of the noblest disciples of Shaikh Farid-ud-din Shakkarganj; born at Budaun, A.D. 1236, died at Delhi, 1325.
[8] The entrance to the Dargah was built by Firoz Shah, and bears the date A.D. 1378. The structure over the tomb has been rebuilt by many pious donors, and little of the original work is left (Fanshawe, op. cit., 235 ff.; Sleeman, _Rambles_, 490 ff., 507).
[9] Shah ‘Alam II, King of Delhi, A.D. 1759-1806. ‘Three royal graves in the little court to the south side of the mosque lie within a single marble enclosure–that on the last is the resting-place of Akbar Shah II (died 1837 A.D.); the next to it is that of Shah Alam II (died 1806), and then beyond an empty space, intended for the grave of Bahadur Shah, [the last King of Delhi], buried at Rangoon, comes the tomb of Shah Alam Bahadur Shah, a plain stone with grass on it’ (Fanshawe, 281 f.; Sleeman, _Rambles_, 500).
[10] Qutb, ‘the polar star’. The pillar, 238 feet in height, was begun by Qutb-ud-di Aibak (A.D. 1206-10), and there are inscriptions of Altamsh or Iltutmish, his son-in-law. It is entirely of Muhammadan origin, and was primarily intended to serve as a minaret to Qutb-ud-din’s mosque adjoining it; but its name refers to the saint Qutb-ud-din, buried close by. (Fanshawe, 265 ff.; Sleeman, _Rambles_, 492 ff.)
[11] This observatory was built by Raja Jai Singh of Jaipur (A.D. 1693-1743) in 1724. He also erected similar observatories at Benares, Multan, Ujjain, and Jaipur (Fanshawe, 247).
[12] Jahangir, eldest son of the Emperor Akbar, reigned A.D. 1605-27.
[13] ‘The first order that I issued was for the setting up of a Chain of Justice, so that if the Officers of the Courts of Justice should fail in the investigation of the complaints of the oppressed, the injured person might come to this chain and shake it, and so give notice of their wrongs. I ordered that the chain should be made of pure gold, and be thirty _gaz_ [yards] long, with sixty bells upon it. The weight of it was four Hindustani _mans_ [8 lb.] of ‘Irak. One end was firmly attached to a battlement of the fort of Agra, the other to a stone column on the bank of the river’ (_Memoirs of Jahangir_ in Sir H.M. Elliot, _History of India_, vi. 284). It does not appear that this silly contrivance was ever used, and it was meant only for parade. Raja Anangpal had already set up a similar bell at Delhi (ibid. vi. 262, iii. 565).
[14] _Dhobi_.
[15] _Jahan-panah_.
[16] Karim Khan, of the Zand tribe, defeated the Afghans and secured the Kingdom of Fars or Southern Persia, with his capital at Shiraz. He died at an advanced age, A.D. 1779 (Sir J. Malcolm, _History of Persia_, 1829, ii. 58 ff.).
[17] _Allah Karim, Ap Karim, Main Karim_.
[18] _Chilam_, the clay bowl of a water-pipe: its contents.
[19] _Mazdur_, a day labourer.
LETTER XXI
Natural Productions of India.–Trees, shrubs, plants, fruits, &c.–Their different uses and medicinal qualities.–The Rose.–Native medical practice.–Antidote to Hydrophobia.–Remedy for the venom of the Snake.–The Chitcherah (Inverted thorn).–The Neam-tree.–The Hurrundh (Castor-tree).–The Umultass (Cassia-tree).–The Myrtle.–The Pomegranate.–The Tamarind.–The Jahmun.–The Mango.–The Sherrefah.–White and red Guavers.–The Damascus Fig.–The Peach, and other Fruits.–The Mahdhaar (Fire-plant).–The Sirrakee and Sainturh (Jungle-grass).–The Bamboo, and its various uses enumerated.
In Europe we are accustomed to cultivate the rose merely as an ornament of the garden. This is not the case with my Indian acquaintance; they cultivate the rose as a useful article, essential to their health, and conducive to their comfort.
The only rose I have ever seen them solicitous about is the old-fashioned ‘hundred-leaf’ or cabbage-rose’.[1] Where-ever a Mussulmaun population congregate these are found planted in enclosed fields. In the month of September, the rose trees are cut down to within eight inches of the surface of the earth, and the cuttings carefully planted in a sheltered situation for striking, to keep up a succession of young trees. By the first or second week in December the earliest roses of the season are in bloom on the new wood, which has made its way from the old stock in this short period. Great care is taken in gathering the roses to preserve every bud for a succession. A gardener in India is distressed when the Beeby Sahibs[2] (English ladies) pluck roses, aware that buds and all are sacrificed at once. I shall here give a brief account of the several purposes to which the rose is applied.
Rose-water is distilled in most Mussulmaun families as a medicine and an indispensable luxury. For medicine, it is administered in all cases of indigestion and pains of the stomach or bowels,–the older the rose-water the more effectual the remedy. I have been accustomed to see very old rose-water administered in doses of a wine-glass full, repeated frequently, in cases of cholera morbus and generally with good effect, when the patient has applied the remedy in time and due care has been observed in preventing the afflicted person from taking any other liquid until the worst symptoms have subsided. This method of treatment may not accord with the views of professional men generally; however, I only assert what I have repeatedly seen, that it has been administered to many members of my husband’s family with the best possible effect. On one occasion, after eating a hearty dinner, Meer Hadjee Shaah was attacked with cholera; rose-water was administered, with a small portion of the stone called zahur morah. In his agony, he complained of great thirst, when rose-water was again handed to him, and continued at intervals of half-an-hour during the day and part of the night. In the morning, the pain and symptoms had greatly subsided; he was, notwithstanding, restrained from taking any liquid or food for more than forty-eight hours, except occasionally a little rose-water; and when his Native doctors permitted him to receive nourishment, he was kept on very limited portions of arrow-root for several days together. At the end of about eight days (the fever having been entirely removed) chicken-broth was allowed, and at first without bread; solids, indeed, were only permitted when all fears of a relapse had ceased, and even then but partially for some time, fearing the consequences to the tender state of the bowels. Such persons as are abstemious and regard the quality of their daily food are most likely to recover from the attack of this awful scourge. Very young children are rarely amongst the sufferers by cholera; the adults of all classes are most subject to it in India; indeed, I do not find the aged or the youthful, either male or female, preponderate in the number attacked; but those who live luxuriously suffer most. Amongst the Natives, it is difficult to prevail on them to forego their usual meals, particularly amongst the lower orders: if they feel rather inconvenienced by heartburns or other indications of a disordered stomach, they cannot resist eating again and again at the appointed hours, after which strong symptoms of cholera usually commence. I never heard of one case occurring after a good night’s rest, but invariably after eating, either in the morning or the evening.
My remarks have drawn me from my subject, by explaining the supposed medicinal benefits of rose-water, which as a luxury is highly valued in India. It is frequently used by the Natives in preparing their sweet dishes, is added to their sherbet, sprinkled over favoured guests, used to cleanse the mouth-piece of the hookha, and to cool the face and hands in very hot weather. Although they abstain from the use of rose-water, externally and internally, when suffering from a cold,–they fancy smelling a rose will produce a cold, and I have often observed in India, that smelling a fresh rose induces sneezing,[3]–yet, at all other times, this article is in general use in respectable Mussulmaun families. Dried rose-leaves and cassia added to infusions of senna, is a family medicine in general request.
The fresh rose-leaves are converted by a very simple process into a conserve, which is also used as a medicine; it is likewise an essential article, with other ingredients, in the preparation of tobacco for their luxurious hookha.
A syrup is extracted from the fresh rose, suited admirably to the climate of India as an aperient medicine, pleasant to the taste and mild in its effects. A table-spoon full is considered a sufficient dose for adults.
The seed of the rose is a powerful astringent, and often brought into use in cases of extreme weakness of the bowels. The green leaves are frequently applied pounded as a cold poultice to inflamed places with much the same effect as is produced in England from golard-water.[4]
The oil or otta of roses is collected from the rose-water when first distilled. Persons intending to procure the otta, have the rose-water poured into dishes while warm from the still: this remains undisturbed twenty-four hours, when the oily substance is discovered on the surface as cream on milk; this is carefully taken off, bottled, the mouth closed with wax, and then exposed to the burning rays of the sun for several days. The rose-water is kept in thin white glass bottles, and placed in baskets for a fortnight, either on the roofs of houses or on a grass-plot; or wherever the sun by day and the dew by night may be calculated on, which act on the rose-water and induce that fragrant smell so peculiar to that of India.
I have elsewhere remarked that the Native medical practice is strictly herbal; minerals are strongly objected to as pernicious in after consequences, although they may prove effectual in removing present inconvenience. Quicksilver[5] is sometimes resorted to by individuals, but without the sanction of their medical practitioners. They have no notion of the anatomy of the human body, beyond a few ideas suggested in the old Grecian school of medicine, in favour of which they are strongly prejudiced. They, however, are said to perform extraordinary cures by simple treatment, many cases of severe fever occurred under my own observation, which were removed, I really believe, by strict attention to diet, or rather starving the enemy from its strong hold, than by any of the medicines administered to the patients. If any one is attacked by fever, his medical adviser inquires the day and the hour it commenced, by which he is guided in prescribing for the patient. On the borehaun[6] (critical days) as the third, fifth, and seventh, after the fever commences, nothing could induce the medical doctor to let blood or administer active medicines; there only remains then for the patient to be debarred any kind of food or nourishment, and that duly observed, the fever is often thrown off without a single dose of medicine. By three or four days of most strict abstinence, and such simple nourishment as the thinnest gruel or barley water,–the latter made from the common field barley, very sparingly allowed, the patient is rendered convalescent.
The Natives of India profess to have found an antidote to, and cure for, hydrophobia in the reetah[7] berry, described as a saponaceous nut. I have never seen a case of hydrophobia, but it is by no means uncommon, I understand. They always advise that the person bitten by a rabid animal, should have the limb promptly tied up with a bandage above and below the bite; the wound, as speedily as possible, to be seared with a red-hot iron, and a few doses of the reetah berry with a portion of soap administered. The berry is well known for its good property in cleansing and softening the hair, for which purpose it is generally found in the bathing-rooms both of the European and Native ladies.
The Native remedy for snake bites, is called neellah tootee[8] (blue vitrol): if from eight to twelve grains be administered in ghee or butter immediately after the bite is received, the happiest results will follow. A person in our family was bitten by a snake, but neglected to apply for the remedy for more than half an hour after the accident, when his own expressions were, that ‘he suffered great uneasiness in his body, and his faculties seemed darkened;’ half a masha, about eight grains of blue stone, was now given in ghee. In a few hours he was apparently quite well again, and for several days he found no other inconvenience than a slight numbness in the hand which had been bitten by the snake.
This person had occasion soon after to leave home, and had exerted himself unusually by walking, when he found the same symptoms of uneasiness return; he hurried to a house where he was known, and requested to be supplied with a certain quantity of blue stone without delay. He had sense enough remaining to explain for what purpose he required it, when the person applied to objected to furnish him with the poisonous article. The remedy, however, was ultimately procured, taken, and in a few hours he was recovered sufficiently to return home. He never found the symptoms return again to my recollection.
The chitcherah[9] (inverted thorn), is a shrub common to India, which bears small grains not unlike rice; these seeds are poisonous in their natural state, but when properly prepared with a portion of urzeez[10]–(tin), it becomes a useful medicine; and in particular cases of scrofula, which have resisted all other remedies offered by the medical practitioners, the Natives tell me this has proved an effectual remedy; and my informant, a Native doctor, assures me that three doses, of three grains each, is all he finds necessary to give his patient in scrofula cases.
The chitcherah in its green state is resorted to as a remedy for the sting of scorpions: when applied to the wound, which is often much inflamed and very painful, the cure is prompt. The scorpion runs from this shrub when held to it, as if it were frightened: many people declare scorpions are never met with in the grounds where the chitcherah grows.
The neam-tree[11] is cultivated near the houses of Natives generally, in the Upper Provinces, because, as they affirm, it is very conducive to health, to breathe the air through the neam-trees. This tree is not very quick of growth, but reaches a good size. When it has attained its full height, the branches spread out as luxuriantly as the oak and supplies an agreeable shelter from the sun. The bark is rough; the leaves long, narrow, curved, pointed, and with saw teeth edges; both the wood and leaves partake of the same disagreeable bitter flavour. The green leaves are used medicinally as a remedy for biles; after being pounded they are mixed with water and taken as a draught; they are also esteemed efficacious as poultices and fomentations for tumours, &c. The young twigs are preferred by all classes of the Natives for tooth-brushes.
The hurrundh,[12] or castor-tree, is cultivated by farmers in their corn-fields throughout Hindoostaun. This tree seldom exceeds in its growth the height of an English shrub. The bark is smooth; the leaf, in shape, resembles the sycamore, but of a darker green. The pods containing the seed grow in clusters like grapes, but of a very different appearance, the surface of each pod being rough, thorny, and of a dingy red cast when ripe. The seed produces the oil, which is in common use as a powerful medicine, for men and animals. In remote stations, where any difficulty exists in procuring cocoa-nut oil, the castor oil is often rendered useful for burning in lamps; the light, however, produced by it is very inferior to the oil of cocoa-nut. The green leaves are considered cooling to wounds or inflamed places, and therefore used with ointment after the blister-plaster is removed.
As I have seen this tree growing in corn-fields, I may here remark that the farmer’s motives for cultivating it originate in the idea that his crops are benefited by a near vicinity to the hurrundh. It is also very common to observe a good row of the plant called ulsee[13](linseed), bordering a plantation of wheat or barley: they fancy this herb preserves the blade healthy, and the corn from blight.
The umultass[14] (cassia) is a large and handsome forest tree, producing that most useful drug in long dark pods, several inches long, which hang from the branches in all directions, giving a most extraordinary appearance to the tree. The seed is small and mixed with the pulp, which dissolves in water, and is in general use with the Natives as a powerful and active medicine in bilious cases. I am not, however, aware that the seed possesses any medicinal property: it certainly is not appropriated to such cases in Hindoostaun.
Myrtle-trees,[15] under many different names, and of several kinds, are met with in India, of an immense size compared with those grown in Europe. They are cultivated for their known properties, rather than as mere ornaments to the garden. The leaves, boiled in water, are said to be of service to the hair; the root and branches are considered medicinal.
The pomegranate-tree[16] may be ranked amongst the choicest beauties of Asiatic horticulture; and when its benefits are understood, no one wonders that a tree or two is to be seen in almost every garden and compound of the Mussulmaun population in India.
The finest fruit of this sort is brought, however, from Persia and Cabul, at a great expense; and from the general estimation in which it is held, the merchants annually import the fruit in large quantities. There are two sorts, the sweet and the acid pomegranate, each possessing medicinal properties peculiar to itself. Sherbet is made from the juice, which is pressed out, and boiled up with sugar or honey to a syrup; thus prepared it keeps good for any length of time, and very few families omit making their yearly supply, as it constitutes a great luxury in health, and a real benefit in particular disorders. The Natives make many varieties of sherbet from the juices of their fruits, as the pine-apple, falsah,[17] mango, or any other of the same succulent nature, each having properties to recommend it beyond the mere pleasantness of its flavour.
An admirer of Nature must be struck with the singular beauty of the pomegranate-tree, so commonly cultivated in India. The leaves are of a rich dark green, very glossy, and adorned at the same time with every variety of bud, bloom, and fruit, in the several stages of vegetation, from the first bud to the ripe fruit in rich luxuriance, and this in succession nearly throughout the year. The bright scarlet colour of the buds and blossoms seldom vary in their shades; but contrasted with the glossy dark green foliage, the effect excites wonder and admiration. There is a medicinal benefit to be derived from every part of this tree from its root upwards, each part possessing a distinct property, which is employed according to the Native knowledge and practice of medicine.
Even the falling blossoms are carefully collected, and when made into a conserve, are administered successfully in cases of blood-spitting.
The tamarind-tree may often be discovered sheltering the tomb of revered or sainted characters; but I am not aware of any particular veneration entertained towards this tree by the general population of India, beyond the benefit derived from the medicinal properties of the fruit and the leaves.[18]
The ripe fruit, soaked in salt and water, to extract the juices, is strained, and administered as a useful aperient; and from its quality in cleansing the blood, many families prefer this fruit in their curries to other acids. From the tamarind-tree, preserves are made for the affluent, and chatnee for the poor, to season their coarse barley unleavened cakes, which form their daily meal, and with which they seem thoroughly contented.
From what cause I know not, but it is generally understood that vegetation does not thrive in the vicinity of the tamarind-tree. Indeed, I have frequently heard the Natives account for the tamarind being so often planted apart from other trees, because they fancy vegetation is always retarded in their vicinity.
The jahmun-tree[19] is also held in general estimation for the benefit of the fruit, which, when ripe, is eaten with salt, and esteemed a great luxury, and in every respect preferable to olives. The fruit, in its raw state, is a powerful astringent, and possesses many properties not generally known out of Native society, which may excuse my mentioning them here. The fruit, which is about the size and colour of the damson-plum, when ripe is very juicy, and makes an excellent wine, not inferior in quality to port. The Natives, however, are not permitted by their law to drink wine, and therefore this property in the fruit is of no benefit to them; but they encourage the practice of extracting the juice of jahmun for vinegar, which is believed to be the most powerful of all vegetable acids. The Native medical practitioners declare, that if by accident a hair has been introduced with food into the stomach, it can never digest of itself, and will produce both pain and nausea to the individual. On such occasions they administer jahmun vinegar, which has the property of dissolving any kind of hair, and the only thing they are aware of that will. Sherbet is made of this vinegar, and is often taken in water either immediately after dinner, or when digestion is tardy.
The skin of the jahmun produces a permanent dye of a bright lilac colour, and with the addition of urzeez (tin), a rich violet. The effect on wool I have never tried, but on silks and muslins the most beautiful shades have been produced by the simplest process possible, and so permanent, that the colour resisted every attempt to remove it by washing, &c.[20]
The mango-tree stands pre-eminently high in the estimation of the Natives, and this is not to be wondered at when the various benefits derived from it are brought under consideration. It is magnificent in its growth, and splendid in its foliage, and where a plantation of mango-trees, called ‘a tope’, is met with, that spot is preferred by travellers on which to pitch their tent. The season of blooming is about February and March; the aromatic scent from the flowers is delightful, and the beautiful clustering of the blossoms is not very unlike the horse-chestnut in appearance and size, but branching horizontally. The young mangoes are gathered for preserves and pickles before the stone is formed; the full-grown unripe fruit is peeled, split, and dried, for seasoning curries, &c. The ripe fruit spoken of in a former Letter requires no further commendation, neither will it admit of comparison with any European fruits. The kernels, when ripe, are often dried and ground into flour for bread in seasons of scarcity. The wood is useful as timber for doors, rafters, &c., and the branches and leaves for fuel; in short, there is no part of the whole tree but is made useful in some way to man.
The sherrefah[21] (custard-apple) is produced on a very graceful tree, not, however, of any great size; the blossom nearly resembles that of the orange in colour and shape; the fruit ripens in the hottest months, and is similar in flavour to well-made custards. The skin is of a dusky pea-green rough surface, in regular compartments; each division or part containing a glossy black seed covered with the custard. This seed is of some utility amongst the lower order of Natives who have occasion to rid themselves of vermin at the expense of little labour; the seed is pounded fine and when mixed in the hair destroys the living plague almost instantly. The same article is often used with a hair-pencil to remove a cataract of the eye (they have no idea of surgical operations on the eye). There is one thing worthy of remark in this tree and its fruit, that flies are never known to settle on either; ants of every description feed on the fruit without injury, so that it cannot be imagined there is anything poisonous to insects, generally, in the quality of the fruit; yet, certain it is, the sherrefah is equally obnoxious to flies as the seed is destructive to vermin. The leaves and tender twigs are considered detrimental to health, if not actually poisonous to cattle.
The guaver,[23] white and red, are produced in the Upper Provinces; but the fruit is seldom so fine as in the Bengal district. The strong aromatic smell and flavour of this fruit is not agreeable to all tastes; in size and shape it resembles the quince.
The Damascus fig ripens well, and the fruit is superior to any I have met with in other countries. The indigenous fig-tree of Hindoostaun is one of the objects of Hindoo veneration. It has always been described to me by those Natives, as the sacred burbut,[24]–why? they could not explain. The fruit is very inferior.
The peach is cultivated in many varieties, and every new introduction repays the careful gardener’s skill by a rich and beautiful produce. They have a flat peach,[24] with a small round kernel (a native of China), the flavour of which is delicious, and the tree prolific.
I may here remark, that all those trees we are accustomed in Europe to designate wall-fruit, are in India pruned for standards. The only fruit allowed to trail on frames is the vine, of which they have many choice varieties; one in particular, of late introduction from Persia, has the remarkable peculiarity of being seedless, called ‘Ba daanah'[25] (without seeds); the fruit is purple, round, and sweet as honey.
Peach, nectarine, and apricot trees, are cut down early in February, much in the same way as willows are docked in England: the new wood grows rapidly, and the fruit is ready for the table in the month of June. A tree neglected to be pruned in this way annually, would the first year yield but little, and that indifferent fruit, the tree become unhealthy, and, in most cases, never again restored to its former vigour.
Apple-trees are found chiefly in the gardens of Europeans; they are not perhaps as yet understood by Native gardeners, or it may be the climate is not favourable to them; certain it is, that the apples produced in Hindoostaun are not to be compared with those of other countries. Singular as it may seem, yet I have never met with more than one species of apple in my visits to the gardens of India. I have often fancied a fresh importation of English apple-trees would be worth the trouble of the transfer.[26]
The apple-trees grow tall and slender, the blossoms break out on the top of each branch in a cluster; the fruit, when ripe, is about the size of small crabs, and shaped like golden-pippins, without any acidity, but the sweetness rather resembles turnips than the well-flavoured apple. In the bazaars are to be met with what is called apple-preserve, which, however, is often a deception,–turnips substituted for apples.
Mulberries are indigenous, and of several varieties. The Native gardeners, however, take so little pains to assist or improve the operations of Nature, that the mulberry here is seldom so fine as in other countries. The common sort is produced on an immense tree with small leaves; the berry is long, and when ripe, of a yellow-green, very much resembling caterpillars in colour and form.
Plum-trees would thrive in Hindoostaun if introduced and cultivated,[27] since the few, chiefly the bullace-plum, I have seen, produce tolerably good fruit.
Cherries, I have never observed; they are known, however, by the name of ‘glass'[28] to the travelling Natives, who describe them as common to Cashmire, Cabul, and Persia.
Gooseberries and currants are not known in India, but they have many good substitutes in the falsah, American sorrel, puppayah,[29] and a great variety of Chinese fruits–all of which make excellent tarts, preserves, and jellies. Strawberries and raspberries repay their cultivation in the Upper Provinces: they thrive well with proper care and attention.
The melon I have described elsewhere as an indigenous fruit greatly valued by the Natives, who cultivate the plant in the open fields without much trouble, and with very little expense; the varieties are countless, and every year adds to the number amongst the curious, who pride themselves on novelty in this article of general estimation.
The pine-apple requires very little pains to produce, and little demand on art in bringing it to perfection. The Bengal climate, however, suits it better than the dry soil of the Upper Provinces. I have frequently heard a superstitious objection urged by the Natives against this fruit being planted in their regular gardens; they fancy prosperity is checked by its introduction, or to use their own words,–‘It is unfortunate to the proprietor of the garden.’
There is a beautiful shrub, called by the Natives, mahdhaar, or arg,[30]–literally, fire-plant,–met with in the Upper Provinces of India, inhabiting every wild spot where the soil is sandy, as generally as the thistle on neglected grounds in England.
The mahdhaar-plant seldom exceeds four feet in height, the branches spread out widely, the leaves are thick, round, and broad; the blossom resembles our dark auricula. When the seed is ripe, the pod presents a real treat to the lover of Nature. The mahdhaar pod may be designated a vegetable bag of pure white silk, about the size of large walnuts. The skin or bag being removed, flat seeds are discovered in layers over each other, resembling scales of fish; to each seed is affixed very fine white silk, about two inches long; this silk is defended from the air by the seed; the texture greatly resembles the silky hair of the Cashmire goat. I once had the mahdhaar silk collected, spun, and wove, merely as an experiment, which answered my full expectation: the article thus produced might readily be mistaken for the shawl stuff of Cashmire.[31]
The stalks of mahdhaar, when broken, pour out a milky juice at all seasons of the year, which falling on the skin produces blisters. The Natives bring this juice into use both for medicine and alchymy in a variety of ways.
The mahdhaar, as a remedy for asthma, is in great repute with the Natives; it is prepared in the following way:–The plants are collected, root, stalks, and leaves, and well dried by exposure to the sun; they are then burnt on iron plates, and the ashes thrown into a pan of water, where they remain for some days, until the water has imbibed the saline particles; it is then boiled in an iron vessel, until the moisture is entirely absorbed, and the salt only left at the bottom. The salt is administered in half-grain doses at the first, and increasing the quantity when the patient has become accustomed to its influence: it would be dangerous to add to the quantity suddenly.[32]
Another efficient remedy, both for asthma and obstinate continuance of a cough, is found in the salt extracted from tobacco-leaves, by a similar process, which is administered with the like precaution, and in the same quantities.
The sirrakee and sainturh[33] are two specimens of one genus of jungle-grass, the roots of which are called secundah,[34] or khus-khus,[35] and are collected on account of their aromatic smell, to form thatch tatties, or screens for the doors and windows; which being kept constantly watered, the strong wind rushing through the wet khus-khus is rendered agreeably cool, and produces a real luxury at the season of the hot winds, when every puff resembles a furnace-heat to those exposed to it by out-of-door occupation.
This grass presents so many proofs of the beneficent care of Divine Providence to the creatures of His hand, that the heart must be ungratefully cold which neglects praise and thanksgiving to the Creator, whose power and mercy bestows so great a benefit. The same might be justly urged against our insensibility, if the meanest herb or weed could speak to our hearts, each possessing, as it surely does, in its nature a beneficial property peculiar to itself. But here the blessing is brought home to every considerate mind, since a substitute for this article does not appear to exist in India.
I have seen the sainturh stalks, on which the bloom gracefully moves as feathers, sixteen feet high. The sirrakee has a more delicate blossom, finer stalk, and seldom, I believe, exceeds ten feet; the stalk resembles a reed, full of pith, without a single joint from the shoot upwards; the colour is that of clean wheat straw, but even more glossy. The blossom is of a silky nature possessing every variety of shade, from pure white to the rainbow’s tints, as viewed in the distance at sunrise; and when plucked the separated blossoms have many varieties of hue from brown and yellow, to purple.
The head or blossom is too light to weigh down the firm but flexible stalk; but as the wind presses against each patch of grass, it is moved in a mass, and returns to its erect position with a dignity and grace not to be described.
I have watched for the approaching season of the blooming sirrakee with an anxiety almost childish; my attention never tired with observing the progressive advances from the first show of blossom, to the period of its arriving at full perfection; at which time, the rude sickle of the industrious labourer levels the majestic grass to the earth for domestic purposes. The benefits it then produces would take me very long to describe.
The sirrakee and sainturh are stripped from the outward sheltering blades, and wove together at the ends; in this way they are used for bordering tatties, or thatched roofs; sometimes they are formed into screens for doors, others line their mud-huts with them. They are found useful in constructing accommodations after the manner of bulk-heads on boats for the river voyagers, and make a good covering for loaded waggons. For most of these purposes the article is well suited, as it resists moisture and swells as the wet falls on it, so that the heaviest rain may descend on a frame of sirrakee without one drop penetrating, if it be properly placed in a slanting position.
I cannot afford space to enumerate here the variety of purposes which this production of Nature is both adapted for and appropriated to; every part of the grass being carefully stored by the thrifty husbandman, even to the tops of the reed, which, when the blossom is rubbed off, is rendered serviceable, and proves an excellent substitute for that useful invention, a birch-broom. The coarse parent grass, which shelters the sirrakee, is the only article yet found to answer the purposes for thatching the bungalows of the rich, the huts of the poor, the sheds for cattle, and roofs for boats. The religious devotee sets up a chupha-hut,[36] without expense,–(all the house he requires,)–on any waste spot of land most convenient to himself, away from the busy haunts of the tumultuous world, since bamboo and grass are the common property of all who choose to take the trouble of gathering it from the wilderness. And here neither rent or taxes are levied on the inhabitant, who thus appropriates to himself a home from the bounteous provision prepared by Divine goodness for the children of Nature.
This grass is spontaneous in its growth, neither receiving or requiring aid from human cultivation. It is found in every waste throughout Hindoostaun, and is the prominent feature of the jungle, into which the wild animals usually resort for shelter from the heat of the day, or make their covert when pursued by man, their natural enemy.
The beneficence of Heaven has also exacted but little labour from the husbandman of India in procuring his daily provision. Indeed the actual wants of the lower order of Natives are few, compared with those of the same class in England; exertion has not, therefore, been called forth by necessity in a climate which induces habits of indulgence, ease, and quiet; where, however it may have surprised me at first, that I found not one single Native disposed to delight in the neat ordering of a flower-garden, I have since ascertained it is from their unwillingness to labour without a stronger motive than the mere gratification of taste.[37] Hence the uncultivated ground surrounding the cottages in India, which must naturally strike the mind of strangers with mingled feelings of pity and regret, when comparing the cottages of the English peasantry with those of the same classes of people in Hindoostaun.
The bamboo presents to the admirer of Nature no common specimen of her beautiful productions; and to the contemplating mind a wide field for wonder, praise, and gratitude. The graceful movements of a whole forest of these slender trees surpass all description; they must be witnessed in their uncultivated ground, as I have seen them, to be thoroughly understood or appreciated, for I do not recollect wood scenery in any other place that could convey the idea of a forest of bamboo.
The bamboos are seen in clusters, striking from the parent root by suckers, perhaps from fifty to a hundred in a patch, of all sizes; the tallest in many instances exceed sixty feet, with slender branches, and leaves in pairs, which are long, narrow, and pointed. The body of each bamboo is hollow and jointed, in a similar way to wheat stalks, with bands or knots, by which wonderful contrivance both are rendered strong and flexible, suited to the several designs of creative Wisdom. The bamboo imperceptibly tapers from the earth upwards. It is the variety of sizes in each cluster, however, which gives grace and beauty to the whole as they move with every breath of air, or are swayed by the strong wind.
Where space allows the experiment, the tallest bamboo may be brought down to a level with the earth, without snapping asunder. In the strong tempest the supple bamboo may be seen to bow submissively,–as the self-subdued and pliant mind in affliction,–and again rear its head uninjured by the storm, as the righteous man ‘preserved by faith’ revives after each trial, or temptation.
The wood of the bamboo is hard, yet light, and possesses a fine grain, though fibrous. The outward surface is smooth and highly polished by Nature, and the knot very difficult to penetrate by any other means than a saw. The twigs or branches are covered with sharp thorns, in all probability a natural provision to defend the young trees from herbaceous animals. I have heard of the bamboo blossoming when arrived at full age; this I have, however, never seen, and cannot therefore presume to describe.[38]
In the hollow divisions of the bamboo is found, in small quantities, a pure white tasteless substance, called tawurshear,[39] which as a medicine is in great request with the Native doctors, who administer it as a sovereign remedy for lowness of spirits, and every disease of the heart, such as palpitations, &c. The tawurshear when used medicinally is pounded fine, and mixed up with gold and silver leaf, preserved quinces and apples, and the syrup of pomegranates, which is simmered over a slow fire until it becomes of the consistence of jam. It is taken before meals by the patient.
The bamboo is rendered serviceable to man in a countless variety of ways, both for use and ornament. The chuphas (thatched-roofs) of huts, cottages, or bungalows, are all constructed on frames of bamboo, to which each layer of grass is firmly fixed by laths formed of the same wood.
The only doors in poor people’s habitations are contrived from the same materials as the roof: viz., grass on bamboo frames, just sufficient to secure privacy and defend the inmates from cold air, or the nightly incursions of wolves and jackals. For the warm weather, screens are invented of split bamboos, either fine or coarse, as circumstances permit, to answer the purpose of doors, both for the rich and poor, whenever the house is so situated that these intruders may be anticipated at night.
The bamboo is made useful also in the kitchen as bellows by the aid of the cook’s breath; in the stable, to administer medicine to horses; and to the poor traveller, as a deposit for his oil, either for cooking or his lamp. To the boatman as sculls, masts, yards, and poles; besides affording him a covering to his boat, which could not be constructed with any other wood equally answering the same varied purpose of durability and lightness.
The carriers (generally of the bearer caste), by the help of a split bamboo over the shoulder, convey heavy loads suspended by cords at each end, from one part of India to the other, many hundred miles distant. No other wood could answer this purpose so well; the bamboo being remarkably light and of a very pliant nature lessens the fatigue to the bearer, whilst almost any wood sufficiently strong to bear the packages would fret the man’s shoulder and add burden to burden. The bearers do not like to carry more than twelve seer (twenty-four pounds) slung by ropes at each end of their bamboo for any great distance; but, I fear, they are not always allowed the privilege of thinking for themselves in these matters.
When a hackery[40] (sort of waggon) is about to be loaded with of corn or goods, a railing is formed by means of bamboos to admit the luggage; thus rendering the waggon itself much lighter than if built of solid wood, an object of some moment, when considering the smallness of the cattle used for draught, oxen of a small breed being in general use for waggons, carts, ploughs, &c. I have never seen horses harnessed to any vehicle in India, except to such gentlemen’s carriages as are built on the English principle.
The Native carriages of ladies and travellers are indebted to the bamboo for all the wood used in the construction of the body, which is merely a frame covered with cloth, shaped in several different ways,–some square, others double cones, &c.
Baskets of every shape and size, coarse or fine, are made of the split bamboo; covers for dinner trays, on which the food is sent from the kitchen to the hall; cheese-presses, punkahs, and screens, ingeniously contrived in great varieties; netting-needles and pins, latches and bolts for doors; skewers and spits; umbrella sticks, and walking canes; toys in countless ways, and frames for needle-work.
A long line of etceteras might here be added as to the number of good purposes to which the bamboo is adapted and appropriated in Native economy; I must not omit that even the writing-paper on which I first practised the Persian character was manufactured from the bamboo, which is esteemed more durable, but not so smooth as their paper made from cotton. The young shoots of bamboo are both pickled and preserved by the Natives, and esteemed a great luxury when produced at meals with savoury pillaus, &c.
I am told, a whole forest of bamboo has sometimes been consumed by fire, ignited by their own friction in a heavy storm, and the blaze fanned by the opposing wind; the devouring element, under such circumstances, could be stayed only when there ceased to be a tree to feed the flame.
[1] The Indian rose-water is made principally from _Rosa damascena_ about Ghazipur in the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh. It has no medicinal value, but is used as a vehicle for other mixtures (Watt, _Economic Dictionary_, VI, part i. 560 ff.).
[2] _Bibi Sahiba_. ‘On the principle of the degradation of titles which is general, this word in application to European ladies has been superseded by the hybrid _Mem Sahib_ or Madam Sahib, though it is often applied to European maid-servants or other Englishwomen of that rank of life’ (Yule, _Hobson-Jobson_[2], 78).
[3] It is one of the flowers which produce pollen catarrh. Pope’s suggestion that a man with a hypersensitive nervous system might ‘die of a rose in aromatic pain’, is not an impossible contingency.
[4] Goulard water, named after Thomas Goulard, a French surgeon: a solution of sub-acetate of lead, used as a lotion in cases of inflammation (_New English Dictionary, s.v._).
[5] P. 235.
[6] Not in Platts’ _Hindustani Dictionary_: probably _barhan_, increasing.
[7] _Ritha_, the berry of the soap-nut tree, _Sapindus trifoliatus_ or _mukorossi_. (Watt, _Economic Dict_., vol. vi, part ii, 468.)
[8] _Nila tutiya_, copper sulphate: used as an emetic in cases of poisoning, but not now recognized as a remedy for snake-bite.
[9] _Chichra, Achryanthes aspera_ (Watt, i. 81).
[10] _Arziz_.
[11] _Nim, Melia Azadirachta_. The belief that it is a prophylactic against fever and cholera is held even by some Europeans (Watt, v. 217).
[12] _Arand, Ricinus communis_.
[13] Alsi, _Linum usitatissimum._
[14] _Amaltas, Cassia fistula_. The pulp of the fruit and the root-bark form the most useful domestic medicine, a simple purgative.
[15] _Myrtus communis_.
[16] _Punica Granatum_. The best varieties of the fruit come from Afghanistan and Persia.
[17] _Phalsa, falsa, Grewia asiatica_.
[18] The shade of the tree is supposed to be unhealthy to men, animals, and plants, as it is believed to be haunted by spirits, and it is worshipped on a day known as ‘Tamarind Eleventh’.
[19] See p. 194.
[20] Watt, however, writes: ‘Tin is a highly important metal in dyeing as practised in Europe, but in this respect is apparently unknown to the natives of India.’ (Watt, _Economic Dictionary_, vol. vi, part iv, 60.)
[21] _Sharifa, Anona squamosa_.
[22] Guava.
[23] _Bargat_, the banyan-tree.
[24] _Pyrus persica_.
[25] _Be-danah._
[26] Excellent apples are now grown on the lower Himalayas.
[27] _Prunus communis_ grows in the lower Himalayas and as far down as Saharanpur, but the fruit is inferior.
[28] The sweet or wild cherry, _Prunus avium_, is called _gilas_ in the Hills.
[29] _Papaiya_, the papau tree, _Carica papaya_, has the curious property of making meat tender, if placed near it.
[30] _Madar, ak._ The latter term is derived from Sanskrit _arka_, ‘the sun’, on account of the fiery colour of its flowers.
[31] The plant yields a silk cotton from the seeds and a rich white bass fibre from the bark, both likely to be of commercial value (Watt, ii. 38 ff.)
[32] Used in equal proportions with black pepper, the fresh blossoms are a useful and cheap remedy for asthma, hysteria, and epilepsy (_ibid_. ii. 44 ff).
[33] _Sirki_ is the upper portion of the blossoming stem, and _sentha_ the lower portion of the reed grass _Saccharum ciliare_ (_ibid_. vi, part ii, 2.)
[34] _Sarkanda_ is the Panjab name for the grass _Saccharum arundinaceum_, but it is also applied to _Saccharum ciliare_ in last note (_ibid_. vi, part ii, 1 f.).
[35] _Khaskhas_, used for screens, is the root of the grass _Andropogon muricatus_ (_ibid_. i, 245 ff.)
[36] _Chhappar_.
[37] This is true of the higher class Musalmans; but there were splendid gardens in the palaces of the Moghul Emperors: see C.M. Villiers Stuart, _The Gardens of the Great Mughals_, 1913.
[38] The subject of the flowering of the bamboo has been investigated by Sir G. Watt, who writes: ‘A bamboo may not flower before it has attained a certain age, but its blossoming is not fixed so arbitrarily that it cannot be retarded or accelerated by climatic influences. It is an undoubted fact that the flowering of the bamboo is decided by causes which bring about famine, for the providential supply of food from this source has saved the lives of thousands of persons during several of the great famines of India.’ Hence the provision of the edible seeds by the extension of bamboo cultivation has been recommended as a means of mitigating distress (_Economic Dictionary_, vol. i, 373 ff., 386).
[39] _Tabashir_, bamboo manna, is a siliceous substance found in the joints of the bamboo: considered cooling, toxic, aphrodisiac and pectoral, but as a medicinal agent it is inert (_ibid_. i. 384, Yule, _Hobson-Jobson_[2], 887).
[40] A bullock carriage, Hindustani _chhakra_ (Yule, _Hobson-Jobson_[2], 407 f.).
LETTER XXII
Monkeys.–Hindoo opinions of their Nature.–Instances of their sagacity.–Rooted animosity of the Monkey tribe to the snake.–Cruelty to each other when maimed.–The female remarkable for affection to its young.–Anecdotes descriptive of the belief of the Natives in the Monkey being endowed with reason.–The Monkeys and the Alligator.–The Traveller and the Monkeys.–The Hindoo and the Monkey.
The Natives of India, more particularly the Hindoos, are accustomed to pay particular attention to the habits of the varied monkey race, conceiving them to be connecting links in the order of Nature between brutes and rational creatures; or, as some imagine and assert, (without any other foundation than conjecture and fancy), that they were originally a race of human beings, who for their wicked deeds have been doomed to perpetuate their disgrace and punishment to the end of time in the form and manner we see them, inhabiting forests, and separated from their superior man.
I have had very few opportunities of acquainting myself with the general principles of the Hindoo belief, but I am told, there are amongst them those who assert that one of their deities was transformed to a particular kind of monkey, since designated Hummoomaun,[1] after the object of their adoration; whence arises the marked veneration paid by Hindoos of certain sects to this class of monkeys.
The Natives firmly believe the whole monkey race to be gifted with reason to a certain extent, never accounting for the sagacity and cunning they are known to possess by instinctive habits; arguing from their own observations, that the monkeys are peaceable neighbours, or inveterate enemies to man, in proportion as their good will is cultivated by kindness and hospitality, or their propensity to revenge roused by an opposite line of conduct towards them.
The husbandman, whose land is in the vicinity of a forest, and the abode of monkeys, secures safety to his crops, by planting a patch of ground with that species of grain which these animals are known to prefer. Here they assemble, as appetite calls, and feast themselves upon their own allotment; and, as if they appreciated the hospitality of the landlord, not a blade is broken, or a seed destroyed in the fields of corn to the right and left of their plantation. But woe to the farmer who neglects this provision; his fields will not only be visited by the marauders, but their vengeance will be displayed in the wasteful destruction of his cultivation. This undoubtedly looks more like reason than instinct; and if credit could be given to half the extraordinary tales that are told of them, the monkeys of India might justly be entitled to a higher claim than that of instinct for their actions.
Monkeys seem to be aware that snakes are their natural enemies. They never advance in pursuit of, yet they rarely run from a snake; unless its size renders it too formidable an object for their strength and courage to attack with anything like a prospect of success in destroying it. So great is the animosity of the monkey race to these reptiles, that they attack them systematically, after the following manner:–
When a snake is observed by a monkey, he depends on his remarkable agility as a safeguard from the enemy. At the most favourable opportunity he seizes the reptile just below the head with a firm grasp, then springs to a tree, if available, or to any hard substance near at hand, on which he rubs the snake’s head with all his strength until life is extinct; at intervals smelling the fresh blood as it oozes from the wounds of his victim. When success has crowned his labour, the monkey capers about his prostrate enemy, as if in triumph at the victory he has won; developing, as the Natives say, in this, a striking resemblance to man.
Very few monkeys, in their wild state, ever recover from inflicted wounds; the reason assigned by those who have studied their usual habits is, that whenever a poor monkey has been wounded, even in the most trifling way, his associates visit him by turns, when each visitor, without a single exception, is observed to scratch the wound smartly with their nails. A wound left to itself might be expected to heal in a short time, but thus irritated by a successive application of their sharp nails, it inflames and increases. Mortification is early induced by the heated atmosphere, and death rapidly follows.
The monkeys’ motives for adding to their neighbour’s anguish, is accounted for by some speculators on the score of their aversion to the unnatural smell of blood; or they are supposed to be actuated by a natural abhorrence to the appearance of the wound, not by any means against the wounded; since in their domestic habits, they are considered to be peaceable and affectionate in their bearings towards each other. The strong will exercise mastery over the weak where food is scarce, but, in a general way, they are by no means quarrelsome or revengeful amongst themselves. They are known to hold by each other in defending rights and privileges, if the accounts given by credible Natives be true, who add that a whole colony of monkeys have been known to issue forth in a body to revenge an injury sustained by an individual of their tribe; often firing a whole village of chupha-roofs, where the aggressor is known to be a resident, who in his anger may have maimed or chastised one of their colony.
The female monkey is remarkable for her attachment to her progeny, which she suckles until it is able to procure food for its own sustenance. When one of her young dies, the mother is observed to keep it closely encircled in her arms, moaning piteously with true maternal feelings of regret, and never parting with it from her embrace until the dead body becomes an offensive mass: and when at last she quits her hold, she lays it on the ground before her, at no great distance, watching with intense anxiety the dead body before her, which she can no longer fold in her embrace, until the work of decomposing has altered the form of the creature that claimed her tender attachment. What an example is here given to unnatural mothers who neglect or forsake their offspring!
I shall here insert a few anecdotes illustrative of the opinions of the Natives on the subject of monkeys being possessed of reasoning faculties. They shall be given exactly as I have received them, not expecting my readers will give to them more credit than I am disposed to yield to most of these tales; but as they are really believed to be true by the Natives who relate them, I feel bound to afford them a place in my work, which is intended rather to describe men as they are, than men as I wish to see them.
In the neighbourhood of Muttra is an immense jungle or forest, where monkeys abound in great numbers and variety. Near a village bordering this forest, is a large natural lake which is said to abound with every sort of fish and alligators. On the banks of this lake are many trees, some of which branch out a great distance over the water. On these trees monkeys of a large description, called Lungoor,[2] gambol from spray to spray in happy amusement: sometimes they crowd in numbers on one branch, by which means their weight nearly brings the end of the bough to the surface of the water; on which occasion it is by no means unusual for one or more of their number to be lessened.
Whether the monkeys told their thoughts or not, my informant did not say, but the retailers of this story assert, that the oldest monkey was aware that his missing brethren had been seized by an alligator from the branch of the tree, whilst they were enjoying their amusement. This old monkey, it would seem, resolved on revenging the injury done to his tribe, and formed a plan for retaliating on the common enemy of his race.
The monkeys were observed by the villagers, for many successive days, actively occupied in collecting the fibrous bark of certain trees, which they were converting into a thick rope. The novelty of this employment surprised the peasants and induced them to watch daily for the result. When the rope was completed, from sixty to seventy of the strongest monkeys conveyed it to the tree: having formed a noose at one end with the nicest care, the other end was secured by them to the overhanging arm of the tree. This ready, they commenced their former gambols, jumping about and crowding on the same branch which had been so fatal to many of their brethren.
The alligator, unconscious of the stratagem thus prepared to secure him, sprang from the water as the branch descended but instead of catching the monkey he expected, he was himself caught in the noose; and the monkeys moving away rather precipitately, the alligator was drawn considerably above the surface of the water. The more he struggled the firmer he was held by the noose; and here was his skeleton to be seen many years after, suspended from the tree over the water, until time and the changes of season released the blanched bones from their exalted situation, to consign them to their more natural element in the lake below.
On one occasion, a Hindoo traveller on his way to Muttra, from his place of residence, drew down the resentment of the monkeys inhabiting the same forest, by his inattention to their well-known habits. The story is told as follows:–
‘The man was travelling with all his worldly wealth about his person: viz., fifty gold mohurs, (each nearly equal to two pounds in value[3]), and a few rupees, the savings of many a year’s hard service, which were secreted in the folds of his turban; a good suit of clothes on his back; a few gold ornaments on his neck and arms; and a bundle of sundries and cooking vessels.
‘The Hindoo was on foot, without companions, making his way towards the home of his forefathers, where he hoped with his little treasury to be able to spend his remaining years in peace with his family and friends, after many years’ toil and absence from his home. He stopped near to the lake in question, after a long and fatiguing march, to rest himself beneath the shade of the trees, and cook his humble meal of bread and dhall. I ought here, perhaps, to say, that this class of Natives always cook in the open air, and, if possible, near a river, or large body of water, for the purpose of bathing before meals, and having water for purifying their cooking utensils, &c.
‘The man having undressed himself, and carefully piled his wardrobe beneath the tree he had selected for shelter, went to the lake and bathed; after which he prepared his bread, and sat himself down to dine. As soon as he was comfortably seated, several large monkeys advanced and squatted themselves at a respectful distance from him, doubtless expecting to share in the good things he was enjoying. But, no: the traveller was either too hungry or inhospitable, for he finished his meal, without tendering the smallest portion to his uninvited visitors, who kept their station watching every mouthful until he had finished.
‘The meal concluded, the traveller gathered his cooking vessels together and went to the bank of the lake, in order to wash them, as is customary, and to cleanse his mouth after eating; his clothes and valuables were left securely under the tree as he imagined,–if he thought at all about them,–for he never dreamed of having offended the monkeys by eating all he had cooked, without making them partakers. He was no sooner gone, however, than the monkeys assembled round his valuables; each took something from the collection; the oldest among them having secured the purse of gold, away they ran to the tree over the very spot where the man was engaged in polishing his brass vessels.
The Hindoo had soon completed his business at the lake, and unconscious of their movements, he had returned to the tree, where to his surprise and sorrow, he discovered his loss. Nearly frantic, the Hindoo doubted not some sly thief had watched his motions and removed his treasures, when he heard certain horrid yells from the monkeys which attracted his attention: he returned hastily to the lake, and on looking up to the tree, he discovered his enemies in the monkeys. They tantalized him for some time by holding up the several articles to his view, and when the old monkey shook the bag of gold, the poor man was in an agony; they then threw the whole into the lake, the coins, one by one, were cast into the deep water, where not a shadow of hope could be entertained of their restoration, as the lake was deep and known to be infested with alligators.
‘The man was almost driven mad by this unlooked-for calamity, by which he was deprived of the many comforts his nursed treasure had so fairly promised him for the remainder of life. He could devise no plan for recovering his lost valuables, and resolved on hastening to the nearest village, there to seek advice and assistance from his fellow-men; where having related his unfortunate adventures, and declaring he had done nothing to anger the creatures, he was asked if he had dined, and if so, had he given them a share? He said, he had indeed cooked his dinner, and observed the monkeys seated before him whilst he dined, but he did not offer them any.
‘”That, that, is your offence!” cried the villagers in a breath; “who would ever think of eating without sharing his meal with men or with animals? You are punished for your greediness, friend.”–“Be it so,” said the traveller; “I am severely used by the brutes, and am now resolved on punishing them effectually in return for the ill they have done me.”
‘He accordingly sold the gold ornaments from his arms and neck, purchased a quantity of sugar, ghee, flour, and arsenic, returned to his old quarters, prepared everything for cooking, and, in a short time, had a large dish filled with rich-looking cakes, to tempt his enemies to their own ruin.
‘The feast was prepared in the presence of the assembled multitude of monkeys. The Hindoo placed the dish before his guests, saying, “There, my lords! your food is ready!” The old monkey advanced towards the dish, took up a cake, raised it to his nose, and then returning it to the dish, immediately ran off, followed by the whole of his associates into the thick jungle.
‘The man began to despair, and thought himself the most unlucky creature existing; when, at length, he saw them returning with augmented numbers; he watched them narrowly, and observed each monkey had a green leaf in his paw, in which he folded a cake and devoured the whole speedily. The man expected of course to see them sicken immediately, for the quantity of arsenic he had used was sufficient, he imagined to have killed twenty times their number. But, no: his stratagem entirely failed; for the leaf they had provided themselves was an antidote to the poison put into their food. The traveller thus sacrificed even that little which would have carried him on his journey, had he been satisfied with his first loss; but the Hindoo cherished a revengeful disposition, and thereby was obliged to beg his way to his family.’
The next monkey story is equally marvellous, the Natives believe that it actually occurred; I am disposed, however, to think all these stories were originally fables to impress a moral upon the ignorant.
‘Near a small town in the province of Oude there is a jungle of some extent, inhabited by monkeys. A certain man of the Hindoo class, residing in the town, resolved upon enjoying himself one day with a bottle of arrack he had procured by stealth, and since it is well known that spirits or fermented liquors are prohibited articles in the territories governed by Mussulmaun rulers, the man betook himself with his treat to the neighbouring jungle, where in private he might drink the spirit he loved, and escape the vigilance of the police.
‘Arriving at a convenient spot, the Hindoo seated himself under a tree, prepared his hookha, drew from his wrapper the bottle of spirits, and a small cup he had provided; and if ever he knew what happiness was in his life, this moment was surely his happiest.
‘He drank a cup of his liquor, smoked his hookha with increased relish, and thought of nothing but his present enjoyment. Presently he heard the sound of rustling in the trees, and in a few minutes after, a fine sturdy monkey, of the Lungoor tribe, placed himself very near to him and his bottle.
‘The Hindoo was of a lively temper, and withal kindly disposed towards the living, though not of his own species. Having a cake of dry bread in his waistband, he broke off a piece and threw it to his visitor; the monkey took the bread and sniffed at the cup. “Perhaps you may like to taste as well as to smell,” thought the Hindoo, as he poured out the liquor into the cup, and presented it to his guest.
‘The monkey raised the cup with both paws to his mouth, sipped of its contents, winked his eyes, appeared well satisfied with the flavour, and to the surprise of the Hindoo, finished the cup, which was no sooner done, than away he sprang up the tree again.
‘”Had I known you would run away so soon, my guest, I should have spared my arrack;” thought the Hindoo. But the monkey quickly returned to his old position, threw down a gold mohur to his entertainer, and sat grinning with apparent satisfaction. The Hindoo, astonished at the sight of gold, thought to repay his benefactor by another cup of spirits, which he placed before the monkey, who drank it off, and again mounted the tree, and shortly returned with a second gold mohur.
‘Delighted with the profit his arrack produced, the Hindoo drank sparingly himself, for each time the monkey took a cup, a gold mohur was produced, until the man counted eight of these valuable coins on his palm. By this time, however, the monkey was completely overcome by the strength of his potations, and lay apparently senseless before the Hindoo, who fancied now was his turn to mount the tree, where he found, on diligent search, in a hollow place, a small bag of gold mohurs, with which he walked off, leaving the monkey prostrate on the earth.
‘The Hindoo determined on going some distance from his home, in a different direction, fearing his secret treasure might be the means of drawing him into difficulties amongst the people of his own town, who had probably been robbed by the monkey at some previous period.
‘In the meanwhile the monkey is supposed to have recovered from his stupor, and the next morning on discovering his loss, he set up a horrid yell, which brought together all his fellow-inhabitants of the jungle; and some neighbouring villagers saw an immense number of monkeys of all sorts and sizes, collected together in a body. The story runs that this army of monkeys was headed by the one who had recovered from his drunken fit, and that they marched away from the jungle in pursuit of the robber.
‘Their first march was to the adjacent village, where every house was visited in turn by the monkeys, without success; no one ever venturing to obstruct or drive away the intruders, fearing their resentment. After which they sallied out of the village to the main road, minutely looking for footsteps, as a clue, on the sandy pathway; and by this means discovering the track of the Hindoo, they pursued the road they had entered throughout the day and night. Early in the morning of the following day, the monkeys advanced to the serai (inn, or halting place for travellers) soon after the Hindoo himself had quitted it, who had actually sojourned there the previous night.
‘On the road, when the horde of monkeys met any traveller, he was detained by them until the chief of them had scrutinized his features, and he was then liberated on finding he was not the person they were in pursuit of. After having marched nearly forty miles from their home, they entered one of the halting places for travellers, where the Hindoo was resting after his day’s journey.
‘The monkey having recognized the robber, immediately grasped him by the arm, and others entering, the frightened robber was searched, the purse discovered in his wrapper, which the chief monkey angrily seized, and then counted over its contents, piece by piece. This done, finding the number correct, the monkey selected eight pieces, and threw them towards the Hindoo; and distributing the remaining number of gold mohurs amongst the monkeys, who placed each his coin in the hollow of his cheek, the whole body retired from the serai to retrace their steps to the jungle.’
[1] Hanuman, the divine monkey of the Ramayana epic, who helped Rama to recover his abducted wife, Sita.
[2] _Langur, Semnopithecus entellus_.
[3] Now worth a little more than a sovereign.
LETTER XXIII
The Soofies.–Opinion of the Mussulmauns concerning Solomon.–The Ood-ood.–Description of the Soofies and their sect.–Regarded with great reverence.–Their protracted fasts.–Their opinion esteemed by the Natives.–Instance of the truth of their predictions.–The Saalik and Majoob Soofies.–The poets Haafiz and Saadie.–Character and attainments of Saadie.–His ‘Goolistaun’.–Anecdotes descriptive of the origin of that work.–Farther remarks on the character and history of Saadie.–Interesting anecdotes illustrative of his virtues and the distinguishing characteristics of the Soofies.
The life of King Solomon, with all his acts, is the subject of many an author’s pen, both in the Arabic and Persian languages; consequently the learned Mussulmauns of Hindoostaun are intimately acquainted with his virtues, his talent, and the favour with which he was visited by the great goodness of the Almighty. In the course of my sojourn amongst them, I have heard many remarkable and some interesting anecdotes relating to Solomon, which the learned men assure me are drawn from sources of unquestionable authority.
They affirm that the wisdom of Solomon not only enabled him to search into the most hidden thoughts of men, and to hold converse with them in their respective languages, but that the gift extended even to the whole brute creation; by which means he could hold unlimited converse, not only with the animate, as birds, beasts, and fish, but with inanimate objects, as shrubs, trees, and, indeed, the whole tribe of vegetable nature; and, further, that he was permitted to discern and control aerial spirits, as demons, genii, &c.
The pretty bird, known in India by the name of Ood-ood,[1] is much regarded by the Mussulmauns, as by their tradition this bird was the hurkaarah of King Solomon; and entrusted with his most important commissions whenever he required intelligence to be conveyed to or from a far distant place, because he could place greater confidence in the veracity of this bird, and rely on more certain dispatch, than when entrusting his commands to the most worthy of his men servants.
The ood-ood is beautifully formed, has a variegated plumage of black, yellow, and white, with a high tuft of feathers on its head, through which is a spear of long feathers protruding directly across the head for several inches, and is of the woodpecker species. The princes, Nuwaubs, and nobility of Hindoostaun, keep hurkaarahs for the purpose of conveying and obtaining intelligence, who are distinguished by a short spear, with a tuft of silk or worsted about the middle of the handle, and the tail of the ood-ood in the front of their turban, to remind them of this bird, which they are expected to imitate both in dispatch and fidelity. I am told, these men (from their early training) are enabled to run from fifty to sixty miles bare-footed, and return the same distance without halting on the same day.
The religious devotees of the Mussulmaun persuasion, who are denominated Soofies,[1] are conjectured, by many, to have a similar gift with Solomon of understanding the thoughts of other men. By some it is imagined that Solomon was the first Soofie; by others, that Ali, the husband of Fatima, imparted the knowledge of that mystery which constitutes the real Soofie. I am acquainted with some Natives who designate the Soofies ‘Freemasons’ but I imagine this to be rather on account of both possessing a secret, than for any similarity in other respects, between the two orders of people.
My business, however, is to describe. The Soofies then are, as far as I can comprehend, strictly religious men, who have forsaken entirely all attachment to earthly things, in their adoration of the one supreme God. They are sometimes found dwelling in the midst of a populous city, yet, even there they are wholly detached from the world, in heart, soul, and mind, exercising themselves in constant adoration of, and application to God; occasionally shutting themselves up for several weeks together in a hut of mud, thatched with coarse grass, with scarce sufficient provision to support the smallest living animal, and water barely enough to moisten their parched lips during the weeks thus devoted to solitary retirement and prayer.
When these recluses can no longer support their self-inflicted privation, they open the door of their hut, a signal anxiously watched for by such persons as have a desire to meet the eye of the holy man, of whom they would inquire on some (to them) interesting matter; probably regarding their future prospects in the world, the cause of the ill-health and prospects of recovery of a diseased member of their family, or any like subject of interest to the inquirer.
The Soofie, I am told, does not approve of being thus teased by the importunities of the thronging crowd, who beset his threshold the instant his door is heard to open. Being weak in body, after the fatigue of a protracted fast of weeks together, his replies to the questions (preferred always with remarkable humility) are brief and prompt; and the Natives assure me dependence may always be placed on the good Soofie’s reply being strictly the words of truth. On this account, even if the oracle’s reply disappoint the hopes of the questioner, he retires without a murmur, for then he knows the worst of his calamity, and if God orders it so, he must not complain, because Infinite Wisdom cannot err, and the holy man will assuredly speak the truth.
The practice so long prevailing in Europe of visiting the cunning man, to have the hidden mysteries of fate solved, occurred to my recollection when I first heard of this custom in India.
‘Will my son return from his travels during my lifetime?’–was the inquiry of a truly religious man, whom I knew very intimately, to one of the professed Soofie class, on his emerging from his hut. The reply was as follows:–‘Go home!–be happy;–comfort your heart;–he is coming!’ By a singular coincidence it happened, that the following day’s daak produced a letter, announcing to him that his son was on his way returning to his home and his father, who had for some years despaired of ever again seeing his son in this life.
It is needless to say, that the veneration shown to this Soofie was much increased by the singular coincidence, because the person who consulted him was a man of remarkable probity, and not given to indulge in idle conversations with the worldly-minded of that city.
There are many men in this country, I am told, who make Soofieism their profession, but who are in reality hypocrites to the world, and their Maker: actuated sometimes by the love of applause from the multitude, but oftener, I am assured, by mercenary motives. A Soofie enjoying public favour may, if he choose, command any man’s wealth who gives credit to his supposed power. All men pay a marked deference to his holy character, and few would have the temerity to withhold the desired sum, however inconvenient to bestow, should the demand be made by one professing to be a Soofie.
The real Soofie is, however, a very different character, and an object of deserved veneration, if only for the virtue of perfect content with which his humble mind is endued: respect cannot be withheld by the reflecting part of the world, when contemplating a fellow-creature (even of a different faith) whose life is passed in sincere devotion to God, and strictly conforming to the faith he has embraced. My Native friends inform me,–and many reprobate the notion,–that the Soofies believe they resolve into the Divine essence when their souls are purified from the animal propensities of this life by severe privations, fervent and continual prayer, watchings, resisting temptations, and profound meditation in solitude. When they have acquired the perfection they aim at, and are really and truly the perfect Soofie, they rarely quit the hut they have first selected for their retirement, and into which no one ever attempts to intrude, without the Soofie commands it. He enjoys the universal respect and veneration of all classes of people; he has no worldly rewards to bestow, yet there are servants always ready to do him any kindness, amongst the number of his admirers who flock to catch but a glimpse of the holy man, and fancy themselves better when but the light of his countenance has beamed upon them. Proudly pre-eminent, in his own eyes, is the one amongst the multitude who may be so far honoured as to be allowed to place a platter of food before the Soofie, when the imperative demands of Nature prevail over his self-inflicted abstinence.
Some Soofies shut themselves in their hut for a few days, and others for weeks together, without seeing or being seen by a human being. Their general clothing is simply a wrapper of calico, and their only furniture a coarse mat. They are said to be alike insensible to heat or cold, so entirely are their hearts weaned from the indulgence of earthly comforts.
I must explain, however, that there are two classes of the professedly devout Soofies, viz. the Saalik, and the Majoob.[3] The true Saalik Soofies are those who give up the world and its allurements, abstain from all sensual enjoyments, rarely associate with their fellow-men, devote themselves entirely to their Creator, and are insensible to any other enjoyments but such as they derive from their devotional exercises.
The Majoob Soofies have no established home nor earthly possessions; they drink wine and spirits freely, when they can obtain them. Many people suppose this class have lost the possession of their reason, and make excuse for their departure from the law on that score. Both classes are nevertheless in great respect, because the latter are not deemed guilty of breaking the law, since they are supposed to be insensible of their actions whilst indulging in the forbidden juice of the grape.
Haafiz,[4] the celebrated poet of Persia, it is related, was a Soofie of the Majoob class, he lived without a thought of providing for future exigencies, accepted the offerings of food from his neighbour, drank wine freely when offered to him, and slept under any shed or hovel he met with, as contented as if he was in the palace of a king.
Saadie,[5] the Persian poet, was, during the latter years of his life, a Saalik Soofie of the most perfect kind. Many of the inspirations of his pen, however, were written in that part of his life which was devoted to the world and its enjoyments; yet most of these indicate purity of thought in a remarkable degree. Saadie’s life was subject to the most extraordinary vicissitudes; he possessed an independent mind, scorning every allurement of wealth which might tend to shackle his principles. He is said to have repeatedly rejected offers of patronage and pecuniary assistance from many noblemen, whilst he still loved the world’s enticements, declaring he never could submit to confine himself to attendance on an earthly master for any lengthened period. His wit, pleasing deportment, and polite manners, together with the amiable qualities of his heart, rendered him a general favourite, and they who could boast most intimacy with Saadie were the most honoured by the world; for, though but the poor Saadie, he shed a lustre over the assemblies of the great and noble in birth or station, by his brilliant mind.
The ‘Goolistaun'[6] of Saadie has been so often eulogized, as to render it unnecessary for me to add a single word in commendation of its style and morality; but I will here take leave to insert an anecdote translated for me by my husband, in allusion to the incident which prompted Saadie to write that work, under the title of ‘Goolistaun’ (Garden of Roses). I will also here remark, that in the principal cities of Persia, the Mussulmauns of that age were not equally rigid in their observance of the law interdicting the use of fermented liquors, as are those of the present day in Hindoostaun. Many young men among the higher orders indulged freely in the ‘life-inspiring draught’, as they were wont to call the juice of the grape.
‘Shiraaz was the abode and the presumptive birth-place of Saadie. In his early years he was led by a love of society to depart from the rigid customs of his forefathers, and with the wild youth of his acquaintance to indulge freely in nightly potations of the forbidden juice of the grape. He had long delighted his friends and favourites by sharing in their nocturnal revels, and adding by his wit and pleasantry to the mirthful moments as they flew by unheeded.
‘At a particular season of the year, a convivial party were accustomed to assemble in a garden of roses, from midnight to the rising sun, to indulge in the luxury of wine during that refreshing season; as to receive the first scent from the opening roses as they expand with the dawn of the morning, constituted a delight, proverbially intoxicating, amongst the sons of Persia. Saadie composed many airs for the occasion, and gifted by Nature with a voice equalled only by his wit, he sang them with a melody so sweet as to render him almost the idol of his companions.
‘At one of these seasons of enjoyment, the festival was prepared by his circle of friends as usual, but Saadie delayed his visit. The whole party were lost in surprise and regret at an absence as unexpected as deplored. Some time was passed in fruitless conjecture on the cause of his delay, and at last it was agreed that a deputation from his well-beloved associates should go in quest of their favourite. They accordingly went, and knocked at the door of his room, which they found was securely fastened within. The poet inquired “Who is it that disturbs my repose, at this hour, when all good subjects of the King should be at rest?”–“Why, Saadie, Saadie!” they replied, “it is your friends and associates, your favourites!–have you forgotten our enjoyments and this season of bliss? Come, come, open the door, Saadie! away with us! our revels await your presence. Nothing gives enjoyment to our party until you add your smiles to our mirth.”
‘”Let me alone,” replied Saadie; “enjoy your pastime, if such it be to ye; but for me, I am heartily ashamed of my late wanton pursuits. I have resolved on mending my ways, whilst yet I have time; and be ye also wise, my friends; follow Saadie’s example. Go home to your beds, and forsake the sinful habits of the world!”
‘”Why Saadie, what aileth thee! art thou mad?–or has the study of philosophy drawn thee from thy former self, whilst yet thine hairs are jet with youth? These reflections of thine will suit us till far better when time hath frosted our beards. Come, come, Saadie, away with us! let not the precious moments escape in this unprofitable converse. You must come, Saadie; our hearts will break without you!”
‘”Nay, nay,” responded Saadie, “my conscience smites me that I have erred too long. It suits not my present temper to join in your mirth.”–“Open the door to us at any rate,” sounded from the many voices without; “speak to us face to face, our dear and well-beloved friend! let us have admission, and we will argue the subject coolly.”–Saadie’s good-nature could not resist the appeal, the door was unbarred, and the young men entered in a body.
‘”We have all wickedly broken the law of the faithful,” said Saadie to his guests; and he tried to reason with his unreasonable favourites, who, on their part, used raillery, bantering, argument, and every power of speech, to turn Saadie from his steady purpose of now fulfilling the law he had wilfully violated. They effected nothing in moving him from his purpose, until one of the young men, to whom Saadie was much attached, spoke tenderly to him of the affection both himself and friends entertained for him, adding, “It is written in our law, that if a Mussulmaun be guilty of any sin, however great, (and all kinds of sin are therein enumerated), and he afterwards sincerely repents before God, with fasting and prayer, his sins shall be forgiven. Now you, Saadie, who are deeply versed in the way of wisdom, and better acquainted with the words of the Khoraun than any other man on earth, tell me, is there in that holy book a promise made of forgiveness for that man who breaks the hearts of his fellow-creatures? With us there are many hearts so devotedly attached to you, that must assuredly burst the bonds of life by your complete and sudden desertion of them, so that not one sin but many shall be hurled by their deaths on your conscience, to be atoned for how you may.”
‘Saadie loved them all too dearly to resist their persevering proofs of affection, and he suffered himself, after a little more argument, to be led forth to the scene of their revels, where, however, he argued strongly on the impropriety of their habits and refused to be tempted by the alluring wine. He then promised to prepare for them a never-fading garden of roses which should last with the world; every leaf of which, if plucked with attention, should create a greater and more lasting bliss about their hearts than the best wine of Shiraaz, or the most refined aromatic had hitherto conveyed to their sensual appetites.’
After the evening in question, Saadie abstained from all participation in the revels of his friends, and devoted his hours to retirement that he might accomplish the ‘Goolistaun’ he had pledged himself to cultivate for their more substantial benefit and perpetual enjoyment. The simplicity, elegance, purity of style, and moral precepts conveyed in this work, prove the author to have been worthy the respect with which his name has been reverenced through all ages, and to this day, by the virtuously disposed his work is read with unabated interest.
Saadie did not remain very long at Shiraaz after his conversion, nor did he settle any where for any long period. The Persian writers assert that he disliked the importunities of the world, which, sensible of his merits as a poet and companion, constantly urged him to associate with them. He, therefore, lived a wandering life for many years, carefully concealing his name, which had then become so celebrated by his writings, that even beyond the boundaries of Persia his fame was known.
As his manner of life was simple, his wants were few; he depended solely on the care of Divine Providence for his daily meal, avoiding every thing like laying by from to-day’s produce for the morrow’s sustenance. He considered that provision alone acceptable, which the bounty of Divine Providence daily provided for his need, by disposing the hearts of others to tender a suitable supply. In fact, he is said to have been of opinion that the store laid up by men for future exigencies lessened the delightful feeling of dependance on the bounty of God, who faileth not, day by day, to provide for the birds and beasts of the forest with equal care as for the prince on his throne; he would say, ‘I shall be tempted to forget from whom my bread is received, if I have coins in my purse to purchase from the vender. Sweet is the daily bread granted to my prayers and dependance on the sole Giver of all good!’
To illustrate the necessity of perfect content, he relates, in his writings, the following interesting anecdote:–‘I was once travelling on foot, where the roads were rugged, my shoes worn out, and my feet cut by the stones. I was desirous of pursuing my journey quickly, and secretly mourned that my feet pained me, and that my shoes were now rendered useless; often wishing, as I stepped with caution, that I possessed the means of replenishing these articles so useful to a traveller.
‘With these feelings of dissatisfaction, I approached the spot where a poor beggar was seated, who, by some calamity, had been deprived of both his feet. I viewed this sad object with much commiseration, for he was dependant on the kindness of his fellow-beggars to convey him daily to that public spot, where the passing traveller, seeing his misery, might be induced to bestow upon him a few coins to provide for his subsistence. “Alas! alas!” said I, “how have I suffered my mind to be disturbed because my feet pained me, and were shoeless. Ungrateful being that I am! rather ought I to rejoice with an humble heart, that my gracious Benefactor hath granted me the blessing of feet, and sound health. Never let me again murmur or repine for the absence of a luxury, whilst my real wants are amply supplied.”‘
One of my objects in detailing the anecdotes of Saadie in this place, is to give a more correct idea of the Soofie character of that particular class called Saalik, to which he ultimately belonged.
The next translation from the life of Saadie will show how beautifully his well-tempered spirit soared above those difficulties which the common mind would have sunk under. His fame, his superior manners, were of that rare kind, that distance from his birth-place could be no obstacle to his making friends, if he chose to disclose his name in any city of Asia.
I have no dates to guide me in placing the several anecdotes in their proper order; this, however, will be excused, as I do not pretend to give his history.
‘On one occasion, Saadie was journeying on foot, and being overtaken by the Arabs, (who, or a party of, it may be presumed, were at war with Persia), he was taken prisoner, and conveyed by them, with many others, to Aleppo. The prisoners, as they arrived, were all devoted to the public works (fortifying the city), and obliged to labour according to their ability.
‘Saadie, unused to any branch of mechanical labour, could only be employed in conveying mortar to the more scientific workmen. For many months he laboured in this way, degrading as the employment was, without a murmur, or a desire that his fate had been otherways ordained. Hundreds of men then living in Aleppo would have been proud of the honour and the good name they must have acquired from the world, by delivering the Poet from his thraldom, had they known he was amongst them, a slave to the Arabs; for Saadie was revered as a saint by those who had either read his works, or heard of his name, extolled as it was for his virtues. But Saadie placed his trust in God alone, and his confidence never for an instant forsook him; he kept his name concealed from all around him, laboured as commanded, and was contented.
‘Many months of degrading servitude had passed by, when one day, it so happened that a rich Jew merchant, who had formerly lived at Shiraaz, and there had been honoured by the regard of the idolized Saadie, visited Aleppo, on his mercantile concerns. Curiosity led him to survey the improvements going on in the city; and passing the spot where Saadie was then presenting his load of mortar to the mason, he thought he recognized the Poet, yet deemed it impossible that he should be engaged in so degrading an employment, who was the object of universal veneration in Persia. Still the likeness to his former friend was so striking, that he felt no trifling degree of pleasure, whilst contemplating those features whose resemblance recalled the image of that holy man who was so dear to him, and brought back to his recollection many delightful hours of friendly converse, which at Shiraaz had cheated time of its weight, and left impressions on his heart to profit by during life.
‘”I will talk with this man,” thought the Jew; “surely he must be related to my friend; the face, the form, the graceful manner, and even in that rude garb and occupation, he so strongly resembles my friend, that I cannot doubt he must be of the same kindred.”