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diff --git a/7953-h/7953-h.htm b/7953-h/7953-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fc3f2b --- /dev/null +++ b/7953-h/7953-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4306 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Behind the Bungalow, by EHA</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Behind the Bungalow, by EHA, Illustrated by +F. C. Macrae + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Behind the Bungalow + + +Author: EHA + + + +Release Date: May 4, 2015 [eBook #7953] +[This file was first posted on June 4, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE BUNGALOW*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1897 W. Thacker & Co. by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Frontispiece, “Behind the Bungalow”" +title= +"Frontispiece, “Behind the Bungalow”" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span class="smcap">Behind the Bungalow</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> +EHA<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AUTHOR OF “THE TRIBES ON MY +FRONTIER”</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">“A NATURALIST ON THE +PROWL”</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Illustrated by<br /> +F. C. MACRAE</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SIXTH +EDITION</span></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +W. <span class="smcap">Thacker</span> & <span +class="smcap">Co</span>., 2, <span class="smcap">Creed +Lane</span>, E.C.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CALCUTTA: THACKER, SPINK & +CO.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1897</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">These</span> papers appeared in the +<i>Times of India</i>, and were written, of course, for the +Bombay Presidency; but the Indian <i>Nowker</i> exhibits very +much the same traits wherever he is found and under whatsoever +name.</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Engaging a Boy</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p1b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"Pictures of various Indian men" +title= +"Pictures of various Indian men" + src="images/p1s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">Extended</span>, six feet of me, over an +ample easy-chair, in absolute repose of mind and body, soothed +with a cup of tea which Canjee had ministered to me, comforted by +the slippers which he had put on my feet in place of a heavy pair +of boots which he had unlaced and taken away, feeling in charity +with all mankind—from this standpoint I began to +contemplate “The Boy.”</p> +<p>What a wonderful provision of nature he is in this +half-hatched civilization of ours, which merely distracts our +energies by multiplying our needs and leaves us no better off +than we were before we discovered them! He seems to have a +natural aptitude for discerning, or even inventing, your wants +and supplies them before you yourself are aware of them. +While in his hands nothing petty invades you. +Great-mindedness becomes possible. “Magnanimus +Æneas” must have had an excellent Boy. What is +the history of the Boy? How and where did he +originate? What is the derivation of his name? I have +heard it traced to the Hindoostanee word <i>bhai</i>, a brother, +but the usual attitude of the Anglo-Indian’s mind towards +his domestics does not give sufficient support to this. I +incline to the belief that the word is of hybrid origin, having +its roots in <i>bhoee</i>, a bearer, and drawing the tenderer +shades of its meaning from the English word which it +resembles. To this no doubt may be traced in part the +master’s disposition to regard his boy always as <i>in +statu pupillari</i>. Perhaps he carries this view of the +relationship too far, but the Boy, on the other hand, cheerfully +regards him as <i>in loco parentis</i> and accepts much from him +which he will not endure from a stranger. A cuff from his +master (delivered in a right spirit) raises his dignity, but the +same from a guest in the house wounds him terribly. He +protests that it is “not regulation.” And in +this happy spirit of filial piety he will live until his hair +grows white and his hand shaky and his teeth fall out and service +gives place to worship, <i>dulia</i> to <i>latria</i>, and the +most revered idol among his <i>penates</i> is the photograph of +his departed master. With a tear in his dim old eye he +takes it from its shrine and unwraps the red handkerchief in +which it is folded, while he tells of the virtues of the great +and good man. He says there are no such masters in these +days, and when you reply that there are no such servants either, +he does not contradict you. Yet he may have been a sad +young scamp when he began life as a dog-boy fifty-five years ago, +and, on the other hand, it is not so impossible as it seems that +the scapegrace for whose special behoof you keep a rattan on your +hat-pegs may mellow into a most respectable and trustworthy old +man, at least if he is happy enough to settle under a good +master; for the Boy is often very much a reflection of the +master. Often, but not always. Something depends on +the grain of the material. There are Boys and Boys. +There is a Boy with whom, when you get him, you can do nothing +but dismiss him, and this is not a loss to him only, but to you, +for every dismissal weakens your position. A man who parts +lightly with his servants will never have a servant worth +retaining. At the morning conference in the market, where +masters are discussed over the soothing <i>beeree</i>, none holds +so low a place as the <i>saheb</i> who has had eleven butlers in +twelve months. Only loafers will take service with him, and +he must pay even them highly. Believe me, the reputation +that your service is permanent, like service under the +<i>Sircar</i>, is worth many rupees a month in India.</p> +<p>The engagement of a first Boy, therefore, is a momentous +crisis, fraught with fat contentment and a good digestion, or +with unrest, distraction, bad temper, and a ruined +constitution. But, unfortunately, we approach this epoch in +a condition of original ignorance. There is not even any +guide or handbook of Boys which we may consult. The Griffin +a week old has to decide for himself between not a dozen +specimens, but a dozen types, all strange, and each differing +from the other in dress, complexion, manner, and even +language. As soon as it becomes known that the new +<i>saheb</i> from England is in need of a Boy, the +<i>levée</i> begins. First you are waited upon by a +personage of imposing appearance. His broad and dignified +face is ornamented with grey, well-trimmed whiskers. There +is no lack of gold thread on his turban, an ample +<i>cumberbund</i> envelopes his portly figure, and he wears +canvas shoes. He left his walking-cane at the door. +His testimonials are unexceptionable, mostly signed by mess +secretaries; and he talks familiarly, in good English, of Members +of Council. Everything is most satisfactory, and you +inquire, timidly, what salary he would expect. He replies +that that rests with your lordship: in his last appointment he +had Rs. 35 a month, and a pony to ride to market. The +situation is now very embarrassing. It is not only that you +feel you are in the presence of a greater man than yourself, but +that you know <i>he</i> feels it. By far the best way out +of the difficulty is to accept your relative position, and tell +him blandly that when you are a commissioner <i>saheb</i>, or a +commander-in-chief, he shall be your head butler. He will +understand you, and retire with a polite assurance that that day +is not far distant.</p> +<p>As soon as the result of this interview becomes known, a man +of very black complexion offers his services. He has no +shoes or <i>cumberbund</i>, but his coat is spotlessly +white. His certificates are excellent, but signed by +persons whom you have not met or heard of. They all speak +of him as very hard-working and some say he is honest. His +spotless dress will prepossess you if you do not understand +it. Its real significance is that he had to go to the +<i>dhobie</i> to fit himself for coming into your presence. +This man’s expectations as regards salary are most modest, +and you are in much danger of engaging him, unless the hotel +butler takes an opportunity of warning you earnestly that, +“This man not gentlyman’s servant, sir! He +sojer’s servant!” In truth, we occupy in India +a double social position; that which belongs to us among our +friends, and that which belongs to us in the market, in the +hotel, or at the dinner table, by virtue of our servants. +The former concerns our pride, but the latter concerns our +comfort. Please yourself, therefore, in the choice of your +personal friends and companions, but as regards your servants +keep up your standard.</p> +<p>The next who offers himself will probably be of the Goanese +variety. He comes in a black coat, with continuations of +checked jail cloth, and takes his hat off just before he enters +the gate. He is said to be a Colonel in the Goa Militia, +but it is impossible to guess his rank, as he always wears +<i>muftie</i> in Bombay. He calls himself plain Mr. +Querobino Floriano de Braganza. His testimonials are +excellent; several of them say that he is a good tailor, which, +to a bachelor, is a recommendation; and his expectations as +regards his stipend are not immoderate. The only suspicious +thing is that his services have been dispensed with on several +occasions very suddenly without apparent reason. He sheds +no light on this circumstance when you question him, but closer +scrutiny of his certificates will reveal the fact that the +convivial season of Christmas has a certain fatality for him.</p> +<p>When he retires, you may have a call from a fine looking old +follower of the Prophet. He is dressed in spotless white, +with a white turban and white <i>cumberbund</i>; his beard would +be as white as either if he had not dyed it rich orange. He +also has lost his place very suddenly more than once, and on the +last occasion without a certificate. When you ask him the +cause of this, he explains, with a certain brief dignity, in good +Hindoostanee, that there was some <i>tukrar</i> (disagreement) +between him and one of the other servants, in which his master +took the part of the other, and as his <i>abroo</i> (honour) was +concerned, he resigned. He does not tell you that the +<i>tukrar</i> in question culminated in his pursuing the cook +round the compound with a carving-knife in his hand, after which +he burst into the presence of the lady of the house, +gesticulating with the same weapon, and informed her, in a heated +manner, that he was quite prepared to cut the throats of all the +servants, if honour required it.</p> +<p>If none of the preceding please you, you shall have several +varieties of the Soortee tribe anxious to take service with you; +nice looking, clean men, with fair complexions. There will +be the inevitable unfortunate whose house was burned to ashes two +months ago, on which occasion he lost everything he had, +including, of course, all his valuable certificates. +Another will send in a budget dating from the troubled times of +the mutiny. From them it will appear that he has served in +almost every capacity and can turn his hand to anything, is +especially good with children, cooks well, and knows English +thoroughly, having been twice to England with his master. +When this desirable man is summoned into your presence, you +cannot help being startled to find how lightly age sits upon him; +he looks like twenty-five. As for his knowledge of English, +it must be latent, for he always falls back upon his own +vernacular for purposes of conversation. You rashly charge +him with having stolen his certificates, but he indignantly +repels the insinuation. You find a discrepancy, however, in +the name and press him still further, whereupon he retires from +his first position to the extent of admitting that the papers, +though rightfully his, were earned by his father. He does +not seem to think this detracts much from their value. +Others will come, with less pronounced characteristics, and, +therefore, more perplexing. The Madrassee will be there, +with his spherical turban and his wonderful command of colloquial +English; he is supposed to know how to prepare that mysterious +luxury, “real Madras curry.” Bengal servants +are not common in Bombay, fortunately, for they would only add to +the perplexity. The larger the series of specimens which +you examine, the more difficult it becomes to decide to which of +them all you should commit your happiness. +“Characters” are a snare, for the master when parting +with his Boy too often pays off arrears of charity in his +certificate; and besides, the prudent Boy always has his papers +read to him and eliminates anything detrimental to his +interests. But there must be marks by which, if you were to +study them closely, you might distinguish the occult qualities of +Boys and divide them into genera and orders. The subject +only wants its Linnæus. If ever I gird myself for my +<i>magnum opus</i>, I am determined it shall be a +“Compendious Guide to the Classification of Indian +Boys.”</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Boy at Home</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p9b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The boy and man" +title= +"The boy and man" + src="images/p9s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">Your</span> Boy is your <i>valet de +chambre</i>, your butler, your tailor, your steward and general +agent, your interpreter, or oriental translator and your +treasurer. On assuming charge of his duties he takes steps +first, in an unobtrusive way, to ascertain the amount of your +income, both that he may know the measure of his dignity, and +also that he may be able to form an estimate of what you ought to +spend. This is a matter with which he feels he is +officially concerned. Indeed, the arrangement which accords +best with his own view of his position and responsibilities is +that, as you draw your salary each month, you should make it over +to him in full. Under this arrangement he has a tendency to +grow rich, and, as a consequence, portly in his figure and +consequential in his bearing, in return for which he will manage +all your affairs without allowing you to be worried by the cares +of life, supply all your wants, keep you in pocket money, and +maintain your dignity on all occasions. If you have not a +large enough soul to consent to this arrangement, he is not +discouraged. He will still be your treasurer, meeting all +your petty liabilities out of his own funds and coming to your +aid when you find yourself without change. As far as my +observations go, this is an infallible mark of a really +respectable Boy, that he is never without money. At the end +of the month he presents you a faithful account of his +expenditure, the purport of which is plainly this, that since you +did not hand over your salary to him at the beginning of the +month, you are to do so now. Q.E.F. There is a +mystery about these accounts which I have never been able to +solve. The total is always, on the face of it, monstrous +and not to be endured; but when you call your Boy up and prepare +to discharge the bombshell of your indignation, he merely +inquires in an unagitated tone of voice which item you find fault +with, and you become painfully aware that you have not a leg to +stand on. In the first place, most of the items are too +minute to allow of much retrenchment. You can scarcely make +sweeping reductions on such charges as:—“Butons for +master’s trouser, 9 pies;” “Tramwei for going +to market, 1 anna 6 pies;” “Grain to sparrow” +(canary seed!) “1 anna 3 pies;” “Making white +to master’s hat, 5 pies.” And when at last you +find a charge big enough to lay hold of, the imperturbable man +proceeds to explain how, in the case of that particular item, he +was able, by the exercise of a little forethought, to save you 2 +annas and 3 pies. I have struggled against these accounts +and know them. It is vain to be indignant. You must +just pay the bill, and if you do not want another, you must make +up your mind to be your own treasurer. You will fall in +your Boy’s estimation, but it does not follow that he will +leave your service. The notion that every native servant +makes a principle of saving the whole of his wages and remitting +them monthly to Goa, or Nowsaree, is one of the ancient myths of +Anglo-India. I do not mean to say that if you encourage +your Boy to do this he will refuse; on the contrary, he likes +it. But the ordinary Boy, I believe, is not a prey to +ambition and, if he can find service to his mind, easily +reconciles himself to living on his wages, or, as he terms it, in +the practical spirit of oriental imagery, “eating” +them. The conditions he values seem to +be,—permanence, respectful treatment, immunity from kicks +and cuffs and from abuse, especially in his own tongue, and, +above all, a quiet life, without <i>kitkit</i>, which may be +vulgarly translated, nagging. He considers his situation +with regard to these conditions, he considers also his pay and +prospect of unjust emoluments, with a judicial mind he balances +the one against the other, and if he works patiently on, it is +because the balance is in his favour. I am satisfied that +it is an axiom of domestic economy in India that the treatment +which you mete out to your Boy has a definite money value. +Ill-usage of him is a luxury like any other, paid for by those +who enjoy it, not to be had otherwise.</p> +<p>There is one other thing on which he sets his childish +heart. He likes service with a master who is in some sort a +<i>burra saheb</i>. He is by nature a hero +worshipper—and master is his natural hero. The +saying, that no man is a hero to his own valet, has no +application here. In India, if you are not a hero to your +own Boy, I should say, without wishing to be unpleasant, that the +probabilities are against your being a hero to anybody. It +is very difficult for us, with our notions, to enter into the +Boy’s beautiful idea of the relationship which subsists +between him and master. To get at it at all we must realize +that no shade of radicalism has ever crossed his social +theory. “Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity” is +a monstrous conception, to which he would not open his mind if he +could. He sees that the world contains masters and +servants, and doubts not that the former were provided for the +accommodation of the latter. His fate having made him a +servant, his master is the foundation on which he stands. +Everything, therefore, which relates to the well-being, and +especially to the reputation, of his master, is a personal +concern of his own. <i>Per contra</i>, he does not forget +that he is the ornament of his master. I had a Boy once +whom I retained chiefly as a curiosity, for I believe he had the +smallest adult human head in heathendom. He appeared before +me one day with that minute organ surmounted by a gorgeous turban +of purple and gold, which he informed me had cost about a +month’s pay. Now I knew that his brain was never +equal to the management of his own affairs, so that he was always +in pecuniary straits, but he anticipated my curiosity by +informing me that he had raised the necessary funds by pawning +his wife’s bangles. Unthinkingly I reproached him, +and then I saw, coming over his countenance, the bitter +expression of one who has met with rebuff when he looked for +sympathy. Arranging himself in his proudest attitude, he +exclaimed, “Saheb, is it not for your glory? When +strangers see me will they not ask, ‘Whose servant is +that?”’ Living always under the influence of +this spirit, the Boy never loses an opportunity of enforcing your +importance, and his own as your representative. When you +are staying with friends, he gives the butler notice of your +tastes. If tea is made for breakfast, he demands coffee or +cocoa; if jam is opened, he will try to insist upon +marmalade. At an hotel he orders special dishes. When +you buy a horse or a carriage, he discovers defects in it, and is +gratified if he can persuade you to return it and let people see +that you are not to be imposed upon or trifled with. He +delights to keep creditors and mean men waiting at the door until +it shall be your pleasure to see them. But it is only +justice to say that it will be your own fault if this disposition +is not tempered with something of a purer feeling, a kind of +filial regard and even reverence—if reverence is at all +possible—under the influence of which he will take a kindly +interest in your health and comfort. When your wife is +away, he seems to feel a special responsibility, and my +friend’s Boy, when warning his master against an +unwholesome luxury, would enforce his words with the gentle +admonition, “Missis never allowing, sir.”</p> +<p>It is this way of regarding himself and his master which makes +the Boy generally such a faithful servant; but he often has a +sort of spurious conscience, too, growing out of the fond pride +with which he cherishes his good name, so that you do not strain +the truth to say that he is strictly honest. Veracity is +the point on which he is weakest, but even in this there are +exceptions. My last Boy was curiously scrupulous about the +truth, and would rarely tell a lie, even to shield himself from +blame, though he would do so to get the <i>hamal</i> into a +scrape.</p> +<p>I regret to say that the Boy has flaws. His memory is a +miracle; but just once in a way, when you are dining at the club, +he lays out your clothes nicely without a collar. He sends +you off on an excursion to Matheran, and packs your box in his +neat way; but instead of putting one complete sleeping suit, he +puts in the upper parts of two, without the nether and more +necessary portions. It is irritating to discover, when you +are dressing in a hurry, that he has put your studs into the +upper flap of your shirt front; but I am not sure it does not try +your patience more to find out, as you brush your teeth, that he +has replenished your tooth-powder box from a bottle of +Gregory’s mixture. But Dhobie day is his +opportunity. He first delivers the soiled clothes by tale, +diving into each pocket to see if you have left rupees in it; but +he sends a set of studs to be washed. Then he sits down to +execute repairs. He has an assorted packet of metal and +cotton buttons beside him, from which he takes at random. +He finishes with your socks, which he skilfully darns with white +thread, and contemplates the piebald effect with much +satisfaction; after which he puts them up in little balls, each +containing a pair of different colours. Finally he will +arrange all the clean clothes in the drawer on a principle of his +own, the effect of which will find its final development in your +temper when you go in haste for a handkerchief. I suspect +there is often an explanation of these things which we do not +think of. The poor Boy has other things on his mind besides +your clothes. He has a wife, or two, and children, and they +are not with him. His child sickens and dies, or his wife +runs away with someone else, and carries off all the jewellery in +which he invested his savings; but he goes about his work in +silence, and we only remark that he has been unusually stupid the +last few days.</p> +<p>So much for the Boy in general. As for your own +particular Boy, he must be a very exceptional specimen if he has +not persuaded you long since that, though Boys in general are a +rascally lot, you have been singularly fortunate in yours.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p16b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"To Matheran!" +title= +"To Matheran!" + src="images/p16s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Dog-boy</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p17b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"A dog boy" +title= +"A dog boy" + src="images/p17s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">In</span> Bombay it is not enough to fit +yourself with a Boy: your dog requires a Boy too. I have +always felt an interest in the smart little race of Bombay +dog-boys. As a corps, they go on with little change from +year to year, but individually they are of short duration, and +the question naturally arises, What becomes of them all when they +outgrow their dog-boyhood? From such observations as I have +been able to make, I believe the dog-boy is not a species by +himself, but represents the early, or larva, stage of several +varieties of domestic servants. The clean little man, in +neat print jacket and red velveteen cap, is the young of a +butler; while another, whom nothing can induce to keep himself +clean, would probably, if you reared him, turn into a +<i>ghorawalla</i>. There are others, in appearance +intermediate, who are the offspring of <i>hamals</i> and +<i>mussals</i>. These at a later stage become +<i>coolies</i>, going to market in the morning, fetching ice and +soda-water, and so on, until they mature into <i>hamals</i> and +<i>mussals</i> themselves. Like all larvæ, dog-boys +eat voraciously and grow rapidly. You engage a little +fellow about a cubit high, and for a time he does not seem to +change at all; then one morning you notice that his legs have +come out half a yard or more from his pantaloons, and soon your +bright little page is a gawky, long-limbed lout, who comes to ask +for leave that he may go to his country and get married. If +you do not give it he will take it, and no doubt you are well rid +of him, for the intellect in these people ripens about the age of +fourteen or fifteen, and after that the faculty of learning +anything new stops, and general intelligence declines. At +any rate, when once your boy begins to grow long and weedy, his +days as a dog-boy are ended. He will pass through a +chrysalis stage in his country, or somewhere else, and after a +time emerge in his mature form, in which he will still remember +you, and <i>salaam</i> to you when he meets you on the +road. If he left your service in disgrace, he is so much +the more punctilious in observing this ceremony, which is not an +expression of gratitude, but merely an assertion of his right to +public recognition at your hands, as one who had the honour of +eating your salt. I am certain an Oriental <i>salaam</i> is +essentially a claim rather than a tribute. For this reason +your peons, as they stand in line to receive you at your office +door, are very careful not to <i>salaam</i> all at once, lest you +might think one promiscuous recognition sufficient for all. +The havildar, or naik, as is his right, salutes first, and then +the rest follow with sufficient interval to allow you to +recognise each one separately. I have met some men with +such lordly souls that they would not condescend to acknowledge +the salutations of menials; but you gain nothing by this kind of +pride in India. They only conclude that you are not an +<i>asl</i>, or born, <i>saheb</i>, and rejoice that at any rate +you cannot take away their right to do obeisance to you. +And you cannot. Your very <i>bhunghie</i> does you a +pompous salutation in public places, and you have no redress.</p> +<p>The dog-boy’s primary duties are to feed, tend and wash +his charge, and to take it for a walk morning and evening; but he +is active and very acute, and many other duties fall naturally to +him. It seems hard that he should come under the yoke so +early, but we must not approach such subjects with Western +ideas. The exuberant spirits of boyhood are not indigenous +to this country, and the dog-boy has none of them. He never +does mischief for mischief’s sake; he robs no bird’s +nest; he feels no impulse to trifle with the policeman. +Marbles are his principal pastime. He puts the thumb of his +left hand to the ground and discharges his taw from the point of +his second finger, bending it back till it touches the back of +the hand and then letting it off like a steel spring. Then +he follows up on all fours, with the action of a monsoon frog in +pursuit of a fugitive ant. But liberty and the pride of an +independent position amply compensate any high-souled dog-boy for +the loss of his few amusements.</p> +<p>I have said that the dog-boy never does mischief for its own +sake. He would as soon do his duty for its own sake. +The motive is not sufficient. You shall not find him +refusing to do any mischief which tends to his own +advantage. I grieve to say it, for I have leanings towards +the dog-boy, but there is in him a vein of unsophisticated +depravity, which issues from the rock of his nature like a clear +spring that no stirrings of conscience or shame have rendered +turbid. His face, it is simple and childlike, and he has +the most innocent eye, but he tells any lie which the occasion +demands with a freedom from embarrassment which at a later age +will be impossible to him. He stands his ground, too, under +any fire of cross-examination. The rattan would dislodge +him, but unfortunately his guileless countenance too often +shields him from this searching and wholesome instrument. +When he is sent for a hack buggy and returns after half-an-hour, +with a perplexed face, saying that there is not one to be had +anywhere, who would suspect that he has been holding an auction +at the nearest stand, dwelling on the liberality and wealth of +his master and the distance to which his business that morning +will take him, and that, when he found no one would bid up to his +reserve, he remained firm and came away. Perhaps I seem +hard on the dog-boy, but my experience has not been a happy +one. My first seemed to be an average specimen, moderately +clean and well-behaved; but he was not satisfied with his +wages. He assured me that they did not suffice to fill his +stomach. I told him that I thought it would be his +father’s duty for some years yet to feed and clothe him, +but his young face grew very sad and he answered softly, “I +have no father.” So I took pity on him and raised his +pay, at the same time assuring him that, if he behaved himself, I +would take care of him. His principal duty was to take the +faithful Hubshee for a walk morning and evening, and when he +returned he would tell me where he had gone and how he had +avoided consorting with other dog-boys and their dogs. When +matters had gone on in this satisfactory way for some time, I +happened to take an unusual walk one evening, and I came suddenly +on a company of very lively little boys engaged in a most +exciting game. Their shouts and laughter mingled with the +doleful howls of a dozen dogs which were closely chained in a +long row to a railing, and among them I had no difficulty in +recognising my Hubshee. Suffice it to say that my dog-boy +returned next day to his father, who proved to be in service next +door. He was succeeded by a smart little fellow, +well-dressed and scrupulously clean, but quite above his +profession. It seemed absurd to expect him to wash a dog, +so, on the demise of his grandmother, or some other suitable +occasion, he left me to find more congenial service elsewhere as +a dressing-boy. My next was a charity boy, the son of an +ancient <i>ghorawalla</i>. His father had been a faithful +servant, and as regards domestic discipline, no one could say he +spared the rod and spoiled the child. On the contrary, as +Shelley, I think, expresses it,</p> +<blockquote><p>“He spoilt the rod and did not spare the +child.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But if my last Boy had been above his work, this one proved to +be below it. You could not easily have disinfected any dog +which he had been allowed to handle. I tried to cure him, +but nothing short of boiling in dilute carbolic acid would have +purified him, and even then the effect would, I feel sure, have +been only temporary. So he returned to his stable litter +and I engaged another. This was a sturdy little man, with a +fine, honest-looking face. He had a dash of Negro blood in +him, and wore a most picturesque head-dress. In fact I felt +that, æsthetically, he raised the tone of my house. +He was hardworking, too, and would do anything he was told, so +that I seemed to have nothing to wish for now but that he might +not grow old too soon. But, alas! I started on an +excursion one night, leaving him in charge of my birds. He +promised to attend to them faithfully, and having seen me off, +started on an excursion of his own, from which he did not get +back till three o’clock next day. I arrived at the +same moment and he saw me. Quick as thought he raced +upstairs, flung the windows open and began to pull the covers off +the bird-cages; but I came in before the operation could be +finished. In the interests of common morality I thought it +best to eject him from the premises before he had time to frame a +lie. About a week after this I received a petition, signed +with his mark, recounting his faithful services, expressing his +surprise and regret at the sudden and unprovoked manner in which +I had dismissed him, and insinuating that some enemy or rival had +poisoned my benevolent mind against him. He concluded by +demanding satisfaction. I wonder what has become of him +since.</p> +<p>I have said that there is a vein of depravity in the dog-boy, +but there must be a compensating vein of worth of some kind, an +Ormuzd which in the end often triumphs over Ahriman. The +influences among which he developes do little for him. At +home he is certainly subject to a certain rugged discipline; his +mother throws stones at him when she is angry, and his father, +when he can catch him, gives him a cudgeling to be +remembered. But when he leaves the parental roof he passes +from all this and is left to himself. Some masters treat +him in a parental spirit and chastise him when he deserves it, +and the Boy tyrannizes over him and twists his ear, but on the +whole he grows as a tree grows. And yet how often he +matures into a most respectable and trustworthy man!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p24b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Dog-boys" +title= +"Dog-boys" + src="images/p24s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Ghorawalla</span>, <span +class="smcap">or Syce</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p25b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Ghorawalla" +title= +"The Ghorawalla" + src="images/p25s.jpg" /> +</a>A <span class="smcap">boy</span> for yourself, a boy for your +dog, then a man for your horse; that is the usual order of +trouble. Of course the horse itself precedes the +horse-keeper, but then I do not reckon the buying of a horse +among life’s troubles, rather among its luxuries. It +combines all the subtle pleasures of shopping with a turbid +excitement which is its own. From the moment when you first +start from the breakfast-table at the sound of hoofs, and find +the noble animal at the door, arching his neck and champing his +bit, as if he felt proud to bear that other animal, bandy-legged, +mendacious, and altogether ignoble who sits jauntily on his back, +down to the moment when you walk round to the stable for a little +quiet enjoyment of the sense of ownership, there is a high tide +of mental elation running through the days. Then the +<i>Ghorawalla</i> supervenes.</p> +<p>The first symptom of him is an indent for certain articles +which he asserts to be absolutely necessary before he can enter +on his professional duties. These are a <i>jhule</i>, +<i>baldee</i>, <i>tobra</i>, <i>mora</i>, <i>booroos</i>, +<i>bagdoor</i>, <i>agadee</i>, <i>peechadee</i>, <i>curraree</i>, +<i>hathalee</i>, &c. It is not very rational to be +angry, for most of the articles, if not all, are really +required. Several of them, indeed, are only ropes, for the +<i>Ghorawalla</i>, or syce, as they call him on the other side of +India, gives every bit of cordage about his beast a separate +name, as a sailor describes the rigging of a ship. But the +fact remains that there is something peculiarly irritating in +this first indent. Perhaps one feels, after buying and +paying for a whole horse, that he might in decency have been +allowed to breathe before being asked to pay again. If this +is it, the sooner the delusion is dissipated the better. +You will never have respite from payments while an active-minded +syce remains on your staff. You think you have fitted him +out with everything the heart of syce can desire, and he goes +away seemingly happy, and commences work at once, hissing like +twenty biscobras as he throws himself against the horse, and +works his arms from wrist to elbow into its ribs. It looks +as if it would like to turn round and take a small piece out of +his hinder parts with its teeth, but its nose is tied up to the +roof of the stable, and its hind feet are pulled out and tied to +a peg behind it, so that it can only writhe and cultivate that +amiable temper which characterizes so many horses in this +country. And the syce is happy; but his happiness needs +constant sustenance. Next morning he is at the door with a +request for an anna to buy oil. Horses in this country +cannot sleep without a night-light. They are afraid of +rats, I suppose, like ladies. However, it is a small +demand; all the syce’s demands are small, so are +mosquitoes. Next day he again wants an anna for oil, but +this has nothing to do with the other. Yesterday’s +was one sort of oil for burning, this is another sort of oil for +cleaning the bits. To-morrow he will require a third sort +of oil for softening the leather nose-bag, and the oils of the +country will not be exhausted then. Among the varied +street-cries of Bombay, the “<i>I-scream</i>” man, +the <i>tala-chavee-walla</i>, the <i>botlee-walla</i>, the +vendors of greasy sweetmeats and <i>bawlee-sugah</i>, the legion +of <i>borahs</i>, and that abominable little imp who issues from +the newspaper offices, and walks the streets, yelling +“Telleecram! tellee-c-r-a-a-m!” among them all there +is one voice so penetrating, and so awakening where it +penetrates, that—that I cannot find a fitting conclusion to +this sentence. Who of us has not started at that shrill +squeal of pain, “Nee-ee-ee-ttile!” The +<i>Ghorawalla</i> watches for it, and stopping the good-natured +woman, brings her in and submits a request for a bottle of +neat’s foot oil, for want of which your harness is going to +destruction. She has blacking as well as oil, but he will +call her in for that afterwards. He never concludes two +transactions in one day. When he has succeeded in reducing +you to such a state of irritability that it is not safe to +mention money in your presence, he stops at once and changes +tactics. He brings the horse to the door with a thick layer +of dust on the saddle and awaits your onset with the intrepid +inquiry, “Can a saddle be kept clean without +soap?” I suppose a time will come when he will have +got every article he can possibly use, and it is natural to hope +that he will then be obliged to leave you. But this also is +a delusion. On the contrary, his resources only begin to +develop themselves when he has got all he wants. First one +of the leather things on the horse’s hind feet gives way +and has to be cobbled, then a rope wears out and must be +replaced, then a buckle gets loose and wants a stitch. But +his chief reliance is on the headstall and the nose-bag. +When these have got well into use, one or other of them may be +counted on to give way about every other day, and when nothing of +the original article is left, the patches of which it is composed +keep on giving way. Each repair costs from one to three +pice, and it puzzles one to conceive what benefit a well-paid +groom can derive from being the broker in such petty +transactions. But all the details of life in this country +are microscopical, not only among the poor, but among those whose +business is conducted in lakhs. I have been told of a +certain well-known, wealthy mill-owner who, when a water Brahmin +at a railway station had supplied him and all his attendants with +drinking-water, was seen to fumble in his waistband, and reward +the useful man with one copper pie. A pie at present rates +of exchange is worth about 47/128 of a farthing, and it is +instructive to note that emergency, when it came, found this +Crœsus provided with such a coin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p29b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Losing their heads" +title= +"Losing their heads" + src="images/p29s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Now it is evident that if the syce can extort two pice from +you for repairs and get the work done for five pies, one clear +pie will adhere to his glutinous palm. I do not assert that +this is what happens, for I know nothing about it. All I +maintain is that there is no hypothesis which will satisfactorily +explain all the facts, unless you admit the general principle +that the syce derives advantage of some kind from the +manipulation of the smallest copper coin. One notable +phenomenon which this principle helps to explain is the +syce’s anxiety to have his horse shod on the due date every +month. If the shoes are put on so atrociously that they +stick for more than a month, I suspect he considers it +professional to help them off.</p> +<p>Horses in this country are fed mostly on “gram,” +<i>cicer arietinum</i>, a kind of pea, which, when split, forms +<i>dall</i>, and can be made into a most nutritious and palatable +curry. The <i>Ghorawalla</i> recognises this fact. If +he is modest, you may be none the wiser, perhaps none the worse; +but if he is not, then his horse will grow lean, while he grows +stout. How to obviate this result is indeed the main +problem which the syce presents, and many are the ways in vogue +of trying to solve it. One way is to have the horse fed in +your presence, you doing butler and watching him feed. +Another is to play upon the caste feelings of the syce, defiling +the horse’s food in some way. I believe the editor of +the <i>Aryan Trumpet</i> considers this a violation of the +Queen’s proclamation, and, in any case, it is a futile +device. It may work with the haughty <i>Purdaisee</i>, but +suppose your <i>Ghorawalla</i> is a <i>Mahar</i>, whose caste is +a good way below that of his horse? I have nothing to do +with any of these devices. I establish a compact with my +man, the unwritten conditions of which are, that I pay him his +wages, and supply a proper quantity of provender, while he, on +his part, must see that his horse is always fat enough to work, +and himself lean enough to run. If he cannot do this, I +propose to find someone who can. Once he comes to a clear +understanding of this treaty, and especially of its last clause, +he will give little trouble. As some atonement for worrying +you so much about the accoutrements, the <i>Ghorawalla</i> is +very careful not to disturb you about the horse. If the +saddle galls it, or its hoof cracks, he suppresses the fact, and +experiments upon the ailment with his own “vernacular +medicines,” as the Baboo called them. When these +fail, and the case is almost past cure, he mentions it casually, +as an unfortunate circumstance which has come to his +notice. There are a few things, only a few, which make me +feel homicidal, and this is one of them.</p> +<p>I cannot find the bright side of the syce: perhaps I am not in +a humour to see it. Looking back down a long avenue of +Gunnoos, Tookarams, Raghoos, Mahadoos and others whose names even +have grown dim, I discern only a monotony of provocation. +The fine figure of old Bindaram stands out as an exception, but +then he was a coachman, and the coachman is to the +<i>Ghorawalla</i>, what cream is to skim milk. The +unmitigated <i>Ghorawalla</i> is a sore disease, one of those +forms of suffering which raise the question whether our modern +civilization is anything but a great spider, spinning a web of +wants and their accompanying worries over the world and +entangling us all, that it may suck our life-blood out. In +justice I will admit that, as a runner, the thoroughbred Mahratta +<i>Ghorawalla</i> has no peer in the animal kingdom. A +sporting friend and I once engaged in a steeple-chase with two of +them. I was mounted on a great Cape horse, my friend on a +wiry countrybred, and the men on their own proper legs, curious +looking limbs without any flesh on them, only shiny black leather +stretched over bones. The goal was <i>bakshees</i>, twelve +miles away. The ground at first favoured them, consisting +of rice fields, along the <i>bunds</i> of which they ran like +cats on a wall. Then we came to more open country and got +well ahead, but at the last mile they put on the most splendid +spurt I ever saw, and won by a hundred lengths.</p> +<p>It is also only justice to say that we do not give the +<i>Ghorawalla</i> fair play. We artificialise him, dress +him according to our tastes, conform him to our notions, cramp +his ingenuity, and quench his affections. The +<i>Ghorawalla</i> in his native state is no more like our +domesticated Pandoo than the wild ass of Cutch is like the +costermonger’s moke. We will have him like our own +saddlery, plain and businesslike, but he is by nature like his +national horse gear, ornamental, and if you let him alone, will +effloresce in a red <i>fez</i> cap, with tassel, and a waistcoat +of green baize. In such a guise he feels worthy to tend a +piebald horse, caparisoned in crimson silk, with a tight +martingale of red and yellow cord. He can take an interest +in such a horse, and will himself educate it to walk on its hind +legs and paw the air with its forefeet, or to progress at a royal +amble, lifting both feet on one side at the same time, so that +its body moves as steadily as if on wheels, and, to use the +expressive language of a Brahmin friend of mine, the water in +your stomach is not shaken. He will feed it with balls of +<i>ghee</i> and <i>jagree</i>, that it may become rotund and +sleek, he will shampoo its legs after hard work, and address it +as “my son.” If it is disobedient, he will +chastise it by plunging his knee into his stomach, and if it +acquits itself well, he will plait its mane and dye the tip of +its tail magenta. This loving relationship between him and +his beast extends even to religion, and the horse enjoys the +Hindoo festivals. During the Dussera it does not work, but +comes to the door, festooned with garlands of marigold, and +expects a rupee.</p> +<p>The coachman is to the <i>Ghorawalla</i> what cream is to skim +milk, that is if you consider his substance. As regards his +art he is a foreign product altogether, and I take little +interest in him. There is an indigenous art of driving in +this country, the driving of the bullock, but that is a great +subject.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p34b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Man and woman with Ghorawalla" +title= +"Man and woman with Ghorawalla" + src="images/p34s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Bootlair Saheb</span>—<span +class="smcap"><i>anglicè</i></span>, <span +class="smcap">THE Butler</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p35b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Bootlair saheb" +title= +"The Bootlair saheb" + src="images/p35s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">Some</span> dogs, when they hear a +fiddle, are forced to turn over on their backs and howl; some are +unmoved by music. So some men are tortured by every +violation of symmetry, while some cannot discern a straight +line. I belong to the former class, and my Butler belongs +to the latter. He <i>would</i> lay the table in a way which +almost gave me a crick in neck, and certainly dislocated my +temper, and he would not see that there was anything wrong. +I reasoned with him, for he is an intelligent man. I +pointed out to him, in his own vernacular, that the knives and +forks were not parallel, that the four dishes formed a trapezium, +and that the cruet, taken with any two of the salt cellars, made +a scalene triangle; in short, that there was not one +parallelogram, or other regular figure, on the table. At +last a gleam of light passed over his countenance. Yes, he +understood it all; it was very simple; henceforth I should find +everything straight. And here is the result! He has +arranged everything with the utmost regularity, guiding himself +by the creases in the tablecloth; but, unfortunately, he began by +laying the cloth itself slantwise; consequently, I find myself +with my back to one corner of the room and my face to another, +and cannot get rid of the feeling that everything on the table is +slightly the worse for liquor. And the Butler is in +despair. What on earth, he thinks, can be wrong now? +He evidently gives it up, and so do I.</p> +<p>I have already treated of the Boy, and to devote another +chapter to the Butler may seem like making a distinction where +there is no difference; but there is in reality a radical +difference between the two offices, which is this, that your Boy +looks after you, whereas your Butler looks after the other +servants, and you look after him; at least, I hope you do. +From this it follows that the Boy flourishes only in the free +atmosphere of bachelordom. If master marries, the Boy +sometimes becomes a Butler, but I have generally seen that the +change was fatal to him. He feels a share at first in +master’s happiness on the auspicious occasion, and begins +to fit on his new dignity. He provides himself with a more +magnificent <i>cumberbund</i>, enlarges the border of gold thread +on his puggree, and furbishes up his English that he may converse +pleasantly with <i>mem saheb</i>. He orders about the other +servants with a fuller voice than before, and when anyone calls +for a chair, he no longer brings one himself, but commands the +<i>hamal</i> to do so. He feels supremely happy! +Alas! before the <i>mem saheb</i> has been many weeks in the +house, the change of air begins to disagree with him—not +with his body, but with his spirit, and though he may bear up +against it for a time, he sooner or later asks leave to go to his +country. His new mistress is nothing loth to be rid of him, +nor master either, for even his countenance is changed; and so +the Butler’s brief reign comes to an end, and he departs, +deploring the unhappy match his master has made. Why could +not so liberal and large-minded a <i>saheb</i> remain unmarried, +and continue to cast the shadow of his benevolence on those who +were so happy as to eat his salt, instead of taking to himself a +<i>madam</i>, under whom there is no peace night or day? As +he sits with his unemployed friends seeking the consolation of +the never-failing <i>beeree</i>, the ex-butler narrates her +ladyship’s cantankerous ways, how she eternally fidgeted +over a little harmless dust about the corners of the furniture, +as if it was not the nature of dust to settle on furniture; how +she would have window panes washed which had never been washed +before; her meanness in inquiring about the consumption of oil +and milk and firewood, matters which the <i>saheb</i> had never +stooped to look into; and her unworthy and insulting practice of +locking up stores, and doling them out day by day, not to mention +having the cow milked in her presence: all which made him so +ashamed in the presence of the other servants that his life +became bitter, and he was forced to ask for his <i>ruzza</i>.</p> +<p>Lalla, sitting next to him, remarks that no doubt one person +is of one disposition and another of another disposition. +“If it had been my destiny to remain in the service of +Colonel Balloonpeel, all my days would have passed in peace; but +he went to England when he got his <i>pencil</i>. Who can +describe the calmness and goodness of his <i>madam</i>. She +never asked a question. She put the keys in the +Butler’s hand, and if he asked for money she gave it. +But one person is of one disposition and another is of another +disposition.”</p> +<p>“That is true,” replies the ex-butler, “but +the <i>sahebs</i> are better than the <i>mem sahebs</i>. +The <i>sahebs</i> are hot and get angry sometimes, but under them +a man can live and eat a mouthful of bread. With the <i>mem +sahebs</i> it is nothing but worry, worry, worry. Why is +this so dirty? Who broke that plate? When was that +glass cracked? Alas! why do the <i>sahebs</i> marry such +women?”</p> +<p>Old Ramjee then withdraws his <i>beeree</i> from his mouth and +sheds light on the subject. “You see, in England +there are very few women, for which reason it is that so many +<i>sahebs</i> remain unmarried. So when a <i>saheb</i> goes +home to his country for a wife, he must take what he can +get.”</p> +<p>“It is a question of destiny,” says Lalla, +“with them and with us. My first wife, who can tell +how meek she was? She never opened her mouth. My +present wife is such a <i>sheitan</i> that a man cannot live +under the same roof with her. I have sent her to her +country ten times, but what is the use? Will she stay +there? The flavour has all gone out of my life.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p39b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A plot against the butler" +title= +"A plot against the butler" + src="images/p39s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>And they all make noises expressive of sympathy.</p> +<p>The Butler being commander-in-chief of the household forces, I +find one quality to be indispensable in him, and that is what the +natives call <i>hookoomut</i>, the faculty of so commanding that +other men obey. He has to control a sneaking +<i>mussaul</i>, an obstinate <i>hamal</i>, a quarrelsome, or +perhaps a drunken cook, a wicked dog-boy, a proud coachman, and a +few turbulent <i>ghorawallas</i>, while he must conciliate, or +outwit, the opposition headed by the <i>ayah</i>. If he +cannot do this there will be factions, seditions, open mutiny, +ending in appeals to you, to which if you give ear, you will +foster all manner of intrigue, and put a premium on lies and +hypocrisy; and it will be strange if you do not end by punishing +the innocent and filling the guilty with unholy joy. In +this country there is only one way of dealing with the squabbles +of domestics and dependents, and that is the method of Gallio, +who was a great man.</p> +<p>Besides the general responsibilities of his position as +C.-in-C., the Butler has certain specific duties, such as to +stand with arms folded behind you at meal time, to clean the +silver, and to go to the bazaar in the morning. The last +seems to be quite as much a prerogative as a duty, and the cook +wants to go to law about it, regarding the Butler as an unlawful +usurper. He asserts his claim by spoiling the meat which +the Butler brings. Of course, there must be some reason why +this duty, or privilege, is so highly valued, and no doubt that +reason is connected with the great Oriental principle, that of +everything a man handles or controls, somewhat should adhere to +his palm; but if you ask how this principle is applied or worked +out, I can only reply that that is a matter on which I believe +not one of us has any information, though for the most part we +hold very emphatic opinions on the subject. I am quite +certain that it may be laid down for a general rule that the +Butler prefers indirect to direct taxation. He certainly +would not reduce salt and customs duties to pave the way for an +income tax. Neither would a Viceroy, perhaps, if he had to +stay and reap the fruit of his works, instead of leaving that to +his successor—but that is political reflection which has no +business here. The Butler, I say, wisely prefers indirect +taxation and prospers. How, then, are you to checkmate +him? Don’t! A wise man never attempts what +cannot be accomplished. I work on the assumption that my +Butler is, like Brutus, an honourable man, treating him with +consideration, and fostering his self-respect, even at the cost, +perhaps, of a little hypocrisy. It is a gracious form of +hypocrisy, and one that often justifies itself in the end, for +the man tends to become what you assume that he is. For +myself, I confess that I yield to the butler’s claim to go +to market, albeit I am assured that he derives unjust advantages +therefrom, more easily than I reconcile myself to that other +privilege of standing, with arms folded, behind me while I +breakfast, or tiffin, or dine. I can endure the suspicion +that he is growing rich while I am growing poor, but that argus +supervision over my necessary food is like a canker, and his +indefatigable attentiveness would ruin the healthiest +appetite. After removing the cover from the +“beefysteak” and raising one end of the dish that I +may get at the gravy more easily, he offers me potatoes, and I +try to overcome an instinctive repugnance to the large and mealy +tuber under which he has adjusted the spoon in order to lighten +my labour. After the potatoes there are vegetables. +Then he moves the salt a little nearer me and I help +myself. Next he presses the cruet-stand on my attention, +putting the spoon into the mustard pot and taking the stopper out +of the sauce bottle. I submit in the hope that I may now be +allowed to begin; but he has salad or tomatoes or something else +requiring attention. I submit once more and then assume my +knife and fork. He watches his opportunity and insinuates a +pickle bottle, holding the fork in his right hand. I feel +that it is time to make a stand, so I give him one unspeakable +look and proceed with my meal, whereupon he retreats and I +breathe a little more freely. But no; he is at my left hand +again with bread. To do him justice, he is quite willing to +save me annoyance by impaling a slice on the knife and +transferring it to my plate, but I prefer to help myself, which +encourages him to return to the charge with butter and then +jam. This looks like the end, but his resources are +infinite. His eye falls on the sugar basin standing beside +my teacup, and he immediately takes it up and, coming round to my +left side, holds it to my nose. All this time sit I, like +Tantalus, with the savoriest of Domingo’s +“beefysteaks” before me and am not allowed to taste +it. But I know that in every operation he is animated by an +exalted sense of blended duty and prerogative, and if I could +really open his mind to the thought that the least of his +attentions was dispensable, his whole nature would be demoralized +at once; so I endure and grow lean. Another thing which +works towards the same result is a practice that he has of +studying my tastes, and when he thinks he has detected a +preference for a particular dish, plying me with that until the +very sight of it becomes nauseous. At one time he fed me +with “broon custard” pudding for about six months, +until in desperation I interdicted that preparation for evermore, +and he fell back upon “lemol custard.” Thus my +luxuries are cut off one after another and there is little left +that I can eat.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p44b.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Curry and rice" +title= +"Curry and rice" + src="images/p44s.jpg" /> +</a>Our grandfathers used to have Parsee butlers in tall hats to +wait upon them, but that race is now extinct. The Butler on +this side of India is now a Goanese, or a Soortee, or, more +rarely, a Mussulman. Each of these has, doubtless, his own +characteristics; but have you ever stepped back a few paces and +contemplated, not your own or anyone else’s individual +servant, but the entire phenomenon of an Indian Butler? +Here is a man whose food by nature is curry and rice, before a +hillock of which he sits cross-legged, and putting his five +fingers into it, makes a large bolus, which he pushes into his +mouth. He repeats this till all is gone, and then he sleeps +like a boa-constrictor until he recovers his activity; or else he +feeds on great flat cakes of wheat flour, off which he rends +jagged-pieces and lubricates them with some spicy and unctuous +gravy. All our ways of life, our meats and drinks, and all +our notions of propriety and fitness in connection with the +complicated business of appeasing our hunger as becomes our +station, all these are a foreign land to him: yet he has made +himself altogether at home in them. He has a sound +practical knowledge of all our viands, their substance, and the +mode of their preparation, their qualities, relationships and +harmonies, and the exact place they hold in our great cenatorial +system. He knows all liquors also by name, with their +places and times of appearing. And he is as great in action +as in knowledge. When he takes the command of a <i>burra +khana</i> he is a Wellington. He plans with foresight, and +executes with fortitude and self-reliance. See him marshal +his own troops and his auxiliary butlers while he carves and +dispenses the joint! Then he puts himself at their head and +invades the dining-room. He meets with reverses;—the +claret-jug collides with a dish in full sail and sheds its +contents on his white coat; the punkah rope catches his turban +and tosses it into a lady’s lap, exposing his curiously +shaven head to the public merriment; but, though disconcerted, he +is not defeated. He never forgets his position or loses +sight of his dignity. His mistress discusses him with such +wit as may be at her command, and he understands but smiles +not. When the action is over he retires from the field, +divests himself of his robes of office and sits down, as he was +bred to do, before that hillock of curry and rice.</p> +<p>Even good Homer nods, and I confess I am still haunted by the +memory of a day when my Chief was my guest, and the butler served +up red herrings neatly done up in—<i>The Times of +India</i>!</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Domingo</span>, <span class="smcap">the +Cook</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p46b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The cook" +title= +"The cook" + src="images/p46s.jpg" /> +</a>I <span class="smcap">do</span> not remember who was the +author of the observation that a great nation in a state of decay +betakes itself to the fine arts. Perhaps no one has made +the observation yet. It is certainly among the records of +my brain, but I may possibly have put it there myself. If +so, I make it now, for the possibilities of originality are +getting scarce and will soon disappear from the face of the earth +as completely as the mastodon. The present application of +the saying is to the people of Goa, who, while they carry through +the world patronymics which breathe of conquest and discovery, +devote their energies rather to the violin and the art of +cookery. The caviller may object to the application of the +words “fine art” to culinary operations, but the +objection rests on superficial thought. A deeper view will +show that art is in the artist, not in his subject or his +materials. Perusal of the Codes of the Financial Department +showed me many years ago that the retrenchment of my pay and +allowances could be elevated to a fine art by devotion of spirit, +combined with a fine sense of law. And to Domingo the +preparation of dinner is indeed a fine art. Trammel his +genius, confine him within the limits of what is commonly called +a “plain dinner,” and he cannot cook. He stews +his meat before putting it into a pie, he thickens his custard +with flour instead of eggs, he roasts a leg of mutton by boiling +it first and doing “littlee brown” afterwards; in +short, what does he not do? It is true of all his +race. How loathsome were Pedro’s mutton chops, and +Camilo could not boil potatoes decently for a dinner of less than +four courses. But let him loose on a <i>burra khana</i>, +give him <i>carte blanche</i> as to sauces and essences and +spicery, and all his latent faculties and concealed +accomplishments unfold themselves like a lotus flower in the +morning. No one could have suspected that the shame-faced +little man harboured such resources. If he has not always +the subtlest perception of the harmonics of flavours, what a +mastery he shows of strong effects and striking contrasts, what +fecundity of invention, what a play of fancy in decoration, what +manual dexterity, what rapidity and certainty in all his +operations! And the marvel increases when we consider the +simplicity of his implements and materials. His studio is +fitted with half a dozen small fireplaces, and furnished with an +assortment of copper pots, a chopper, two tin spoons—but he +can do without these,—a ladle made of half a cocoanut shell +at the end of a stick, and a slab of stone with a stone roller on +it; also a rickety table; a very gloomy and ominous looking +table, whose undulating surface is chopped and hacked and +scarred, begrimed, besmeared, smoked, oiled, stained with juices +of many substances. On this table he minces meat, chops +onions, rolls pastry and sleeps; a very useful table. In +the midst of these he hustles about, putting his face at +intervals into one of his fires and blowing through a short +bamboo tube, which is his bellows, such a potent blast that for a +moment his whole head is enveloped in a cloud of ashes and +cinders, which also descend copiously on the half-made tart and +the <i>soufflé</i> and the custard. Then he takes up +an egg, gives it three smart raps with the nail of his +forefinger, and in half a second the yoke is in one vessel and +the white in another. The fingers of his left hand are his +strainer. Every second or third egg he tosses aside, having +detected, as it passed through the said strainer that age had +rendered it unsuitable for his purposes; sometimes he does not +detect this. From eggs he proceeds to onions, then he is +taking the stones out of raisins, or shelling peas. There +is a standard English cookery book which commences most of its +instructions with the formula, “wash your hands carefully, +using a nail brush.” Domingo does not observe this +ceremony, but he often wipes his fingers upon his +pantaloons. It occurs to me, however, that I do not wisely +pursue this theme; for the mysteries of Domingo’s craft are +no fit subject for the gratification of an irreverent +curiosity. Those words of the poet,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Where ignorance is bliss,<br /> +’Tis folly to be wise,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>have no truer application. You will reap the bliss when +you sit down to the savoury result.</p> +<p>Though Domingo is naturally shy, and does not make a display +of his attainments, he is a man of education, and is quite +prepared, if you wish it, to write out his menu. Here is a +sample:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Soup</i>.<br /> +Salary Soup.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Fis</i>.<br /> +Heel fish fry.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Madish</i>.<br /> +Russel Pups. Wormsil mole.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Joint</i>.<br /> +Roast Bastard.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Toast</i>.<br /> +Anchovy Poshteg.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Puddin</i>.<br /> +Billimunj. Ispunj roli.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I must take this opportunity to record a true story of a menu, +though it does not properly pertain to Domingo, but an ingenious +Ramaswamy, of Madras. This man’s master liked +everything very proper, and insisted on a written <i>menu</i> at +every meal. One morning Ramaswamy was much embarrassed, for +the principal dish at breakfast was to be devilled turkey. +“Devil very bad word,” he said to himself; “how +can write?” At last he solved the difficulty, and the +dish appeared as “D—d turkey.”</p> +<p>Our surprise at Domingo’s attainments is no doubt due +very much to the humble attire in which we are accustomed to see +him, his working dress being a <i>quondam</i> white cotton jacket +and a pair of blue checked pantaloons of a strong material made +in jails, or two pairs, the sound parts of one being arranged to +underlie the holes in the other. When once we have seen the +gentleman dressed for church on a festival day, with the beaver +which has descended to him from his illustrious +grandfather’s benevolent master respectfully held in his +hand, and his well brushed hair shining with a bountiful +allowance of cocoanut ointment, surprise ceases. He is +indeed a much respected member of society, and enjoys the esteem +of his club, where he sometimes takes chambers when out of +employment. By his fellow servants, too, he is recognised +as a professional man, and called The Maistrie, but, like +ourselves, he is an exile, and, like some of us, he is separated +from his wife and children, so his thoughts run much upon +furlough and ultimate retirement, and he adopts a humble style of +life with the object of saving money. In this object he +succeeds most remarkably. Little as we know of the home +life of our Hindoo servants, we know almost less about that of +Domingo, for he rarely has his family with him. Is he a +fond husband and an indulgent father? I fancy he is when +his better nature is uppermost, but I am bound to confess that +the cardinal vice of his character is cruelty, not the passive +cruelty of the pure Asiatic, but that ferocious cruelty which +generally marks an infusion of European blood. The infusion +in him has filtered through so many generations that it must be +very weak indeed, but it shows itself. When I see an +emaciated crow with the point of its beak chopped off, so that it +cannot pick up its food, or another with a tin pot fastened with +wire to its bleeding nose, I know whose handiwork is there. +Domingo suffers grievously from the depredations of crows, and +when his chance comes he enjoys a savage retribution. Some +allowance must be made for the hardening influence of his +profession; familiarity with murder makes him callous. When +he executes a <i>moorgee</i> he does it in the way of sport, and +sits, like an ancient Roman, <i>verso pollice</i>, enjoying the +spectacle of its dying struggles.</p> +<p>According to his lights Domingo is a religious man; that is to +say, he wears a necklace of red beads, eats fish on Fridays, +observes festivals and holidays, and gives pretty liberally to +the church under pressure. So he maintains a placid +condition of conscience while his monthly remittance to Goa +exceeds the amount of his salary. He rises early on Sunday +morning to go to confession, and I would give something to have +the place, just one day, of the good father to whom he unbosoms +himself. But perhaps I am wrong. I daresay he +believes he has nothing to confess.</p> +<p>One story more to teach us to judge charitably of +Domingo. A lady was inveighing to a friend against the +whole race of Indian cooks as dirty, disorderly, and +dishonest. She had managed to secure the services of a +Chinese cook, and was much pleased with the contrast. Her +friend did not altogether agree with her, and was sceptical about +the immaculate Chinaman. “Put it to the test,” +said the lady; “just let us pay a visit to your kitchen, +and then come and see mine.” So they went +together. What need to describe the +<i>Bobberjee-Khana</i>? They glanced round, and hurried +out, for it was too horrible to be endured long. When they +went to the Chinaman’s kitchen, the contrast was indeed +striking. The pots and pans shone like silver; the table +was positively sweet; everything was in its proper place, and +Chang himself, sitting on his box, was washing his feet in the +soup tureen!</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Mussaul</span>, <span +class="smcap">or Man of Lamps</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p53b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Mussaul" +title= +"The Mussaul" + src="images/p53s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Mussaul’s</i> name is +Mukkun, which means butter, and of this commodity I believe he +absorbs as much as he can honestly or dishonestly come by. +How else does the surface of him acquire that glossy, oleaginous +appearance, as if he would take fire easily and burn well? +I wish we could do without him! The centre of his +influence, a small room in the suburbs of the dining-room, which +he calls the <i>dispence</i>, or <i>dispence-khana</i>, is a +place of unwholesome sights and noisome odours, which it is good +not to visit unless as Hercules visited the stables of +Augeas. The instruments of his profession are there, a +large <i>handie</i> full of very greasy water, with bits of lemon +peel and fragments of broken victuals swimming in it, and a +short, stout stick, with a little bunch of foul rag tied to one +end of it. Here the <i>Mussaul</i> sits on the ice +<i>numda</i> while we have our meals, and as each plate returns +from the table, he takes charge of it, and transfers to his mouth +whatever he finds on it, for he is of the <i>omnivora</i>, like +the crow. Then he seizes his weapon of offence, and, +dipping the rag end into the <i>handie</i>, gives the plate a +masterly wipe, and lays it on the table upside down, or dries it +with a damask table napkin. The butler encourages him for +some reason to use up the table napkins in this way. I +suppose it is because he does not like to waste the <i>dhobie</i> +on anything before it is properly soiled. When the +<i>Mussaul</i> has disposed of the breakfast things in this +summary way, he betakes himself to the great work of the day, the +polishing of the knives. He first plunges the ivory handles +into boiling water, and leaves them to steep for a time, then he +seats himself on the ice again, and, arranging a plank of wood in +a sloping position, holds it fast with his toes, rubs it well +with a piece of bath brick, and commences to polish with all the +energy which he has saved by the neglect of other duties. +Hour after hour the squeaky, squeaky, squeaky sound of that board +plays upon your nerves, not the nerves of the ear, but the nerves +of the mind, for there is more in it than the ear can +convey. Every sight and every sound in this world comes to +us inextricably woven into the warp which the mind supplies, and, +as you listen to that baleful sound, you seem to feel with your +finger points the back of each good, new knife getting sharper +and sharper, and to watch its progress as it wears away at the +point of greatest pressure, until the end of the blade is +connected with the rest by a narrow neck, which eventually +breaks, and the point falls off, leaving the knife in that +condition so familiar to us all, when the blade, about three +inches long, ends in a jagged, square point, the handle having, +meanwhile, acquired a rich orange hue. Oh, those knives! +those knives!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p55b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"More light" +title= +"More light" + src="images/p55s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Etymologically Mukkun is a man of lamps, and, when he has +brushed your boots and stowed them away under your bed, putting +the left boot on the right side and <i>vice versa</i>, in order +that the toes may point outwards, as he considers they should, +then he addresses himself to this part of his duty. Old +Bombayites can remember the days of cocoanut, when he had to +begin his operations during the cold season by putting a row of +bottles out in the sun to melt the frozen oil; but kerosine has +changed all that, and he has nothing to do but to trim the wick +into that fork-tailed pattern in which he delights, and which +secures the minimum of light with the maximum destruction of +chimneys, to smear the outside of each lamp with his greasy +fingers, to conjure away a gallon or so of oil, and to meet +remonstrance with a child-like query, “Do I drink kerosene +oil?” Then he unbends, and gives himself up to a +gentle form of recreation in which he finds much enjoyment. +This is to perch on a low wall or big stone at the garden gate, +and watch the carriages and horses as they pass by. Other +<i>Mussauls</i>, <i>ghorawallas</i>, and passing ice coolies stop +and perch beside him, and sometimes an <i>ayah</i> or two, with a +perambulator and its weary little occupant, grace the +gathering. I suppose the topics of the day are discussed, +the chances of a Russian invasion, the dearness of rice, and the +events which led to the dismissal of Mr. Smith’s old +<i>Mussaul</i> Canjee. Then the time for the lighting of +lamps arrives, and Mukkun returns to his duties.</p> +<p>You might not perhaps suspect it, but Mukkun is a prey to +vanity. The pure oily transparency of his Italian +complexion commands his admiration, and he thinks much of those +glossy love-locks which emerge from his turban and curl in front +of his ears. Several times a day he goes into his room to +contemplate himself in a small hand mirror, and to wind up the +love-locks on his finger. Poor Mukkun has, indeed, a very +human side, and the phenomenon which we recognise as our +<i>Mussaul</i> is not the whole of him. By birth he is an +agriculturist, and there is in the environs of Surat a little +plot of land and a small dilapidated hut in one corner of it, +overgrown with monstrous gourds, which he thinks of as home, +sweet home. There are his young barbarians all at play, but +he, their sire, is forced to seek service abroad because, as he +practically expresses it, the produce of his small field is not +sufficient to fill so many bellies. But, wherever he +wanders, his heart—for he has a heart—flutters about +that rickety hut, and as he sits polishing your boots of a +morning, you may hear him pensively humming to +himself:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Beatus ille qui, procul negotiis,<br /> + Ut prisca gens mortalium,<br /> +Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,<br /> + Solutus omni fœnore.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He puts a peculiar pathos into the last line, for he is +grievously haunted by an apparition in the form of an old man +with a small red turban, gold earrings, and grey beard parted in +the middle, who flourishes a paper in his face and talks of the +debtors’ gaol; and hints that he will have the little house +and field near Surat. Mukkun first fell into the net of +this spider many years ago, when he wanted a few hundred rupees +to enable him to celebrate the marriage of his little +child. He signed a bond for twice the amount he received +then, and it continues to increase from year to year, though he +has paid the principal twice over in interest; at least he thinks +he has, but he is not a good accountant. Every now and then +he is required to sign some fresh document, of the contents of +which he knows nothing, but the effect of which is always the +same—<i>viz.</i>, to heap up his liabilities and rivet his +fetters more firmly, and punctually on pay day every month, the +grim old man waylays him and compels him to disgorge his wages, +allowing him so much grain and spices as will keep him in +condition till next pay day. In a word, Mukkun is a +slave. Yet he does not jump into the garden well, nor his +quietus make with a bare bodkin. No, he plods through life, +eats his rice and curry with gusto, smokes his cigarette with +satisfaction, oils his lovelocks, borrows money from the cook to +buy a set of silver buttons for his waistcoat, and when he tires +of them, pawns them to pay for a velvet cap on which he has set +his heart. In short, he behaves <i>à la Mukkun</i>, +and no insight is to be had by examining his case through English +spectacles; but it is our strange infirmity, being the most +singular people on earth, to regard ourselves as typical of the +human race, and <i>ergo</i> to conclude that what is good for us +cannot be otherwise than good for all the world. Hence many +of our anti-tyranny agitations and philanthropies, not always +beneficial to the subjects of them, and also many of our +misplaced sympathies. We see a spider eating a fly, and +long to crush the spider, while we shed a tear for the fly. +But the spider is much the higher animal of the two. It +labours long hours laying out a net, and then waits all day for +the fruit of its toil. Insects are caught and escape again, +the net gets broken, and when, after many disappointments, the +spider secures a fat fly, what advantage does it derive? A +meal; just what the fly got by sitting in a pit of manure and +sipping till it could sip no more. Doom that fly to the +life which the spider leads, and it would drown itself in your +milk jug on the spot, unable to bear up under such a weight of +care and toil. In this parable the fly is Mukkun and the +spider is Shylock, and my sympathies are not wholly given to the +former. I quite admit that Shylock worries him cruelly, and +if he had not given hostages to fortune, he would abscond with a +light heart to some distant station where he might forget his old +debts and contract new ones. But this is not the +alternative before him. The alternative is to take care of +his money, not to buy things which he cannot afford, to do +without the silver buttons, and postpone the velvet cap, all +which would put a strain on his mental and moral constitution, +under which he would wear out in a week. He must find some +other <i>modus vivendi</i> than that. If he had lived in +the world’s infancy, he would have sold himself and his +family to someone who would have fed him and clothed him, and +relieved him of the cares of life. But Britons never, +never, never shall be slaves, and under our rule Mukkun is forced +to share that disability; so he attains his end in an indirect +way, and lives thereafter in such happiness as nature has given +him capacity to enjoy. Shylock will neither put him into +gaol nor seize his field. We do not send our milch cow to +the butcher. Shylock owns a hundred such as he, and much +trouble they give him.</p> +<p>Mukkun lives in dread of the devil. Nothing will induce +him to pass at night by places where the foul fiend is known to +walk, nor will he sleep alone without a light.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p60b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"In dread of the devil" +title= +"In dread of the devil" + src="images/p60s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Hamal</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p61b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Hamal" +title= +"The Hamal" + src="images/p61s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Hamal</i> is a creature +which gets up very early in the morning, before anyone is out of +bed, and opens the doors and windows with as much noise as may +be. He leaves the hooks unfastened, that a +<i>feu-de-joie</i> may celebrate the advent of the first gust of +wind. He drops the lower bolts of the doors, so that they +may rake up the matting every time they are opened. Then he +proceeds to dust the furniture with the duster which hangs over +his shoulder. He does this because it is his duty, and with +no view to any practical result; consequently it never occurs to +him to look at what he is doing, and you will afterwards find +curiously shaped patches of dust which have escaped the sweep of +his “towal.” He next turns his attention to the +books in the bookcase, and we are all familiar with his ravages +there. He is usually content to bang them well with his +duster, but I refer to high days, when he takes each book out and +caresses it on both sides, replacing it upside down, and putting +the different volumes of each work on different shelves. +All this he does, not of malice, but simply because ’tis +his nature to. He does not disturb the cobwebs on the +corners of the bookcase, because you never told him to do +so. As he moves grunting about the room, the duster falls +from his shoulder, and he picks it up with his toes to avoid the +fatigue of stooping. When all the dusting is done, and the +table-covers and ornaments are replaced, then he proceeds to +shake the carpets and sweep the floor, for it is one of his ways, +when left to himself, to dust first and sweep after. +Finally he disposes of the rubbish which his broom has collected, +by stowing it away under a cupboard, or pushing it out over the +doorstep among the ferns and calladiums.</p> +<p>Such is the Hamal in his youth, and as he grows older he gets +more so. About middle life he sets hard, like plaster of +Paris, his senses get obfuscated, and a shell appears to form on +the outside of his intellect, so that access to his understanding +becomes very difficult. Sometimes his temper also grows +crabbed, and <i>noli me tangere</i> writes itself distinctly +across the mark of his god on his old brow. A <i>Hamal</i> +in this phase is the most impracticable animal in this +universe. When found fault with, he never answers back, but +he enters on a vigorous conversation with himself, which is like +a tune on a musical box, for it must be allowed to go until it +runs itself out; nothing short of smashing the instrument will +stop it. How well I remember one veteran of this type, from +whose colloquies with his own soul I gathered that he had been +fifty-six years in gentlemen’s service, and never served +any but gentlemen until he came to me. He computed his age, +I think, at seventy-two, and asked leave to attend the funeral of +his grandfather. Sometimes, happily, the +<i>Hamal’s</i> senility takes the direction of +benevolence. Who does not know the benign, stupid old man, +with his snowy whiskers and kindly smile, which seems to grow +kindlier with every tooth he loses!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p64b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Ooswasty Lukree" +title= +"Ooswasty Lukree" + src="images/p64s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It is a practical question whether you should endure the +<i>Hamal</i>, or address yourself to the task of his reformation, +and I am content to make myself singular by advocating the latter +for two reasons; firstly, because he cannot be endured; secondly, +because I cherish a fantastic faith in his +reformability,—at least if you take him in his youth, +before he has set. I believe we fail to cure him either +because we do not try, or because we dismiss him before we +succeed. Another great impediment to success in this +enterprise is the foolish habit of getting wrathful. An +untimely explosion of wrath will generally blow a sensitive +Hamal’s wits quite out of his own reach, and of course, out +of yours; or, if he is of the stolid sort, he will set it down as +a phenomenon incidental to <i>sahebs</i>, but without any bearing +on the matter in hand, and he will go on as before. +Besides, a state of indignation is very detrimental to your own +command of the language, and if you could in cold blood take your +“Forbes” and study some of the sentences which you +fulminated in your ebullitions of anger, you would cease to +wonder that the subject of them was such an idiot.</p> +<blockquote><p>Hum roz roz hookum day,<br /> +Tum roz roz hookum nay,<br /> +Ooswasty lukree—(whack, whack)</p> +</blockquote> +<p>went home, I have no doubt, but it is the gift of few to be at +once so luminous and so forcible. Try handling your +<i>Hamal</i> in another way. Call him mildly—a mild +tone thaws his understanding—and say to him, “Look +here, my son. Do you see this gold writing on the backs of +these books? For what purpose is it?” He will +reply, “Who knows?” Then you can proceed, +“That writing is the mark by which you may know the head of +any book. Now consider, should a book stand on its +head?” If he replies, “How should a book stand +on its head?” then you are getting access to his +intelligence, and may lead him on gradually to the conclusion +that, whenever he puts a book into the shelves, he should make it +stand so that the writing on the back of it may be +uppermost. I tell you he will beam with intelligence, and +rise earlier next morning to put his new learning into +practice. After a few days he will forget and relapse into +his old ways, but you must have patience.</p> +<p>After all, I think we could put up with the <i>Hamal</i> if +only he would not try to think. This is his crowning +vice. In vain I try to impress upon him that I engaged him +to obey orders, and would rather do the thinking myself. +Every now and then, at some particular phase of the moon, he sets +his intellect in operations and the consequences are, as the +Brahmin boy described the result of his examination, +“appalling.” It was our <i>Hamal’s</i> +duty to fill the filter, and at a time when the water was very +bad, orders were given that it should be boiled before being +filtered. One day, my wife saw the <i>Hamal</i> in the act +of filling the filter, and it occurred to her to warn him to let +the water cool first, lest he might crack the filter. +“Oh yes,” said he, “I thought of that. +After boiling the water, I cool it down by mixing an equal +quantity of cold water with it, and then I put it into the +filter.”</p> +<p>In Bombay, since hard times set in, the offices of +<i>Hamal</i> and <i>mussaul</i> have got a little mixed, and a +man will show you characters testifying that he has served in +both capacities. Such a man is, properly speaking, simply a +<i>mussaul</i> who has tried to do the <i>Hamal’s</i> +work. The cleaner of furniture and the lighter of lamps and +washer of plates and dishes cannot change places or be +combined. I have read that the making of one English pin +employs nine men, but it is a vain boast. The rudiments of +division of labour are not understood in Europe. In this +country every trade is a breed. Rama is by birth a cleaner +of furniture. This kind of employment came into the country +with our rule, so that the domestic <i>Hamal</i>, who is an +offshoot of the <i>palkee hamal</i>, or “bearer,” has +not had time to become what fanciers would call a permanent +strain, and you will find that you can convert Rama into a +<i>chupprasse</i>, a <i>malee</i>, or even a <i>ghorawalla</i>, +but into a <i>mussaul</i> never. He is a <i>shoodra</i>, +sprung from the feet of Brahma, and the Brahman, who sprung from +the head of the same figure, despises him, but not with that +depth of contempt with which he himself despises the +<i>mussaul</i>, who is an outcast, and sprang from nowhere in +particular. He cannot conceive that thirty generations of +washing could purify the descendants of Mukkun so that he might +touch them and not be unclean. You, his master, rank +theoretically with Mukkun, and he will neither touch your meats +nor the plate off which you have eaten them. He will keep +your house clean, and even perform some personal services, for he +has a liberal mind, and is there not also a <i>toolsee</i> plant +in a pot on a kind of earthen altar in front of his hut, before +which he performs purificatory ceremonies every morning? +And does he not bathe after leaving your presence before he +eats? If you pass by the clean place where he is about to +cook his food in the morning, you will see a large pot of water +on the fire. When this gets warm—for Rama is not a +Spartan—he will stand on a smooth stone, as sparingly clad +as it is possible to be, and pour the water on his head, +polishing himself vigorously as it runs down his limbs; then, +after dressing his long hair and tying it in a knot on the top of +his head, he will sit down to eat, in a place by himself, with +the feeling that he has warded off defilement from that which +goeth in at his mouth. That which goeth out of his mouth +gives him no concern.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p68b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Purification" +title= +"Purification" + src="images/p68s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Body-guards</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p69b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The body-guard" +title= +"The body-guard" + src="images/p69s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">Our</span> <i>Chupprassees</i> are the +outward expression of our authority, and the metre-gauge of our +importance. By them the untutored mind of the poor Indian +is enabled to estimate the amount of reverence due to each of +us. This is the first purpose for which we are provided +with Chupprassees. The second is that they may deliver our +commands, post our letters, and escort the coming generation of +Government servants in their little perambulators. As the +number required for the first purpose usually far exceeds the +number required for the second, there is danger of Satan finding +mischief for their idle hands to do, and it becomes our duty to +ward off this danger by occupying their hands with something +which is not mischief. This we do faithfully, and the +<i>Chupprassee</i> always reminds me of those tools we see +advertised, which combine hammer, pincers, turnscrew, chisel, +foot-rule, hatchet, file, toothpick, and life preserver. +Mrs. Smart bewailed the bygone day when every servant in her +house was a Government <i>Chupprassee</i> except the +<i>khansamah</i> and a Portuguese <i>ayah</i>. I did not +live in that day, but in my own I have seen the +<i>Chupprassee</i> discharge many functions. He is an +expert <i>shikaree</i>, sometimes a good tailor or barber, not a +bad cook at a pinch, a handy table boy, and, above all an +unequalled child’s servant. There can be little +doubt, it the truth were told, that Little Henry’s bearer +was a <i>Chupprassee</i>. He also milks the cow, waters the +garden, catches butterflies, skins birds, blows eggs, and runs +after tennis balls. If you ask himself what his duties are, +he will reply promptly that it is his duty to wear the +sircar’s belt and to “be present.” And +the camel is not more wonderfully fitted for the desert than is +Luxumon for the discharge of these solemn responsibilities. +He is like a carriage clock, able to sleep in any conceivable +position; and such is his mental constitution that, when not +sleeping, he is able to “be present” hour after hour +without feeling any desire for change of occupation. +<i>Ennui</i> never troubles him, time never hangs heavy on his +hands; he sits as patiently as a cow and chews the cud of <i>pan +suparee</i>, and he bespatters the walls with a sanguinary +pigment produced by the mastication of the same. He needs +no food, but he goes out to drink water thirty-five times a day, +and, when he returns refreshed, a certain acrid odour penetrates +every crevice of the house, almost dislodging the rats and +exterminating the lesser vermin. To liken it to the smell +of tobacco would give civilized mankind a claim against me for +defamation of character.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p72b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"An unequalled child’s servant" +title= +"An unequalled child’s servant" + src="images/p72s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I will sketch my ideal of a model <i>Chupprassee</i>. He +is a follower of the Prophet, for your Gentoo has too many +superstitions and scruples to be generally useful. He parts +his short black beard in the middle and brushes it up his cheek +on either side, the ends of his moustache are trimly curled, he +wears his turban a little on one side, carries himself like a +soldier, and is always scrupulously clean. He comes into +your presence with a salutation which expresses his own dignity, +while it respects yours. He wishes to know whether the +protector of the poor has any commands for his slave. When +you intimate your wishes he responds with a formula which is the +same for all occasions—“Your Lordship’s +commands shall be executed.” And they are +executed. If he knows of difficulties or impossibilities, +he keeps them to himself. Alas! this is an ideal, how +antipodal sometimes to the real! I am thinking of the +gigantic Sheikh Mahomed, with his terrible beard and womanly +voice, who would convey my commands to a menial of lower degree +and return in five minutes to detail the objections which that +person had raised. Another type of Mahomedan +<i>Chupprassee</i>, whom we see is to abhor, expresses his +opinion of himself by letting half a yard of rag hang down from +his turban behind. He calls himself a <i>Syed</i> and, +perhaps, on account of the sanctity implied in this, forbears to +wash himself or his clothes. This man is clever, officious, +familiar, servile, and very fond of the position of +umbrella-bearer in ordinary to your person: therefore, transfer +him to the personal staff of some native dignitary, where he will +be appreciated. If my model does not suit you, there are +many types to choose from. We have the lofty and sonorous +<i>Purdaisee</i>, the <i>Rajpoot</i>, son of kings, the +<i>Bhundaree</i>, or hereditary climber of palm trees, the +Israelite, the low caste, useful, intelligent <i>Mahar</i>, and +many more. Even the Brahmin in this iron age becomes a +<i>Chupprassee</i>. But three-fourths of all our belted +satellites come from one little district south of Bombay, known +to our fathers as Rutnagherry, re-christened Ratnagiri by the +Hon. W. W. Hunter, C.I.E., A.B.C., D.E.F., etc. Every +country has its own special products; the Malabar Coast sends us +cocoanuts and pepper; artichokes come from Jerusalem; ducks, +lace, cooks, and fiddlers from Goa. So Rutnagherry produces +pineapples and Mahrattas, and the Mahrattas do not eat the +pineapples. Till quite recently they employed themselves +exterminating each other, burning each other’s villages and +crops, and inventing new ways of torturing old men to make them +confess where their money was buried. We have stopped these +practices without stopping the religious arrangements for keeping +up the supply of the race; so the Mahratta marries, as in duty +bound, and multiplies, and then casts about for some way of +maintaining his growing family; and our <i>Chupprassee</i> +system, looked at politically, is a grand escape pipe. +Pandurang Huree gives the Mahrattas the palm, as liars, over all +the other races of India. He may be right, but where +excellence is so universal, comparison becomes doubly +odious. Some Mahrattas put <i>rao</i> after their names and +treat themselves with much respect, especially if they can grow a +little island of whisker on each cheek and run the moustache into +it. These men differ from common Mahrattas in the same way +as Mr. Wilberforce Jones, or Mr. Palmerston Smith, differs from +the ordinary run of Joneses and Smiths.</p> +<p>How uniformly does ambition rule us all! The young +<i>rao</i>, fired by the hope of wearing a belt, makes a bold +resolve to leave his father and mother, his wife and children, +his brothers, their wives and children, his uncles, aunts, and +cousins, and the little hut in which they have all lived so +happily since he was a little, naked, crawling thing, dressed in +a silver rupee. He looks for the last time on the buffalo +and the lame pariah dog, ties up his cooking pots and a change of +raiment in a red handkerchief, and starts on foot, amid the +howling of females, for the great town, a hundred miles away, +where the brother-in-law of his cousin’s wife’s uncle +is on the personal staff of the Collector. He fears that +the water of the place may not suit his constitution, but he +risks that and other unknown perils. Arriving at his +destination, he works his interest by quartering himself on his +influential connection, who, finding that an extra seer of rice +has to be boiled for every meal, leaves no stone unturned to find +employment for him. First a written petition is drawn up by +the local petition writer, in the following terms “Most +Honoured and Respected Sir,—Although I am conscious that my +present step will apparently be deemed an unjustifiable and +unpardonable one, tantamounting to a preposterous hardihood in +presuming to trespass (amidst your multifarious vocations) on +your valuable time, yet placing implicit reliance on your noble +nature and magnanimity of heart, I venture to do so, and ardently +trust you will pardon me. Learning that a vacancy of a +sepoy has occurred under your kind auspices, I beg most +respectfully to tender my services for the same, and crave your +permission to invite your benign attention to the episodes of my +chequered life, though of a doleful and sombre nature, and +<i>concatenation</i> of melancholy events that have made their +visitations. My eldest brother died one year since, leaving +an heritage of a relict and two female issues to bemoan and +lament his premature and irreparable loss. And two months +since my revered parent paid debt of nature, at 2 p.m. on 15th +February, A.D. 18–, thus leaving the entire burden of 13 +(thirteen) souls on my individual shoulders, which, in my present +and forlorn circumferences, I am unable to cope with. I, +therefore, throw myself on your benevolent clemency and humane +consideration, and implore you to confer the vacancy in question +which will enable me to meet the daily unavoidable returning +requisites of domestic life in all their varied ramifications, +and relieve a famishing family from the jaws of penury and +privation. By thus delivering me from an impending +impossibility most prejudicial to my purse resources, you will +confer on your humble servant a boon which will be always vivid +on the tablet of my breast, never to be effaced until the period +that I am sojurning on the stage of this sublunary world’s +theatre.” The petition goes on to explain that all +the unhappy petitioner’s efforts to earn an honest +livelihood by the perspiration of his brow have been frustrated +owing to the sins committed by his soul in a former birth, and +ends with religious reflections and prayers. While this is +presented to the Collector, the candidate stands under a tree at +some distance and rehearses, with palpitating heart, the +<i>salaam</i> he will make if admitted to the august +presence. Life and death seem to hang on the impression +which may be produced by that <i>salaam</i>. But the +cousin’s wife’s uncle’s brother-in-law sets +other machinery in motion. He humbles himself and makes up +an old quarrel with the Naik; he flatters the butler till that +great man is pleased and promises his influence; and he wins the +Sheristedar’s vote by telling him earnestly that all the +district knows he is virtually the Collector and whatever he +recommends is done. Nor is the <i>ayah</i> forgotten, for +the <i>ayah</i> has access to the <i>madam</i>, and by that route +certain shameful matters affecting a rival candidate will reach +the <i>saheb</i>. Now, supposing that the sins of a former +birth fail to checkmate all these machinations, and that the new +arrival actually finds himself swimming in the unfathomed bliss +of a belt with a brass plate, and a princely income of seven +Queen’s rupees every month, who could foretell that almost +before a year has passed he will again be floundering in the mire +of disappointed ambition? Yet so it is. He hears of +another <i>Chupprassee</i> with only eleven months’ service +against his twelve, who has been promoted to eight rupees, and +immediately the canker of discontent eats into his heart. +Later on he finds that the cup of his happiness will never be +quite full until he gets ten rupees a month, and when he has +reached that giddy height, he will see dawning on his horizon the +strange and beautiful hope that he may be a Naik. It is a +desperate ambition—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He who ascends to mountain tops shall +find<br /> +The highest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow;<br /> +He who surpasses or subdues mankind<br /> +Must look down on the hate of those below.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Subordinate <i>Chupprassees</i> will slight his authority, his +fellow Naiks will disparage him, disappointed rivals will send in +anonymous petitions accusing him of all manner of villanies of +which he is not guilty, and, worse still, revealing the little +briberies and oppressions of which he is not innocent. But +who of us learns wisdom in these matters? The Naik soon +comes to feel that if justice were done to merit, he would be a +Havildar. After he has attained that proud distinction, he +retires to “husband out life’s taper at its +close” in the same old hut, amidst the same conglomerate of +relations, but nephews and nieces, and grandchildren have taken +the place of uncles and aunts and parents. The buffalo and +the pariah dog are apparently the same. Then the whole +range of official machinery is put in motion to reward his long +and faithful services, and the Governor in Council grants him the +maximum pension of four rupees a month, subject to the approval +of the Viceroy, and he spends his few remaining days in gratitude +to the Sircar. But one thing rankles in his mind. +Babajee, not nearly so good-looking a fellow as himself, rose to +be a Jemadar.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p79b.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Jemadar" +title= +"Jemadar" + src="images/p79s.jpg" /> +</a>Ambition has, however, another more golden career for an +enterprising and ingenious <i>Chupprassee</i>; for is he not the +portal through which the humble petitioner may have access to the +Collector, whose smile is prosperity and his frown +destruction? And must not the hinges of the portal be oiled +that they may open smoothly? Therefore, the inimitable Sir +Ali Baba made a point of dismissing a <i>Chupprassee</i> whenever +he began to grow fat, and he was wise, but in applying the rule +you must have regard to the man’s rank. The belt of +an ordinary peon may range from twenty to thirty inches according +to length of service, promotion to a Naik’s position will +add about three inches, a Havildar will run to thirty-six or +thirty-seven, and a Jemadar must have something crabbed in his +disposition if he does not attain to forty-two inches. +These are normal measurements,—they consistent with strict +integrity as understood in the East. By the blessing of +good temper and an easy life they may be slightly exceeded, but +the itching palm brings on a kind of dropsy easily recognisable +to the practised eye. I have seen an unjust Jemadar who +might have walked with Sir John Falstaff.</p> +<blockquote><p>Falstaff: My honest lads, I will tell you what I +am about.</p> +<p>Pistol: Two yards, and more.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><span class="smcap">That Dhobie</span>!</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p80b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Dhobie" +title= +"The Dhobie" + src="images/p80s.jpg" /> +</a>I <span class="smcap">am</span> an amateur philosopher and +amuse myself detecting essence beneath semblance and tracing the +same principle running through things the outward aspect of which +is widely different. I have studied the <i>Dhobie</i> in +this spirit and find him to be nothing else than an example of +the abnormal development, under favourable conditions, of a +disposition which is not only common to humanity, but pervades +the whole animal kingdom. A puppy rending slippers, a child +tearing up its picture books, a mungoose killing twenty chickens +to feed on one, a freethinker demolishing ancient superstitions, +what are they all but <i>Dhobies</i> in embryo? Destruction +is so much easier than construction, and so much more rapid and +abundant in its visible results, that the devastator feels a +jubilant joy in his work, of which the tardy builder knows +nothing. As the lightning scorns the oak, as the fire +triumphs over the venerable pile, as the swollen river scoffs at +the P. W. D., while arch after arch tumbles into its gurgling +whirlpools, so the <i>Dhobie</i>, dashing your cambric and fine +linen against the stones, shattering a button, fraying a hem, or +rending a seam at every stroke, feels a triumphant contempt for +the miserable creature whose plodding needle and thread put the +garment together. This feeling is the germ from which the +<i>Dhobie</i> has grown. Day after day he has stood before +that great black stone and wreaked his rage upon shirt and +trowser and coat, and coat and trowser and shirt. Then he +has wrung them as if he were wringing the necks of poultry, and +fixed them on his drying line with thorns and spikes, and finally +he has taken the battered garments to his torture chamber and +ploughed them with his iron, longwise and crosswise and +slantwise, and dropped glowing cinders on their tenderest +places. Son has followed father through countless +generations in cultivating this passion for destruction, until it +has become the monstrous growth which we see and shudder at in +the <i>Dhobie</i>.</p> +<p>But I find in him, at least, an illustration of another human +infirmity. He takes in hand to eradicate the dirt which +defiles the garment. But the one is closely mingled with +the very fibres of the other, the one is impalpable, the other +bulky and substantial, and so the torrent of his zealous rage +unconsciously turns against the very substance of that which he +set himself lovingly to purge and restore to its primitive +purity. Indeed, I sometimes find that, while he has +successfully wrecked the garment, he has overlooked the +dirt! Greater and better men than the <i>Dhobie</i> are +employed in the same way.</p> +<p>Such are the consolations of philosophy,</p> +<blockquote><p>“But there was never yet philosopher<br /> +Who could endure the toothache patiently,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>much less the <i>Dhobie</i>. He is not tolerable. +Submit to him we must, since resistance is futile; but his craven +spirit makes submission difficult and resignation +impossible. If he had the soul of a conqueror, if he wasted +you like Attilla, if he flung his iron into the clothes-basket +and cried <i>Væ victis</i>, then a feeling of respect would +soften the bitterness of the conquered; but he conceals his +ravages like the white ant, and you are betrayed in the hour of +need. When he comes in, limping and groaning under his +stupendous bundle, and lays out <i>khamees</i>, <i>pyatloon</i>, +and <i>pjama</i>, all so fair and decently folded, and delivers +them by tale in a voice whose monotonous cadence seems to tell of +some undercurrent of perennial sorrow in his life, who could +guess what horrors his perfidious heart is privy to? Next +morning, when you spring from your tub and shake out the great +jail towel which is to wrap your shivering person in its warm +folds, lo! it yawns from end to end. There is nothing but a +border, a fringe, left. You fling on your clothes in +unusual haste, for it is mail day morning. The most +indispensible of them all has scarcely a remnant of a button +remaining. You snatch up another which seems in better +condition, and scramble into it; but, in the course of the day, a +cold current of wind, penetrating where it ought not, makes you +aware of what your friends behind your back have noticed for some +time, <i>viz.</i>, that the starch with which a gaping rent had +been carefully gummed together, that you might not see it, has +melted and given way. The thought of these things makes a +man feel like Vesuvius on the eve of an eruption; but you must +wait for relief till <i>Dhobie</i> day next week, and then the +poltroon has stayed at home, and sent his brother to report that +he is suffering from a severe stomachache. When the +miscreant makes his next appearance in person, he stands on one +leg, with joined palms and a piteous bleat, and pleads an +<i>alibi</i>. He was absent about the marriage of a +relation, and his brother washed the clothes. So your lava +falls back into its crater, or, I am afraid, more often overflows +the surrounding country.</p> +<p>My theory of the <i>Dhobie</i> is a mere speculation, a +hypothesis deduced from broad, general principles. I do not +pretend to have established it by scientific observation, and am +very tolerant towards other theories, especially one which is +supported by many competent authorities, and explains the +<i>Dhobie</i> by supposing a league between him, the +<i>dirzee</i> and the Boy. I think a close investigation +into the natural history of the shirt would go far to establish +this theory as at least partially true. In spite of the +spread of “Europe” shops, the shirt is still +abundantly produced from the vernacular <i>dirzee</i> sitting +crossed-legged in the verandah, and each shirt will be found to +furnish him, on the average, with about a week’s lucrative +employment. From his hands it passes to the <i>Dhobie</i> +and returns with the buttons wanting, the buttonholes widened to +great gaping fish-mouths, and the hems of the cuffs slightly +frayed. The last is the most significant fact, because it +leads to the discovery of one of those delicate adaptations which +the student of nature has so often occasion to admire; for, on +examination, we discover that the hem had been made with the +least possible margin of cloth, as if to facilitate the process +of fraying. As we know that economy of material is not an +object with the <i>dirzee</i>, it has been maintained that there +is some connection here. Next the shirt passes into the +hands of the Boy, who takes his scissors and carefully pares the +ragged edges of the cuffs and collar. A few rotations of +<i>Dhobie</i> and Boy reduce the cuffs to the breadth of an inch, +while the collar becomes a circular saw which threatens to take +your head off. Then you fling the shirt to your Boy, and +the <i>dirzee</i> is in requisition again. Observation of +white trousers will lead to similar results. Between +<i>Dhobie’s</i> fury and Boy’s repairs, the ends of +the legs retreat steadily upwards to your knees, and by the time +the Boy inherits them they are just his length. Remember, I +do not say I believe in this explanation of the +<i>Dhobie</i>. I give it for what it is worth. The +subject is interesting and practical.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p85b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Homeward bound" +title= +"Homeward bound" + src="images/p85s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Did you ever open your handkerchief with the suspicion that +you had got a duster into your pocket by mistake, till the name +of De Souza blazoned on the corner showed you that you were +wearing someone else’s property? An accident of this +kind reveals a beneficent branch of the <i>Dhobie’s</i> +business, one in which he comes to the relief of needy +respectability. Suppose yourself (if you can) to be Mr. +Lobo, enjoying the position of first violinist in a string band +which performs at Parsee weddings and on other festive +occasions. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>; you cannot evade the +necessity for clean shirt-fronts, ill able as your precarious +income may be to meet it. In these circumstances a +<i>Dhobie</i> with good connections is what you require. He +finds you in shirts of the best quality at so much an evening, +and you are saved all risk and outlay of capital; you need keep +no clothes except a greenish black surtout and pants and an +effective necktie. In this way the wealth of the rich helps +the want of the poor without their feeling it, or knowing +it—an excellent arrangement. Sometimes, +unfortunately, Mr. Lobo has a few clothes of his own, and then, +as I have hinted, the <i>Dhobie</i> may exchange them by mistake, +for he is uneducated and has much to remember; but, if you +occasionally suffer in this way, you gain in another, for Mr. +Lobo’s family are skilful with the needle, and I have sent +a torn garment to the washing which returned skilfully +repaired.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p86b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Dhobies" +title= +"Dhobies" + src="images/p86s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I suspect I am getting bitter and ironical, and it will be +wise to stop, for we are fickle creatures, the best of us, and it +is quite possible that, in the mild twilight of life, in the old +country, I shall find myself speaking benevolently of the +<i>Dhobie</i>, and secretly wishing I could hear his plaintive +monotone again counting out my linen at four rupees a +hundred.</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Ayah</span>.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p89b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Ayah" +title= +"The Ayah" + src="images/p89s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I <span class="smcap">was</span> roaming among the flower-beds +and bowers of a “Peri’s Paradise,” known in +Bombay as The Ladies Gymkhana, when I was startled by a voice +like the sound of a passionate cart-wheel screaming for +grease. “Lub ob my heart,” it cried, “my +eshweet, don’t crei! don’t crei!” The +owner of the voice was a woman with a negro type of countenance, +as far as I remember, but her figure has remained with me better +than her face. It was a portly figure, like that of a +domestic duck in high condition, and her gait was, as Mr. +Onoocool Chunder Mookerjee would say, “well quadrate” +to the figure. Engulphed in her voluminous embrace was a +little cherub, with golden curls and blue eyes dewy with passing +tears—a pretty study of sunshine and shower. The +great, bare arms of the pachyderm were loaded with bangles of +silver and glass, which jingled with a warlike sound as she +hugged her little charge and plastered its pretty cheeks with +great gurgling kisses, which made one shudder and think +involuntarily of the “slime which the aspic leaves upon the +caves of Nile.” Many of us have been Anglo-Indian +babies. Was there a time when we suffered caresses such as +these? What a happy thing it is that Lethe flows over us as +we emerge from infancy, and blots out all that was before. +Another question has been stirring in my mind since that +scene. What feeling or motive prompted those luscious +blandishments? Was it simple hypocrisy? I do not +think so. The pure hypocrite is much rarer than shallow +people think, and, in any case, there was no inducement to make a +display in my presence. What influence could I possibly +exercise over the fortunes of that great female? A maternal +hippopotamus in the Zoo would as soon think of hugging a young +giraffe to propitiate the spectators. Of course you may +take up the position that the hypocrisy is practised all day +before her mistress, and that the mere momentum of habit carries +it on at other times. This is plausible, but I suspect that +such a case would rather come under the fundamental law that +action and reaction are equal and opposite. Let us be +charitable and look for better reasons. The mere milk of +human kindness explains something, but not enough, and I am +inclined to think that the <i>Ayah</i> is the subject of an +indiscriminate maternal emotion, which runs where it can find a +channel. The effect of culture is to specialise our +affections and remove us further and further from the condition +of the hen whose philoprogenitiveness embraces all chicks and +ducklings; so it may well be that the poor <i>Ayah</i>, who has +not had much culture, is better able than you or I to feel +promiscuously parental towards babies in general, at least, if +she can connect them in any way with herself. Towards +babies in the care of another <i>Ayah</i> she has no charity; +they are the brood of a rival hen and she would like to +exterminate them. Again, we must love and hate, if we live +at all. The <i>Ayah’s</i> horizon is not wide, her +sentiments are neither numerous nor complex, and her affections +are not trained to lay hold of the abstract or the +historical. If you question her, you will find that her +heart does not bleed for the poor negro, and she is not in the +habit of regarding the Emperor Caligula with abhorrence. +She has one or two brothers or sisters, but they are far away and +have become almost as historical as Caligula. In these +circumstances, if she could not feel motherly towards babies, +what feeling would be left to her? And, perhaps, if we knew +her story, baby has a charm to open up an old channel, long since +dry and choked with the sands of a desert life, in which a gentle +stream of tenderness once flowed, with “flowerets of +Eden” on its banks, and fertilised her poor nature. +But we do not know her story. She says her husband is a +cook. More about him she does not say, but she hugs +“Sunny Baba” to her breast and kisses him and says +that nothing shall ever part her from him till he grows to be a +great <i>saheb</i>, with plenty of pay, when he will pension her +and take care of her in her old age. And her eyes get +moist, for she means it more or less; but next day she catches a +cold and refuses food, saying that all her bones ache and her +head is revolving; then the horror of dying among strangers, +“unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled,” proves too much +for the faithful creature, and she disappears without notice, +leaving her darling and its mother to look out for another +<i>Ayah</i>.</p> +<p>It is a fortunate thing for us that the Ayah is able to +conceive such a devouring passion for our children, for it +appears, from her own statements, that but for this strong tie, +nothing would induce her to stay a day in our service where the +constant broils with the other servants, into which she is driven +by her determination to be faithful to her own mistress, make +life almost unbearable to a peaceable woman like her. The +chief object of her righteous indignation is the +“Bootrail.” She is so reluctant to make any +personal complaint, that she would pass over his grudging her a +little sugar in her morning tea, but when he takes away a whole +cupful for his own children, conscience compels her to tell her +mistress. She has often pointed out to him that such +conduct is not right, and tried to reason with him, but he only +insults her. The cook, being a notorious inebriate, plays +into the “Bootrail’s” hand, on condition that +the latter will not tell upon him. Why did master send away +the dinner last night without touching it? Because the cook +was on the floor and the <i>matie</i> had to do the work. +Chh! Chh! Chh! It is very shameful and makes +her feel so bad. She herself is a teetotaler, as her +mistress knows. That night when she was found with a pillow +in her arms instead of the baby, singing to it and patting it to +sleep, she had been smoking an English cheroot which a friend had +given her, and, as she is accustomed only to country tobacco, it +went to her head and stupefied her. Nothing would induce +her to drink spirits, but the other servants are not like +her. The <i>mussaul</i> is not a bad man, but the +“Bootrail’s” example infects him too. He +barters the kerosine oil at the petty shop round the corner for +arrack. As for the <i>hamal</i>, she is tired of fighting +with him. From this account of herself you will be able to +infer that the <i>Ayah</i> is not a favourite with the other +servants; but she is powerful, and so with oriental prudence they +veil their feelings. The butler indeed, tries to be proud +and risks ruin, but the <i>mussaul</i> truckles to her, and the +cook, who can spoil her dinner, and has some control over her, +trims between her and the butler. The <i>hamal</i> is +impracticable, and the <i>chupprassees</i> adhere to the party in +power for the time being.</p> +<p>The <i>Ayah</i> is the “society” newspaper of +small stations, and is indispensable. The barber is the +general newsagent, and, as we part with our beards in the +morning, we learn from him all particulars of the dinner at the +general’s last night, and of the engagement that resulted +between the pretty Missy Baba and the captain who has been so +much about the house; also when the marriage is to take place, if +the captain can get out of his debts, the exact amount of which +Old Tom knows. He can tell us, too, the reason why she +“jawaubed” him so often, being put up to it by her +mother in the interests of a rival suitor, and he has authentic +information as to the real grounds of the mother’s change +of tactics. But Old Tom is himself dependent on +<i>Ayahs</i>, and there are matters beyond his range, matters +which even in an Indian station cannot reach us by any male +channel. They trickle from <i>madam</i> to <i>Ayah</i>, +from <i>Ayah</i> to <i>Ayah</i>, and from <i>Ayah</i> to +<i>madam</i>. Thus they ooze from house to house, and we +are all saved from judging our neighbours by outward +appearances.</p> +<p>That scene in the Ladies’ Gymkhana comes back and haunts +me. What if the impress of those swarthy lips on that fair +cheek are but an outward symbol of impressions on a mind still as +fair and pure, impressions which soap and water will not purge +away! Yes, it is so. The <i>Ayah</i> hangs like a +black cloud over and around the infant mind, and its earliest +outlooks on the world are tinted by that medium. It lies +with wondering blue eyes watching the coloured toys which she +dangles before it, and takes in the elements of form and +colour. She pats it to sleep, and, on the borders of +dream-land, those “sphere-born, harmonious sisters, voice +and verse,” visit it in the form of a plaintive ditty, +which has for its simple burden,</p> +<blockquote><p>Little, little fish<br /> +In bitter, bitter oil.<br /> +I will not part with one of them for three pice and a half.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As its mind expands, new mysteries of the universe unfold +themselves through the same interpreter. It learns to see +through the hollowness of promises and threats before it knows +the words in which they are framed. With the knowledge of +words comes the knowledge of their use as means of concealing the +truth and gaining its little ends. Then the painful +experience of discipline and punishment reveals the same motherly +figure in the new light of a protector and comforter, and it +learns to contrast her with the stern persons whom she has taught +it to call pa-pa and ma-ma. When they refuse anything on +which it has set its childish heart, it knows to whom to go for +sympathy. She will console it and teach little artifices, +by which it may evade or circumvent them. She supplies +discipline of another kind, however, and the yet simple trusting +mind of the little Pantheist lives in terror of papa’s +red-faced friend with the big stomach, who eats up ten or twelve +little children every day, and of the Borah with the great box +full of black ants, in which he shuts up naughty boys till the +ants pick the flesh from their disobedient bones. When it +goes to the bandstand, it gazes from a safe distance on the big +drum, full of boys and girls who would not let their hair be +combed: it hears their groans at every stroke of the terrible +drumstick. Thus the religious side of the tender nature is +developed, and <i>Ayah</i> is the priestess. Under the same +guidance it will, as it grows older, tread paths of knowledge +which its parents never trod. Whither will they lead +it? We know not who never joined in the familiar chat of +<i>Ayahs</i> and servants, but imagination “bodies forth +the forms of things unseen” and shudders. Let us +rejoice that a merciful superstition, which regards the climate +of India as deadly to European children, will step in and save +the little soul. The climate would do it no harm, but there +is a moral miasma more baneful than any which rises from the +pestilential swamps of the Terai, or the Bombay Flats.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p96b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Ayah" +title= +"The Ayah" + src="images/p96s.jpg" /> +</a>P. S.—I have just taken another look at our present +<i>Ayah</i>. She is a little old woman from Goa, with +humorous “crow’s feet” at the corners of her +kind eyes. She is very retiring and modest, and all the +servants seem fond of her. It is evident that nature is +various, and we cannot all be types.</p> +<h2>R. R. <span class="smcap">The Pundit</span>.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p97b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Pundit" +title= +"The Pundit" + src="images/p97s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Pundit is like duty; his cough +rouses us from our beds in the morning like the voice of +conscience. Why must we pass examinations? Not that +we may know the language of the people, for it is matter of daily +observation, that of all the mysteries which perplex the humble +mind of the country bumpkin in this land, causing him to scratch +his—well, not his head—there is none which he gives +up as hopeless sooner than the strange sounds addressed to him by +the young <i>saheb</i> who has just passed his higher +standard. He joins his palms in loyal acquiescence, and +asserts that the gentleman is his father and mother. It was +Swift, was it not, who suggested that all high offices of state +should be filled by lot, because the result would be on the whole +quite as satisfactory as that obtained by the present system, +while disappointed candidates would curse Fortune, who has a +broader back than the Prime Minister. No doubt examinations +were introduced on the same sort of principle, to act as a buffer +between the train of candidates and the engine of +Government. That the examination often comes after instead +of before the appointment is a necessary modification, without +which no room would be left for the play of those kindly feelings +for kith and kin which we bitterly nickname nepotism. Under +this arrangement I have known a needy <i>nepos</i> of H. E. +himself provided with a salary for a whole year, till he could +hold the examination at bay no longer, when he evacuated his +position and retreated to his friends. Whatever the +explanation of the matter may be, it falls to the lot of most of +us to experience the Pundit. I may remark here that he is +very commonly called a Moonshee, on the same principle on which a +horse is not called a cow. The Pundit is not a +Moonshee. The Moonshee is a follower of the Prophet and +teaches Oordoo, or Hindoostanee, while the Pundit is a Brahmin +and instructs you in Marathee or Gujarathee. The Moonshee +struggles to get you to disgorge the sound <i>ghain</i> and leads +you through the enchanted mazes of the Bagh-o-Bahar; the Pundit +distinguishes between the <i>kurmunnee</i> and the <i>kurturree +prayog</i>, and has many knotty points of mythology to expound, +in order that you may rightly understand his idioms and +appreciate his proverbial sayings. Of Pundits there are +three species, quite distinct from each other. The first I +would recommend if your object should, by any chance, be to learn +to speak the language intelligibly; but he knows no English, and +you must gird yourself to work if you employ him. This sort +of teacher does not suit the tastes of the present generation and +is dying out, I think. The second kind is invaluable if +your purpose is to pass an examination. He knows English +well, dresses smartly, and is altogether a superior sort of +person to the last, especially in his own estimation; but +appearances are delusive, and the sign that really distinguishes +him from other Pundits is that he enjoys in a high degree the +esteem and confidence of a native member of the examining +body. Another unfailing characteristic of him is that he +requires a monstrous monthly stipend and the promise of a +handsome <i>douceur</i> if you pass; but then you have the +satisfaction of knowing that, if you fulfil the conditions, that +happy result is certain. His system leaves no room for +failure. Some people regard this man as a myth, but I have +had authentic accounts of him from numerous young gentlemen who +had failed in their examinations simply, as they themselves +assured me, because they did not employ him. The third +class consists of young men, aspirants to University honours and +others, with some knowledge of English and a laudable desire to +improve it by conversation with Englishmen. I do not know +for what purpose this sort of Pundit is useful.</p> +<p>Old Ragunath Rao belonged to the first of these three +classes. He knew no English, and he desired to know none, +neither English words nor English thoughts. He was an +undiluted Brahmin. He had taught a former generation of +Anglo-Indians, long since retired, or in their graves, and one or +two of these, who were very religious men, had impressed him by +their characters so deeply that he always spoke of them with +reverence, as not men but divinities. The tide had ebbed +away from him, and no one employed him now: he was very +poor. His face was heavy, his ears like beef-steaks, with a +fringe of long bristles round the edge and a bushy tuft of the +same sprouting from the inside. His features were not +pleasing, but strongly expressive of character, stubborn Hindoo +character, self-disciplined, self-satisfied, and in a set +attitude of defence against the invasions of novelty. His +athletic intellect was exercised in all manner of curious +questions. The only matter about which it never concerned +itself was reality, the existence of which he probably +doubted. At any rate, he considered truth, right, wrong, to +be subjects for speculative philosophy. As a practical man, +he had minutely acquainted himself with all the things that +behoved to be believed by an orthodox Brahmin, and he was not the +man to give way to mere facts. This frame of mind begot in +him a large tolerance, for what possible connection could there +be between what it became him to believe and what it became you +to believe? If his son had turned a Christian, he could +have swung him from a tree by his thumbs and toes and flagellated +him from below with acute pleasure; but if you expounded +Christian doctrines and morals to him, he would listen with +profound admiration. A Christian who lived up to his creed +he respected unfeignedly. Strange old man! like one of his +own idols, not modelled upon anything that is in heaven or on +earth. Are they not, he and the idol, the fruit of the same +tree?</p> +<p>What memories rise out of their graves at the mention of old +Ragunath! Just about a quarter of an hour after his time he +comes slowly up the steps, panting for breath, and leaving his +shoes at the door, walks in with a <i>quasi</i> courtly +salutation. As soon as he can recover his voice, he tells +of a hair-breadth escape from sudden death. As he was +crossing the road, a carriage and pair bore down on him. He +stood petrified with terror, not knowing whether to hurry forward +or turn back, but just as the horses were upon him, he made a +frantic effort and gained the side-walk! He infers that his +time to die had not arrived, and takes the occasion to impart +some information about the planets and their influence on human +destinies. Then we seat ourselves, and he takes my exercise +(translation from Grant Duff), and reads it slowly in a muffled +voice, which is forced to make its exit by the nose, the mouth +being occupied with cardamoms or betel nut. As he reads he +corrects with a pencil, but gives no explanation of his +corrections; for you must not expect him to teach: he is a mine +simply, in which you must dig for what you want. One thing +you may depend on, that whatever you extract from that mine will +be worth having, indigenous treasure, current wherever Hindoo +thought is moving, very different from the foreign-flavoured +pabulum with which your English smattering instructor charges his +feeding bottle. The exercise gives Ragunath an opportunity +of digressing into some traditional incident of Maratha history +which escaped the researches of Mr. Grant Duff, an incident +generally in which Maratha cunning (<i>sagacity</i> he calls it) +triumphed over English stupidity. After the exercise comes +the inevitable petition. I do not remember the subject of +it—some grievance no doubt connected with hereditary rights +in land—but it matters little; the whole document might as +well be a Moabite stone recording the wars of Mesha with Jehoram, +for not a letter of it stands out recognisable to my eyes. +Indeed, no letter, or word either, stands out at all; the scribe +seems never to have lifted his pen from his paper except for ink, +and that generally in the middle of a word. However, +Ragunath takes the greasy paper from my hand, remarks that the +handwriting is good, and starts off reading it, or, I should say, +intoning it, on exactly the same principle, <i>viz.</i>, never +pausing except for breath, and that generally in the middle of a +word. Then we read together the “Garland of +Pearls,” which he illuminates with notes of his own. +Speaking of old age, he remarks that the hair of some men ripens +sooner than that of others, but that our heads must all grow grey +as our brains get thin. He discourses on anatomy, food, +digestion, the advisability of lying down on the left side for +twenty minutes after meals, and on many things in heaven and +earth which are not dreamed of in our philosophy. As the +morning wears on, the old man, who is not accustomed to sitting +on chairs, begins to fidget, and shows signs of a desire to +gather up his feet into the seat and nurse them. At last +drowsiness overtakes him. His eyes are open, but his mind +is asleep, and I may do as I please with grammar and idiom: even +when I yawn, he omits to snap his fingers and lets the devil skip +down my throat. When he awakes he suggests that it is time +to stop, and asks leave for the next day, as he has to renew his +sacred thread. Poor old Ragunath! I fear he has gone +long since to the burning ground on the banks of the Moota +Moola.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p104b.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Learned repose" +title= +"Learned repose" + src="images/p104s.jpg" /> +</a>Before we part let me give you a hint. Always keep a +separate chair for your Pundit, one isolated on glass legs, if +possible. Even this does not afford complete security, for +he now and then detects one of the many insects which you have +watched coursing up and down his white scarf, and picking it off +with his finger and thumb, puts it on the floor. His creed +forbids him to take the life of anything which may possibly be +the corporeal habitation of the spirit of one of his deceased +ancestors, but these little insects irritate him, so he deports +them as we do our loafers.</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Hurree</span>, <span class="smcap">the +Dirzee</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p105b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"Hurree" +title= +"Hurree" + src="images/p105s.jpg" /> +</a>A <span class="smcap">warm</span> altercation is going on in +the verandah. A little human animal, with a very large red +turban on his little head, stuck full of pins and threaded +needles, stands on all fours over a garment of an unmentionable +kind, which I recognise as belonging to me, and a piece of cloth +lies before him, out of which he has cut a figure resembling the +said garment. The scissors with which the operation was +performed are still lying open upon the ground before him. +His head is thrown so far back that the great turban rests +between his shoulder blades, his brow is corrugated with +perplexity, his mouth a little open, as if his lower jaw could +not quite follow the rest of his upturned face. Hurree +cannot know much about toothache. What would I not give for +that set of incisors, regular as the teeth of a saw, and all as +red as a fresh brick! I suppose the current quid of <i>pan +suparee</i> is temporarily stowed away under that swelling in the +left cheek, where the fierce black patch of whisker grows. +The survival of a partial cheek pouch in some branches of the +human race is a point that escaped Darwin. But I am +digressing into reflections. To return: a lady is standing +over the quadruped and evidently expressing serious displeasure +in some form of that domestic language which we call +Hindoostanee, with variations. The charge she lays against +him seems to be that he has, in disregard of explicit +instructions and defiance of common sense, made a blunder to +which her whole past experience in India furnishes no parallel, +and which has resulted in the total destruction of a whole piece +of costly material, and the wreck of a garment for want of which +the <i>saheb</i> (that is myself) will be put to a degree of +inconvenience which cannot be estimated in rupees, and will most +certainly be provoked to an outbreak of indignation too terrible +to be described. So little do we know ourselves! I +had no idea I harboured such a temper. However, Hurree does +not tremble, but pleads that it was necessary to make the garment +“leetle silope,” and though he admits that the slope +is too great, he thinks the mistake can be remedied, and is +pulling the cloth to see if it will not stretch to the required +shape. Failing this, he has other remedies of a technical +kind to suggest. I do not understand these matters, and +cannot interpret his argument, but he puts his fingers on the +floor and flings himself lightly to the other side of the cloth, +to point out where he proposes to have a “fals hame,” +or some other device. She rejects the proposal with scorn, +and again impresses him with the consequences of his wicked +blunder. At last I am glad to see that a compromise is +effected, and the little man settles himself in the middle of a +small carpet and locks his legs together so that his shins form +an X and he sits on his feet. In this position he will ply +his needle for the rest of the day at a rate inversely +proportional to the distance of his mistress. When she +retires for her afternoon <i>siesta</i> the needle will nap +too. Then he will take out a little <i>Vade Mecum</i>, +which is never absent from his waistband, and unroll it. It +is many-coloured and contains little pockets, one for fragments +of the spicy areca, one for the small tin box which contains +fresh lime, one for cloves, one for cardamoms, and so on. +He will put a little of this and a little of that into his palm, +then roll them all up in a betel leaf out of another pocket, and +push the parcel into his mouth. Thus refreshed he will go +to work again, not, however, upon the garment to which he is now +devoted, but upon a roll of coloured stuffs on which he is at the +present moment sitting. You see, times are hard and Hurree +has a large family, so he is obliged to eke out his salary by +contract work for the <i>mussaul</i>. His work suffers from +other interruptions. When the carriage of a visitor is +heard, he has to awaken the <i>chupprassee</i> on duty at the +door, and on his own account he goes out to drink water at least +as often as the <i>chupprassee</i> himself. As the day +draws near its close, he watches the shadow like a hireling, and +when it touches the foot of the long arm chair, he springs to his +feet, rolls up his rags and threads into a bundle, and trips +gaily out. As he does so you will observe that his legs are +bandy, the knees refusing to approach each other. This is +the result of the position in which he spends his days.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p106b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A “leelte silope”" +title= +"A “leelte silope”" + src="images/p106s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>This is how we clothe ourselves in our Indian empire. +Our smooth and comfortable <i>khakee</i> suits, our ample +<i>pyjamas</i>, the cool white jackets in which we dine, in this +way are they brought about. But you must not allow yourself +to think of the <i>Dirzee</i> simply as an agency for producing +clothes. Life is not made up of such simplicities. +The <i>raison d’être</i> of that mango tree lies +without doubt in the chalice of nectar, called “mango +fool,” with which Domingo appeases me when he guesses that +his enormities have gone beyond the limits even of my endurance; +but I see that thirty-seven candidates for the place of the +<i>chupprassee</i> who went on leave yesterday have encamped +under its shade, that they may watch for my face in the +verandah. The trespassing goat also has browsed on its +leaves, and from the shelter of its branches the Magpie Robin +pours that stream of song which, just before the dawning of the +day, in the cloudy border land between sleeping and waking flows +over my soul. But I shall never really know the place that +tree has filled in my life, unless someone cuts it down and gives +me a full view, from my easy chair, of the dirty +brick-burners’ hut, with the poisonous film of blue smoke +playing over the kiln, and the family of pariah puppies below, +sporting with the sun-dried remains of a fowl, which deceased in +my yard and was purloined by their gaunt mother. Now let +imagination blot out the <i>Dirzee</i>. Remove him from the +verandah. Take up his carpet and sweep away the +litter. What a strange void there is in the place! +Eliminate him from a lady’s day. Let nine +o’clock strike, but bring no stealthy footstep to the door, +no muffled voice making respectful application for his +<i>Kam</i>. From nine to ten breakfast will fill the +breach, and you may allow another hour for the butler’s +account and the godown; but there is still a yawning chasm of at +least two hours between eleven and tiffin. I cannot bridge +it. Imagination strikes work. The joyful sound of the +Borah’s voice brings promise of relief; but no! for what +interest can there be in the Borah if you have no +<i>Dirzee</i>? In the spirit of fair play, however, I must +mention that my wife does not endorse all this. On the +contrary, she tells me (she has a terse way of speaking) that it +is “rank bosh.” She declares that the +<i>Dirzee</i> is the bane of her life, that he is worse than a +fly, that she cannot sit down to the piano for five minutes but +he comes buzzing round for black thread, or white thread, or +mother-o-pearl buttons, or hooks and eyes, that every evening for +the last month he has watched her getting ready for to drive, and +just as her foot was on the carriage step, has reminded her, with +a cough, that his work was finished and he had nothing to +do. If she could only do without him, she would send him +about his business and be the happiest woman in the world, for +she could devote the whole day to music and painting and the +improvement of her mind. Of course I assent. That is +a very commendable way of thinking about the matter. But, +as an amateur philosopher, I warn you never to let yourself get +under practical bondage to such notions. I tell you when +you betake yourself to music or painting, carpentry or gardening, +as a means of getting through the day, you are sapping your +mental constitution and shortening your life: unless you are +sustained by more than ordinary littleness of mind you will never +see threescore and ten. All these things are good in +proportion as you have difficulty in finding time for them. +When you have to rise early in the morning and work hard to make +a little leisure for your favourite hobby, then you are getting +its blessing. Now, the <i>Dirzee</i> is not a means of +killing time. On the contrary, I see that he compels his +mistress to take thought how she may save time alive, if she +wishes to get anything done. He hurries the day along and +scatters its hours, so that <i>ennui</i> cannot find an empty +minute to lurk in. I do not deny that he is the occasion of +a few provocations, and the simile of the fly is just; but are +not provocations an element in the interest of every pursuit, the +pepper which flavours all pleasant occupation? I collect +butterflies, and my friends think I am a man to be envied because +I have such a taste. Do they suppose a butterfly catcher +has no provocations? Was it seventeen or seventy times (I +forget) in one page that I laid down my pen, put off my +spectacles and caught up my net to rush after that brute of a +<i>Papilio polymnestor</i>, who just came to the <i>duranta</i> +flowers to flout me and skip over the wall into the next +garden? And does anyone but a butterfly hunter know how it +feels to open your cabinet drawers just a few hours after the +ants have got the news that the camphor is done? Does +anyone but an entomologist know the grub of <i>Dermestes +intolerabilis</i>? Why should a collection of butterflies +be called an object of perennial interest and delight, and the +<i>Dirzee</i> an unmitigated provocation? They are both of +one family. Nothing is unmitigated in this world.</p> +<p>Maria Graham tells us that in her time “the +<i>Dirdjees</i>, or tailors, in Bombay” were “Hindoos +of respectable caste,” but in these days the Goanese, who +has not capacity to be a butler or cook, becomes a <i>Dirzee</i>, +and in Bombay I have seen Bunniah <i>Dirzees</i>. Hurree +can hold his own against these, I doubt not, but the advancing +tide of civilization is surely crumbling down his +foundations. It is not only the “Europe” shop +in Bombay that takes the bread out of his month, but in the +smallest and most remote stations, Narayen, “Tailor, +Outfitter, Milliner, and Dressmaker,” hangs out his +sign-board, and under it pale, consumptive youths of the Shimpee +caste bend over their work by lamplight, and sing the song of the +shirt to the whirr-rr-rr of sewing machines. And as Hurree +goes by on his way home, his prophetic soul tells him that his +son will not live the happy and independent life which has fallen +to his lot. But he has a bulwark still in the +<i>dhobie</i>, for the “Tailor and Outfitter” will +not repair frayed cuffs, and the sewing machine cannot put on +buttons. And Hurree is not ungrateful, for I observe that, +when the <i>dhobie</i> delivers up your clothes in a state which +requires the <i>Dirzee</i>, the <i>Dirzee</i> always gives them +back in a condition which demands the <i>dhobie</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p113b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Dirzee" +title= +"The Dirzee" + src="images/p113s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Malee</span>.</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Another custom is their sitting always on +the ground with their knees up to their chins, which I know not +how to account for.”—<i>Daniel Johnson</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<a href="images/p114b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Malee" +title= +"The Malee" + src="images/p114s.jpg" /> +</a>I <span class="smcap">have</span> been watching Thomas Otway, +gardener. His coat hangs on a tree hard by, and he, +standing in his shirt sleeves, is slaughtering regiments of weeds +with a long hoe. When they are all uprooted and prostrate, +he changes his weapon for a fork, with which he tosses them about +and shakes them free of soil and gathers them into heaps. +Then he brings a wheel-barrow, and, piling them into it until it +can hold no more, goes off at a trot. I am told his only +fault is that he is <i>slow</i>.</p> +<p>I have also stood watching Peelajee. He, too, is a +gardener, called by his own people a <i>Malee</i>, and by us, +familiarly, a <i>Molly</i>. He sits in an attitude not easy +to describe, but familiar to all who have resided in the otiose +East. You will get at it by sitting on your own heels and +putting your knees into your armpits. In this position +Peelajee can spend the day with much comfort, which is a +wonderful provision of nature. At the present moment he +also is engaged in the operation of weeding. In his right +hand is a small species of sickle called a <i>koorpee</i>, with +which he investigates the root of each weed as a snipe feels in +the mud for worms; then with his left hand he pulls it out, +gently shakes the earth off it, and contributes it to a small +heap beside him. When he has cleared a little space round +him, he moves on like a toad, without lifting himself. He +enlivens his toil by exchanging remarks upon the weather as +affecting the price of grain, the infirmity of my temper and +other topics of personal interest, with an assistant, whom he +persuaded me to engage by the day, pleading the laborious nature +of this work of weeding. When two or three square yards +have been cleared, they both go away, and return in half an hour +with a very small basket, which one holds while the other fills +it with the weeds. Then the assistant balances it on his +head, and sets out at one mile an hour for the garden gate, where +he empties it on the roadside. Then he returns at the same +rate, with the empty basket on his head, to Peelajee, who is +occupied sitting waiting for him.</p> +<p>It is clear that there may be two ways of doing the same +thing. I have no doubt there is much to be said for both, +but, upon the whole, the advantage seems to lie with the +<i>Malee</i>. Otway does as much work in a day as Peelajee +does in a week. But why should a day be better than a +week? If you turn the thing round, and look at the other +side of it, you will find that Otway costs three shillings a day +and Peelajee two rupees a week. So, if you are in a hurry, +you can employ half a dozen Peelajees, and feel that you are +making six families in the world happy instead of only one. +And I am sure the calm and peaceful air of Peelajee, as he moves +about the garden, must be good for the soul and promote +longevity. I hate bustle, and I can vouch for Peelajee that +he never bustles. However, there is no need of odious +comparisons. There is a time for everything under the sun, +and a place. Here, in India, we have need of +Peelajee. He is a necessary part of the machinery by which +our exile life is made to be the graceful thing it often +is. I pass by bungalow after bungalow, each in its own +little paradise, and look upon the green lawn successfully +defying an unkind climate, the islands of mingled foliage in +profuse, confused beauty, the gay flower beds, the clean gravel +paths with their trim borders, the grotto in a shady corner, +where fern and moss mingle, all dripping as if from recent +showers and make you feel cool in spite of all thermometers, and +I say to myself, “Without the <i>Malee</i> all this would +not be.” Neither with the <i>Malee</i> alone would +this be, but something very different. I admit that. +But is not this just one secret of the beneficent influence he +has on us? Your “Scotch” gardener is altogether +too good. He obliterates you—reduces you to a +spectator. But keeping a <i>Malee</i> draws you out, for he +compels you to look after him, and if you are to look after him, +you must know something about his art, and if you do not know, +you must learn. So we Anglo-Indians are gardeners almost to +a man, and spend many pure, happy hours with the pruning shears +and the budding knife, and this we owe to the <i>Malee</i>. +When I say you must look after him, I do not disparage his skill; +he is neat handed and knows many things; but his taste is +elementary. He has an eye for symmetry, and can take +delight in squares and circles and parallel lines; but the more +subtle beauties of unsymmetrical figures and curves which seem to +obey no law are hid from him. He loves bright tints +especially red and yellow, with a boy’s love for sugar; he +cannot have too much of them; but he has no organ for perceiving +harmony in colour, and so the want of it does not pain him. +The chief avenue, however, by which the delights of a +gardener’s life reach him is the sense of smell. He +revels in sweet odours; but here, too, he seeks for strength +rather than what we call delicacy. In short, the enjoyment +which he finds in the tones of his native <i>tom-tom</i> may be +taken as typical of all his pleasures. I find however, that +Peelajee understands the principles of toleration, and, +recognising that he caters for my pleasure rather than his own, +is quite willing to abandon his favourite yellow marigold and +luscious jasmine for the <i>pooteena</i> and the <i>beebeena</i> +and the <i>fullax</i>. But perhaps you do not know these +flowers by their Indian names. We call them <i>petunia</i>, +<i>verbena</i>, and <i>phlox</i>. This is, doubtless, +another indication of our Aryan brotherhood.</p> +<p>Peelajee is industrious after the Oriental method—that +is to say, he is always doing something, but is economical of +energy rather than time. If there are more ways than one of +doing a thing, he has an unerring instinct which guides him to +choose the one that costs least trouble. He is a fatalist +in philosophy, and this helps him too. For example, when he +transplants a rose bush, he saves himself the trouble of digging +very deep by breaking the root, for if the plant is to live it +will live, and if it is to die it will die. Some plants +live, he remarks, and some plants die. The second half of +this aphorism is only too true. In fact, many of my best +plants not only die, but suddenly and entirely disappear. +If I question Peelajee, he denies that I ever had them, and +treats me as a dreamer of dreams. I would not be +uncharitable, but a little suspicion, like a mouse, lurks in the +crevices of my mind that Peelajee surreptitiously carries on a +small business as a seedsman and nursery gardener, and I know +that in his simple mind he is so identified with his master that +<i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i> blend, as it were, into one. I +am restrained from probing into the matter by a sensitiveness +about certain other mysteries which may be bound up with this, +and about which I have always suppressed my curiosity. For +example, where do the beautiful flowers which decorate my table +grow? Not altogether in my garden. So much I know: +more than that I think it prudent not to know. For this +reason, as I said, I forbear to make close scrutiny into what may +be called the undercurrent of Peelajee’s operations, but I +notice that he always has in hand large beds of cuttings from my +best roses and crotons, and these flourish up to a certain point, +after which I lose all trace of them. He says that an +insidious caterpillar attacks their roots, so that they all grow +black and wither away suddenly. I fall upon him and tell +him that he is to blame. He protests that he cannot control +underground caterpillars. He knows that I suspect, and I +suspect that he knows, but a veil of dissimulation, however +transparent, averts a crisis, so we fence for a time till he +understands clearly that, when he propagates my plants, he must +reserve a decent number for me.</p> +<p>Griffins and travelling M.P.s are liable to suppose that the +<i>Malee</i> is a gardener, and <i>ergo</i> that you keep him to +attend to your garden. This is an error. He is a +gardener, of course, but the primary use of him is to produce +flowers for your table, and you need him most when you have no +garden. A high-class <i>Malee</i> of good family and +connections is quite independent of a garden. It seems +necessary, however, that your neighbours should have gardens.</p> +<p>The highest branch of the <i>Malee’s</i> art is the +making of nosegays, from the little “buttonhole,” +which is equivalent to a cough on occasions when <i>baksheesh</i> +seems possible, to the great valedictory or Christmas +bouquet. The manner of making these is as follows. +First you gather your flowers, cutting the stalks as short as +possible, and tie each one firmly to an artificial stalk of thin +bamboo. Then you select some large and striking flower for +a centre, and range the rest round it in rings of beautiful +colours. If your bull’s eye is a sunflower, then you +may gird it with a broad belt of red roses. Yellow +marigolds may follow, then another ring of red roses, then lilac +bougainvillea, then something blue, after which you may have a +circle of white jasmine, and so on. Finally, you fringe the +whole with green leaves, bind it together with pack thread, and +tie it to the end of a short stick. If the odour of rose, +jasmine, chumpa, oleander, etc., is not sufficient, you can mix a +good quantity of mignonette with the leaves on the outside, but, +in any case, it is best to sprinkle the whole profusely with rose +water. This will make a bouquet fit to present to a +Commissioner.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p121b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The highest style of art" +title= +"The highest style of art" + src="images/p121s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Bheestee</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p122b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Bheestee" +title= +"The Bheestee" + src="images/p122s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>malee</i> has an ally +called the <i>Bheestee</i>. If you ask, Who is the +<i>Bheestee</i>? I will tell you. <i>Behisht</i> in +the Persian tongue means Paradise, and a <i>Bihishtee</i> is, +therefore, an inhabitant of Paradise, a cherub, a seraph, an +angel of mercy. He has no wings; the painters have +misconceived him; but his back is bowed down with the burden of a +great goat-skin swollen to bursting with the elixir of +life. He walks the land when the heaven above him is brass +and the earth iron, when the trees and shrubs are languishing and +the last blade of grass has given up the struggle for life, when +the very roses smell only of dust, and all day long the roaring +“dust devils” waltz about the fields, whirling leaf +and grass and corn stalk round and round and up and away into the +regions of the sky; and he unties a leather thong which chokes +the throat of his goat-skin just where the head of the poor old +goat was cut off, and straight-way, with a life-reviving gurgle, +the stream called <i>thunda panee</i> gushes forth, and plant and +shrub lift up their heads and the garden smiles again. The +dust also on the roads is laid and a grateful incense rises from +the ground, the sides of the water chatty grow dark and moist and +cool themselves in the hot air, and through the dripping +interstices of the <i>khuskhus</i> tattie a chilly fragrance +creeps into the room, causing the mercury in the thermometer to +retreat from its proud place. Nay, the seraph finds his way +to your very bath-room, and discharging a cataract into the great +tub, leaves it heaving like the ocean after a storm. When +you follow him there, you will thank that nameless poet who gave +our humble Aquarius the title he bears. Surely in the world +there can be no luxury like an Indian “tub” after a +long march, or a morning’s shooting, in the month of +May. I know of none. Wallace says that to eat a +<i>durian</i> is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to +experience. “A rich, butterlike custard, highly +flavoured with almonds, gives the best general idea of it, but +intermingled with it come wafts of flavour which call to mind +cream cheese, onion sauce, brown sherry, and other +incongruities.” If this is true, then eating a +<i>durian</i> must, in its way, be something like having a +tub. That certainly is a new sensation. I cannot tell +what gives the best general idea of it, but there are mingled +with it many wafts of a vigorous enjoyment, which touch you, I +think, at a higher point in your nature than cream cheese or +onion sauce. There is first the enfranchisement of your +steaming limbs from gaiter and shooting boot, buckskin and +flannel; then the steeping of your sodden head in the pellucid +depth, with bubaline snortings and expirations of satisfaction; +then, as the first cold stream from the “tinpot” +courses down your spine, what electric thrills start from a dozen +ganglia and flush your whole nervous system with new life! +Finally, there is the plunge and the wallow and the splash, with +a feeling of kinship to the porpoise in its joy, under the +influence of which the most silent man becomes vocal and makes +the walls of the narrow <i>ghoosulkhana</i> resound with amorous, +or patriotic, song. A flavour of sadness mingles here, for +you must come out at last, but the ample gaol towel receives you +in its warm embrace and a glow of contentment pervades your +frame, which seems like a special preparation for the soothing +touch of cool, clean linen, and white duck, or smooth +<i>khakee</i>. And even before the voice of the butler is +heard at the door, your olfactory nerves, quickened by the tonic +of the tub, have told you what he is going to say.</p> +<p>Some people in India always bathe in hot water, not for their +sins, but because they like it. At least, so they say, and +it may be true, for I have been told that you may get a taste +even for drinking hot water if you keep at it long enough.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p126b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The well" +title= +"The well" + src="images/p126s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The <i>Bheestee</i> is the only one of all our servants who +never asks for a rise of pay on account of the increase of his +family. But he is not like the other servants. We do +not think of him as one of the household. We do not know +his name, and seldom or never speak to him; but I follow him +about, as you would some little animal, and observe his +ways. I find that he always stands on his left leg, which +is like an iron gate-post, and props himself with his +right. I cannot discover whether he straightens out when he +goes home at night, but when visible in the daytime, he is always +bowed, either under the weight of his <i>mussuk</i> or the +recollection of it. The constant application of that great +cold poultice must surely bring on chronic lumbago, but he does +not complain. I notice, however, that his waist is always +bound about with many folds of unbleached cotton cloth and other +protective gear. The place to study him to advantage is the +<i>bowrie</i>, or station well, in a little hollow at the foot of +a hill. Of course there are many wells, but some have a bad +reputation for guineaworm, and some are brackish, and some are +jealously guarded by the Brahmins, who curse the <i>Bheestee</i> +if he approaches, and some are for low caste people. This +well is used by the station generally, and the water of it is +very “sweet.” Any native in the place will tell +you that if you drink of this well you will always have an +appetite for your meals and digest your food. It is +circular and surrounded by a strong parapet wall, over which, if +you peep cautiously into the dark abyss, you may catch a sight of +the wary tortoise, which shares with a score or so of gigantic +frogs the task of keeping the water “sweet.” It +was introduced for the purpose by a thoughtful <i>Bheestee</i>: +the frogs fell in. Wild pigeons have their nests in holes +in the sides of the well. Here, morning and evening, you +will find the <i>Bheestees</i> of the station congregated, some +coming and some going, like bees at the mouth of a hive, but most +standing on the wall and letting down their leather buckets into +the water. As they begin to haul these up again hand over +hand, you will look to see them all topple head foremost into the +well, but they do not as a rule. It makes an imaginative +European giddy to look down into that Tartarean depth; but then +the <i>Bheestee</i> is not imaginative. As the hot season +advances, the water retreats further and further into the bowels +of the earth, and the labour of filling the <i>mussuk</i> becomes +more and more arduous. At the same time, the demand for +water increases, for man is thirsty and the ground parched. +So the toils of the poor <i>Bheestee</i> march <i>pari passu</i> +with the tyranny of the climate, and he grows thin and very +black. Then, with the rain, his vacation begins. +Happy man if his master does not cut his pay down on the ground +that he has little to do. We masters sometimes do that kind +of thing.</p> +<p>I believe the <i>mussuk</i> bearer is the true and original +<i>Bheestee</i>, but in many places, as wealth and luxury have +spread, he has emancipated his own back and laid his burden on +the patient bullock, which walks sagaciously before him, and +stops at the word of command beside each flower-pot or +bush. He treats his slave kindly, hanging little bells and +<i>cowries</i> about its neck. If it is refractory he does +not beat it, but gently reviles its female ancestors. I +like the <i>Bheestee</i> and respect him. As a man, he is +temperate and contented, eating <i>bajree</i> bread and slacking +his thirst with his own element. The author of Hobson +Jobson says he never saw a drunken <i>Bheestee</i>. And as +a servant he is laborious and faithful, rarely shirking his work, +seeking it out rather. For example, we had a bottle-shaped +filter of porous stoneware, standing in a bucket of water, which +it was his duty to fill daily; but the good man, not content with +doing his bare duty, took the plug out of the filter and filled +it too! And all the station knows how assiduously he fills +the rain gauge. But what I like best in him is his love of +nature. He keeps a tame lark in a very small cage, covered +with dark cloth that it may sing, and early in the morning you +will find him in the fields, catching grasshoppers for his little +pet. I am speaking of a Mahomedan <i>Bheestee</i>. +You must not expect love of nature in a Hindoo.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p129b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"His little pet" +title= +"His little pet" + src="images/p129s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Tom</span>, <span class="smcap">the +Barber</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p130b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Barber" +title= +"The Barber" + src="images/p130s.jpg" /> +</a><span class="smcap">In India</span> it is not good form to +shave yourself. You ought to respect the religious +prejudices and social institutions of the people. If +everyone shaved himself, how would the Barber’s stomach be +filled? The pious feeling which prompts this question lies +deep in the heart of Hindoo society. We do not understand +it. How can we, with our cold-blooded creed of demand and +supply, free trade and competition, fair field and no +favour? In this ancient land, whose social system is not a +deformed growth, but a finished structure, nothing has been left +to chance, least of all a man’s beard; for, cleanliness and +godliness not being neighbours here, a beard well matted with +ashes and grease is the outward and visible sign of +sanctity. And so, in the golden age, when men did +everything that is wise and right, there was established a caste +whose office it was to remove that sign from secular chins. +How impious and revolutionary then must it be for a man who is +not a barber to tamper with his own beard, thus taking the bread +out of the mouths of barbers born, and blaspheming the wisdom of +the ancient founders of civilization! It is true that, +during the barbers’ strike a few years ago, the Brahmins, +even of orthodox Poona, consecrated a few of their own number to +the use of the razor. But desperate diseases demand +desperate remedies. When the barbers struck, Nature did not +strike. Beards grew as before, and threatened to change the +whole face of society. In view of such an appalling crisis +who would say anything was unlawful? Besides, British rule +is surely undermining the very foundations of society, and I +doubt if you could find a Brahmin to-day under fifty years of age +whose heart is not more or less corroded by the spirit of +change. Your young University man is simply honey-combed: +he can scarcely conceal his mind from his own mother or wife.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p132b.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"A happy patient" +title= +"A happy patient" + src="images/p132s.jpg" /> +</a>But I must return to the Barber. The natives call him +<i>hujjam</i>. He has been bred so true for a score or so +of centuries that shaving must be an instinct with him now. +His right hand is as delicate an organ as a foxhound’s +nose. I believe that, when inebriated, he goes on shaving, +just as a toad deprived of its brain will walk and eat and +scratch its nose. If you put a jagged piece of tin into the +hand of a baby <i>hujjam</i>, he will scrape his little +sister’s face with it. In India, as you know, every +caste has its own “points,” and you can distinguish a +Barber as easily as a <i>dhobie</i> or a Dorking hen. He is +a sleek, fair-complexioned man, dressed in white, with an ample +red turban, somewhat oval in shape, like a sugared almond. +He wears large gold earrings in the upper part of his ears, and +has a sort of false stomach, which, at a distance, gives him an +aldermanic figure, but proves, on a nearer view, to be made of +leather, and to have many compartments, filled with razors, +scissors, soap, brush, comb, mirror, tweezers, earpicks, and +other instruments of a more or less surgical character; for he +is, indeed, a surgeon, and especially an aurist and narist. +When he takes a Hindoo head into his charge, he does not confine +himself to the chin or scalp, but renovates it all over. +The happy patient enjoys the operation, sitting proudly in a +public place. When a Barber devotes himself to European +heads he rises in the social scale. If he has any real +talent for his profession, he soon rises to the rank and title of +Tom, and may eventually be presented with a small hot-water jug, +bearing an inscription to the effect that it is a token of the +respect and esteem in which he was held by the officers of the +—th Regiment at the station of Daree-nai-hona. This +is equivalent to a C. I. E., but is earned by merit. In +truth, Tom is a great institution. He opens the day along +with tea and hot toast and the <i>Daree-nai-hona Chronicle</i>, +but we throw aside the <i>Chronicle</i>. It is all very +well if you want to know which band will play at the band-stand +this evening, and the leading columns are occasionally +excruciatingly good, when a literary corporal of the Fusiliers +discusses the political horizon, or unmasks the <i>Herald</i>, +pointing out with the most pungent sarcasm how “our +virtuous contemporary puts his hands in his breeches pockets, +like a crocodile, and sheds tears;” but during the parade +season the corporal writes little, and articles by the regular +staff, upon the height to which cantonment hedges should be +allowed to grow, are apt to be dull. For news we depend on +Tom. He appears reticent at first, but be patient. +Let him put the soap on, and then tap him gently.</p> +<p>“Well, Tom, what news this morning?”</p> +<p>“No news, sar.” After a long pause, +“Commissioner Saheb coming to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow? No, he is not coming for three +weeks.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow coming. Not telling anybody; quietly +coming.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“God knows.” After another pause, +“Nana Shett give Mamletdar 500 rupee for not send his son +to prison. Then Nana Shett’s brother he fight with +Nana Shett, so he write letter to Commissioner and tell him you +come quietly and make inquire.”</p> +<p>“The Mamletdar has been taking bribes, has +he?”</p> +<p>“Everybody taking. Fouzdar take 200 rupee. +Dipooty take 500 rupee.”</p> +<p>“What! Does the Deputy Collector take +bribes?”</p> +<p>“God knows. Black man very bad. All black +man same like bad.”</p> +<p>“Then are you not a black man?”</p> +<p>Tom smiles pleasantly and makes a fresh start.</p> +<p>“Colonel Saheb’s madam got baby.”</p> +<p>“Is it a boy or a girl?”</p> +<p>“Girl, sar. Colonel Saheb very angry.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“He say, ‘I want boy. Why always girl +coming?’ Get very angry. Beat butler with +stick.”</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p135b.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Tom, the Barber" +title= +"Tom, the Barber" + src="images/p135s.jpg" /> +</a>Yes, Tom is a great institution. Who can estimate how +much we owe to him for the circulation of that lively interest in +one another’s well-being which characterises the little +station? Tom comes, like the Pundit, in the morning, but he +is different from the Pundit and we welcome him. He is not +a shadow of the black examination-cloud which lowers over +us. There is no flavour of grammars and dictionaries about +him. Even if he finds you still in bed, conscience gets no +support from him. He does not awaken you, but slips in with +noiseless tread, lifts the mosquito curtains, proceeds with his +duty and departs, leaving no token but a gentle dream about the +cat which came and licked your cheeks and chin with its soft, +warm tongue, and scratched you playfully with its claws, while a +cold frog, embracing your nose, looked on and smiled a froggy +smile. The barber’s hand <i>is</i> cold and +clammy. <i>Chacun à son gout</i>. I do not +like him. I grow my beard, and Tom looks at me as the +Chaplain regards dissenters.</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Our</span> “<span +class="smcap">Nowkers</span>”—<span class="smcap">The +March Past</span>.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p136b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Group of people" +title= +"Group of people" + src="images/p136s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Now</span> it is time to close our +inspection and order a march past. I think I have +marshalled the whole force. It may seem a small band to +you, if you have lived in imperial Bengal, for we of Bombay do +not generally keep a special attendant to fill and light our +pipe, and our <i>tatoo</i> does not require a man to cut its +grass. Some of us even put on our own clothes. In +short, we have not carried the art of living to such oriental +perfection as prevails on the other side of India, and a man of +simple tastes will find my company of fourteen a sufficient +staff. There they are, <i>Sub hazir hai</i>, “they +are all present,” the butler says, except one humble, but +necessary officer, who does not like to appear. He is known +familiarly by many names. You may call him Plantagenet, for +his emblem is the lowly broom; but since his modesty keeps him in +the background, we will leave him there. The rest are +before you, the faithful corps with whose help we transact our +exile life. You may look at them from many standpoints, and +how much depends on which you take! I suspect the commonest +with us masters is that which regards boy, butler, +<i>mussaul</i>, cook, as just so many synonyms for channels by +which the hard-earned rupee, which is our life-blood, flows from +us continually. This view puts enmity between us and them, +between our interests and theirs. It does not come into our +minds, that when we submit our claim for an extra allowance of +Rs. 200 under section 1735 of the Code, and the <i>mussaul</i> +gets the butler to prefer a humble request for an increase of one +rupee a month to his slender <i>puggar</i>, we and the +<i>mussaul</i> are made kin by that one touch of nature. We +spurn the request and urge the claim, with equal wonderment at +the effrontery of <i>mussauls</i> and the meanness of +Governments. And “the angels weep.”</p> +<p>Shift your standpoint, and in each cringing menial you will +see a black token of that Asiatic metamorphosis through which we +all have passed. What a picture! Look at yourself as +you stand there in purple sublimity, trailing clouds of darkness +from the middle ages whence you come, planting your imperial foot +on all the manly traditions of your own free country, and pleased +with the grovelling adulations of your trembling serfs. And +now it is not the angels who weep, but the Baboo of Bengal. +His pale and earnest brow is furrowed with despair as he turns +from you. For whither shall he turn? When his bosom +palpitates with the intense joy of newborn aspirations for +liberty, to whom shall he go if the Briton, the champion of the +world’s freedom, has drunk of Comus’s cup and become +an oriental satrap? Ah! there is still hope. The +“large heart of England” beats still for him. +In the land of John Hampden and Labouchere there are thousands +yet untainted by the plague, who keep no servant, who will listen +to the Baboo while he tells them about you, and perhaps return +him to parliament.</p> +<p>There is a third view of the case, fraught with much content +to those who can take it, and, happily, it is the only view +possible to the primitive intelligences over which we exercise +domestic lordship. In this view they are, indeed, as we +regard them—so many channels by which the rupee may flow +from us; but what are we, if not great reservoirs, built to feed +those very channels? And so, with that “sweet +reasonableness” which is so pleasant a feature of the +Hindoo mind, your boy or butler, being the main conduit, sets +himself to estimate the capacity of the reservoir, that he may +adapt the gauge of each pipe and regulate the flow. And, as +the reservoir grows greater, as the assistant becomes a collector +and the collector a commissioner, the pipes are extended and +enlarged, and all rejoice together. The moral beauty of +this view of the situation grows upon you as you accustom your +mind to dwell on it. Is it not pleasant to think of +yourself as a beneficent irrigation work, watering a wide expanse +of green pasture and smiling corn, or as a well in a happy +garden, diffusing life and bloom? Look at the syce’s +children. Phil Robinson says there are nine of them, all +about the same age and dressed in the same nakedness. As +they squat together there, indulging “the first and purest +of our instincts” in the mud or dust of the narrow back +road, reflect that their tender roots are nourished by a thin +rivulet of rupees which flows from you. If you dried up, +they would droop and perhaps die. The butler has a bright +little boy, who goes to school every day in a red velvet cap and +print jacket, with a small slate in his hand, and hopes one day +to climb higher in the word than his father. His tendrils +are wrapped about your salary. Nay, you may widen the range +of your thoughts: the old hut in the environs of Surat, with its +patch of field and the giant gourds, acknowledges you, and a +small stream, diverted from one of the channels which you supply, +is filling a deep cistern in one of the back streets of +Goa. Pardon me if I think that the untutored Indian’s +thought is better even for us than any which we have framed for +ourselves. Imagine yourself as a sportsman, spear in hand, +pursuing the wild V.C. through fire and water, or patiently +stalking the wary K.C.B., or laying snares for the gentle C.I.E.; +or else as a humble industrious dormouse lining a warm nest for +the winter of your life in Bath or Tunbridge Wells; or as a gay +butterfly flitting from flower to flower while the sunshine of +your brief day may last; or simply as a prisoner toiling at the +treadmill because you must: the well in the garden is a +pleasanter conception than all these and wholesomer. Foster +it while you may. Now that India has wakened up and begun +to spin after the rest of the great world down the ringing +grooves of change, these tints of dawn will soon fade away, and +in the light of noon the instructed Aryan will learn to see and +deplore the monstrous inequalities in the distribution of +wealth. He will come to understand the essential equality +of all men, and the real nature of the contract which subsists +between master and servant. Yes, I am afraid the day is +fast drawing near when you will no longer venture to cut the +<i>hamal’s</i> pay for letting mosquitoes into your bed +curtains and he will no longer join his palms and call you his +father and mother for doing so. What a splendid capacity +for obedience there is in this ancient people! And our +relations with them have certainly taught us again how to govern, +which is one of the forgotten arts in the West. Where in +the world to-day is there a land so governed as this Indian +Empire?</p> +<p>And now each man wants his “character” before he +makes his last <i>salaam</i>, and what shall I say? +“The bearer — has been in my service since — +and I have always found him — ” So far good; +but what next? Honest?—Yes. +Willing?—Certainly. Careful?—Very. +Hardworking?—Well, I have often told him that he was a lazy +scoundrel, and that he might easily take a lesson in activity +from the <i>bheestee’s</i> bullock, and perhaps I spoke the +truth. But, after all, he gets up in the morning an hour +before me, and eats his dinner after I have retired for the +night. He gets no Saturday half-holiday, and my Sabbath is +to him as the other days of the week. And so the hard +things I have said of him and to him are forgotten, and charity +triumphs at the last. And when my furlough is over and I +return to these shores, the whole troop will be at the Apollo +Bunder, waiting to welcome back their old master and eat his salt +again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p142b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A cow" +title= +"A cow" + src="images/p142s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>POSTSCRIPT.<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Gowlee</span>, <span class="smcap">or +Doodwallah</span>.</h2> +<p>Gopal, the <i>Gowlee</i>, haunts me in my dreams, complaining +that he has been left out in the cold. I had classed him +with the <i>borah</i> and the baker, as outsiders with whom I had +merely business relations; but Gopal seems to urge that he is not +on the same footing with these. How can he be compared to a +mercenary <i>borah</i>? Has he not ministered to my wants, +morning and evening, in wet weather and dry? Have not my +children grown up on his milk? He will not deny that they +have eaten the baker’s bread too; but who is the +baker? Does he come into the <i>saheb’s</i> presence +in person as Gopal does? No. He sits in his shop and +sends a servant. Not so Gopal. He is one of my +children, and I am his father and mother. And I am forced +to admit there is some truth in this view of the case. The +ill-favoured man who haunts my house of a morning, with a large +basket of loaves poised slantwise on his head, and converses in a +strange nasal brogue with the cook, is not Mr. de Souza, +“baker of superior first and second sort bread, and +manufacturer of every kind of biscuit, cake,” &c., but +a mere underling. My intercourse with the head of the firm +is confined to the first day of each month, when he waits on me +in person, dressed in a smart black jacket, and presents his +bill. Also on Good Friday he sends me a cake and his +compliments, but the former, if it is not intercepted by the +butler and applied to his own uses, is generally too unctuous for +my taste. Very different are our relations with the +<i>Doodwallah</i>. Our <i>chota hazree</i> waits for him in +the morning; our afternoon tea cannot proceed till he comes; the +baby cries if the <i>Doodwallah</i> is late. And even if +you are one of the few who strike for independence and keep their +own cow, I still counsel you to maintain amicable relations with +the <i>Doodwallah</i>. One day the cow will kick and refuse +to be milked, and the butler will come to you with a troubled +countenance. It is a grave case and demands professional +skill. The <i>Doodwallah</i> must be sent for to milk the +cow. In many other ways, too, we are made to feel our +dependence on him. I believe we rarely die of cholera, or +typhoid fever, without his unobtrusive assistance. And all +his services are performed in person, not through any +underling. That stately man who walks up the garden path +morning and evening, erect as a betel-nut palm, with a tiara of +graduated milk-pots on his head, and driving a snorting buffalo +before him, is Gopal himself. Scarcely any other figure in +the compound impresses me in the same way as his. It is +altogether Eastern in its simple dignity, and symbolically it is +eloquent. The buffalo represents absolute milk and the +lessening pyramid of brass <i>lotas</i>, from the great +two-gallon vessel at the base to the ¼-seer measure at the +top, stand for successive degrees of dilution with that pure +element which runs in the roadside ditches after rain. Thus +his insignia interpret themselves to me. Gopal does not +acknowledge my heraldry, but explains that the lowest <i>lota</i> +contains butter milk—that is to say, milk for making +butter. The second contains milk which is excellent for +drinking, but will not yield butter; the third a cheaper quality +of milk for puddings, and so on. If you are an anxious +mother, or a fastidious bachelor, and none of these will please +you, then he brings the buffalo to the door and milks it in your +presence. I think the truth which underlies the two ways of +putting the thing is the same: Gopal and I differ in form of +words only. However that may be, practice is more than +theory, and I stipulate for milk for all purposes from the lowest +<i>lota</i>—that is, milk which is warranted to yield +butter. If it will not stand that test, I reject it. +Gopal wonders at my extravagance, but consents. The milk is +good and the butter from it plentiful. But as time goes on +the latter declines both in quantity and quality, so gradually +that suspicion is scarcely awakened. When at last you +summon the butler to a consultation, he suggests that the weather +has been too hot for successful butter making, or too cold. +If these reasons do not satisfy you, he has others; if they fail, +he gives his verdict against the <i>Doodwallah</i>. Next +morning Gopal is called to superintend the making of the butter +and convicted, convicted but not abashed. He expresses the +greatest regret, but blames the buffalo; its calf is too +old. To-morrow you shall have the produce of another +buffalo. So next day you have the satisfaction of seeing a +fine healthy pat of butter swimming in the butter dish, carved +and curled with all the butler’s art, like a full-blown +dahlia. But the milk in your tea does not improve, for +Gopal, after ascertaining how much milk you set aside for butter +every day, finds that the new buffalo yields only that quantity, +and so what you require for other purposes comes from another +source. The butler forgot to tell you this. What bond +is there between him and honest Gopal? I cannot tell. +Many are the mysteries of housekeeping in India, and puzzling its +problems. If you could behead your butler when anything +went wrong, I have very little doubt everything would go right, +but the complicated methods of modern justice are no match for +the subtleties of Indian petty wickedness. And yet under +this crust of cunning there is a vein of simple stupidity which +constantly crops up where you least expect it. I remember a +gentleman, a bachelor, who set before himself a very high +standard. He would be strictly just and justly +strict. He suspected that his milk was watered, but his +faithful boy protested that this could not be, as the milking was +begun and finished in his presence. So the master provided +himself with a lactometer, and the suspicion became +certainty. Summoning his boy into his presence, he +explained to him that that little instrument, which he saw +floating in the so-called milk before him, could neither lie nor +be deceived. “It declares,” he added sternly, +“that there is twenty-five per cent. of water in this +milk.” “Your lordship speaks the truth,” +answered the faithful man, “but how could I tell a +lie? The milk was drawn in my presence.” +“Do you mean to say you were there the whole time the +animal was being milked?” “The whole time, your +lordship. Would I give those rogues the chance of watering +the <i>saheb’s</i> milk?” The master thought +for a moment, and asked again, “Are you sure there was no +water in the pail before the milking began?—these people +are very cunning.” “They are as cunning as +<i>sheitan</i>, your lordship, but I made the man turn the pail +upside down and shake it.” Again the master turned +the matter over in his just mind, and it occurred to him that the +lactometer was of English manufacture and might be puzzled by the +milk of the buffalo. “Is this cow’s milk, or +buffalo’s?” he asked. The boy was beginning to +feel his position uncomfortable and caught at this chance of +escape. “Ah! that I cannot tell. It may be +buffalo’s milk.” <i>Tableau</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p145b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Doodwallahs—Milkmen" +title= +"The Doodwallahs—Milkmen" + src="images/p145s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I have spoken of having butter made in the house, but Gopal +carries on all departments of a dairyman’s business, and +you may buy butter of him at two annas a +“cope.” Let philologists settle the derivation +of the word. The “cope” is a measure like a +small tea-cup, and when Gopal has filled it, he presses the +butter well down with his hand, so that a man skilled in +palmistry may read the honest milkman’s fortune off any +cope of his butter. How he makes it, or of what materials, +I dare not say. Many flavours mingle in it, some familiar +enough, some unknown to me. Its texture varies too. +Sometimes it is pasty, sometimes semi-fluid, sometimes sticky, +following the knife. In colour it is bluish-white, unless +dyed. All things considered, I refuse Gopal’s butter, +and have mine made at home. The process is very simple, and +no churn is needed. Every morning the milk for next +day’s butter is put into a large flat dish, to stand for +twenty-four hours, at the end of which time, if the dish is as +dirty as it should be, the milk has curdled. Then, with a +tin spoon, Mukkun skims off the cream and puts it into a large +pickle bottle, and squatting on the ground, <i>more suo</i>, +bumps the bottle upon a pad until the butter is made. The +artistic work of preparing it for presentation remains. +First it is dyed yellow with a certain seed, that it may please +the <i>saheb’s</i> taste, for buffalo butter is quite +white, and you know it is an axiom in India that cow’s milk +does not yield butter. Then Mukkun takes a little bamboo +instrument and patiently works the butter into a +“flower” and sends it to breakfast floating in cold +water.</p> +<p>Gopal is a man of substance, owning many buffaloes and +immensely fat Guzerat cows, with prodigious humps and large +pendent ears. His family, having been connected for many +generations with the sacred animal, he enjoys a certain +consciousness of moral respectability, like a man whose uncles +are deans or canons. In my mind, he is always associated +rather with his buffaloes, those great, unwieldy, hairless, +slate-coloured docile, intelligent antediluvians.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p149b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Home butter making" +title= +"Home butter making" + src="images/p149s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><span class="smcap">The Miscellaneous Wallahs</span>.</h2> +<p> +<a href="images/p150b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"The Kalai-wallah" +title= +"The Kalai-wallah" + src="images/p150s.jpg" /> +</a>I have yielded to the claim of the <i>doodwallah</i> to be +reckoned among the <i>nowkers</i>. His right is more than +doubtful, and I will yield no further. Nevertheless, there +is a cluster of petty dependents, a nebula of minor satellites, +which have us for the focus of their orbit, and which cannot be +left out of a comprehensive account of our system. Whence, +for example, is that raucus stridulation which sets every tooth +on edge and sends a rheumatic shiver up my spine? “It +is only the <i>Kalai-wallah</i>,” says the boy, and points +to a muscular black man, very nearly in the garb of a Grecian +athlete, standing with both feet in one of my largest cooking +pots. He grasps a post with both hands, and swings his +whole frame fiercely from side to side with a circular motion, +like the balance wheel of a watch. He seems to have a rough +cloth and sand under his feet, so I suppose this is only his +energetic way of scouring the pot preparatory to tinning it, for +the <i>Kalai-wallah</i> is the “tin-man,” whose +beneficent office it is to avert death by verdigris and salts of +copper from you and your family. His assistant, a +semi-nude, fleshless youth, has already extemporized a furnace of +clay in the ground hard by, and is working a huge pair of clumsy +bellows. Around him are all manner of copper kitchen +utensils, <i>handies</i>, or <i>deckshies</i>, kettles, +frying-pans, and what not, and there are also on the ground some +rings of <i>kalai</i>, commonly called tin; but pure tin is an +expensive metal, and I do not think it is any part of the +<i>Kalai-wallah’s</i> care to see that you are not poisoned +with lead. One notable peculiarity there is in this +<i>Kalai-wallah</i>, or tin-man, which deserves record, namely, +that he pays no <i>dustooree</i> to any man. I take it as +sufficient evidence of this fact that, though even the +<i>matie</i> could tell you that the pots ought to be tinned once +a month, neither the butler nor the cook ever seems to remember +when the day comes round. This is a matter which you must +see to personally. Contrast with this the case of the +<i>Nalbund</i>, the clink of whose hammer in the early morning +tells that the 15th of the month has dawned. His portable +anvil is already in the ground, and he is hammering the shoes +into shape after a fashion; but he is not very particular about +this, for if the shoe does not fit the hoof he can always cut the +hoof to fit the shoe. This is an advantage which the maker +of shoes for human feet does not enjoy, though I have heard of +very fashionable ladies who secretly have one toe amputated that +the rest may more easily be squeezed into that curious pointed +thing, which, by some mysterious process of mind, is regarded as +an elegant shoe. But this is by the way. To return to +the <i>Nalbund</i>. His work is guaranteed to last one +calendar month, and your faithful <i>ghorawallah</i>, who +remembers nothing else, and scarcely knows the day of the week, +bears in mind the exact date on which the horse has to be shod +next, and if the careless <i>Nalbund</i> does not appear, +promptly goes in search of him. Does not this speak volumes +for the efficiency of that venerable and wonderful institution +<i>dustooree</i>, by which the interests of all classes are +cemented together and the wheels of the social system are +oiled? The shoeing of the bullock is generally a distinct +profession, I believe, from the shoeing of the horse, and is not +considered such a high art. The poor <i>byle</i> is thrown, +and, his feet being tied together, the assistant holds his nose +to the ground, while the master nails a small slip of bad iron to +each half of the hoof. I often stop on my way to +contemplate this spectacle, which beautifully illustrates that +cold patience, or natural thick-skinnedness, which fits the +<i>byle</i> so admirably for his lot in this land. He is +yoked to a creaking cart and prodded with a sharp nail to make +him go, his female ancestry reviled to the third generation, his +belly tickled with the driver’s toes, and his tail twisted +till the joints crack, but he plods patiently on till he feels +disposed to stop, and then he lies down and takes with an even +mind such cudgelling as the enraged driver can inflict. At +last a fire of straw is lighted under him, and then he gets up +and goes on. He never grows restive or frets, as a horse +would, and so he does not wear out. This is the reason why +bullocks are used throughout India for all agricultural +purposes. The horse does not suit the genius of the +people. I wish horses in India could do without +shoes. In sandy districts, like Guzerat, they can, and are +much better unshod; but in the stony Deccan some protection is +absolutely necessary, and the poor beast is often at the mercy of +the village bullock <i>Nalbund</i>. It carries my thoughts +to the days of our forefathers, when the blacksmith was also the +dentist.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p153b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Nalbund" +title= +"Nalbund" + src="images/p153s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p> +<a href="images/p154b.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"Grasswallah" +title= +"Grasswallah" + src="images/p154s.jpg" /> +</a>The <i>Nalbund</i> leads naturally to the <i>Ghasswallah</i>, +or grass-man, whose sign is a mountain of green stuff, which +comes nodding in at the back gate every day upon four emaciated +legs. A small pony’s nose protrudes from the front, +with a muzzle on, for in such matters the spirit of the law of +Moses is not current in this country. The mild Hindoo does +muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn. His +religion forbids him to take life, and he obeys, but he steers as +near to that sin as he can, without actually committing it, and +vitality is seen here at a lower ebb, perhaps, than in any other +country under the sun. The grassman maintains just so much +flesh on the bones of his beast as will suffice to hold them +together under their burden, and this can be done without lucerne +grass, so poor Tantalus toddles about, buried under a pile of +sweet-scented, fresh, green herbage, ministering to the sleek +aristocracy of his own kind, and returns to gnaw his daily +allowance of <i>kurbee</i>. There is, however, one +alleviation of his lot for which he may well be thankful, and +that is that his burden so encompasses him about that the stick +of his driver cannot get at any part of him. I believe the +<i>Ghasswallah</i> is an institution peculiar to our +presidency—this kind of <i>Ghasswallah</i>, I mean, who is +properly a farmer, owning large well-irrigated fields of lucerne +grass. Hay is supplied by another kind of +<i>Ghasswallah</i>, who does not keep a pony, but brings the +daily allowance on his head. That allowance is five +<i>polees</i> for each horse. A <i>polee</i> is a bundle of +grass about as thick as a tree, and as long as a bit of +string. This hay merchant does a large business, and used +to send in a monthly bill to each of his constituents in due +form, thus:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="5"><p>To Hurree Ganesh,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>January</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="4"><p>Mr. Esmith, Esquire</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><i>Dr.</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>To supplying grass to one horse</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rs.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ditto to ½ horse</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">8</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Total</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rs.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">8</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="6"><p style="text-align: right">E. E.& contents +received.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>The ½ horse was a cow.</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p156ab.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Shirakee" +title= +"Shirakee" + src="images/p156as.jpg" /> +</a>As the monsoon draws to a close and the weather begins to get +colder, a man in a tight brown suit and leather belt, with an +unmistakable flavour of sport about him, presents himself at the +door. This is the <i>shikaree</i> come with <i>khubber</i> +of “<i>ishnap</i>,” and quail, and duck, and in fact +of anything you like up to bison and tiger. But we must +dismiss him to-day. He would require a chapter to himself, +and would take me over ground quite outside of my present +scope. What a <i>loocha</i> he is!</p> +<p> +<a href="images/p156bb.jpg"> +<img class='floatleft' alt= +"Ready-made-clothes Wallah" +title= +"Ready-made-clothes Wallah" + src="images/p156bs.jpg" /> +</a>What shall I say of the <i>Roteewallah</i> and the +<i>Jooteewallah</i>, who comes round so regularly to keep your +boots and shoes in disrepair, and of all the vociferous tribe of +<i>borahs</i>? There is the <i>Kupprawallah</i>, and the +<i>Boxwallah</i>, and the <i>Ready-made-clotheswallah</i> +(“readee made cloes mem sa-ab! dressin’ gown, badee, +petticoat, drars, chamees, everyting, mem sa-ab, very +che-eap!”) and the <i>Chowchowwallah</i> and the +<i>Maiwawallah</i> or fruit man, with his pleasant basket of +pomeloes and oranges, plantains, red and white, custard apples, +guavas, figs, grapes, and pineapples, and those +suspicious-looking old iron scales, hanging by greasy, knotted +strings. Each of these good people, it seems, lives in this +hard world for no other end but to supply my wants. One of +them is positive that he supplied my father with the necessaries +of life before I was born. +<a href="images/p157ab.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Sindworkwallah" +title= +"Sindworkwallah" + src="images/p157as.jpg" /> +</a> He is by appearance about eighteen years of age, but +this presents no difficulty, for if it was not he who ministered +to my parent, it was his father, and so he has not only a +personal, but a hereditary claim on me. He is a +<i>workboxwallah</i>, and is yearning to show his regard for me +by presenting me with a lady’s sandalwood dressing-case in +return for the trifling sum of thirty-five rupees. The +<i>sindworkwallah</i>, who has a similar esteem for me, scorns +the thought of wishing to sell, but if I would just look at some +of his beautiful things, he could go away happy. When they +are all spread upon the ground, then it occurs to him that I have +it in my power to make him lucky for the day by buying a fancy +smoking-cap, which, by-the-by, he brought expressly for me. +But this subject always makes me sad, for there is no disguising +the fact that the <i>borah</i> is fast passing away for ever, and +with him all the glowing morning tints of that life which we used +to live when India was still India. But let that regret +pass. One <i>wallah</i> remains, who presents himself at +your door, not monthly, or weekly, but every day, and often twice +a day, and not at the back verandah, but at the front, walking +confidently up to the very easy-chair on which we stretch our +lordly limbs. And I may safely say that, of all who claim +directly or indirectly to have eaten our salt, there is not a man +for whom we have, one and all of us, a kindlier feeling. +You may argue that he is only a public servant, and has really +far less claim on us than any of the others; never +mind—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh +and blood.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<a href="images/p157bb.jpg"> +<img class='floatright' alt= +"Coolie" +title= +"Coolie" + src="images/p157bs.jpg" /> +</a>The English mail is in, and we feel, and will feel, towards +that red-livened man as Noah felt towards the dove with the olive +branch in her mouth. And when Christmas comes round, +howsoever we may harden ourselves against others, scarcely one of +us, I know, will grudge a rupee to the <i>tapalwallah</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p159b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Finis" +title= +"Finis" + src="images/p159s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE BUNGALOW***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 7953-h.htm or 7953-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/9/5/7953 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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