*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74152 ***


  [Illustration: ORNAMENTS WORN BY HINDOO FEMALES.

    1. _Tre no lē_,  }                 2. _Cambălā_, }
    3. _Conth măla_, } Necklaces.      5. _Phoomka_, } Worn in the Ear.
    4. _Bala_, worn round the Wrist.   6. _Bajoo_, worn over the Arm.

  DRAWN BY MR. GANGOOLY.]




                           LIFE AND RELIGION

                                  OF

                             THE HINDOOS.

                                 WITH

                               A SKETCH

                                  OF

                        MY LIFE AND EXPERIENCE.


                                  BY

                        JOGUTH CHUNDER GANGOOLY

                          (BAPTIZED PHILIP).


                                BOSTON:
                   CROSBY, NICHOLS, LEE AND COMPANY,
                        117 WASHINGTON STREET.
                                 1860.




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


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




                           EDITOR’S PREFACE.


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

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

   REV. GEORGE E. ELLIS, D. D.:--

    MY DEAR SIR,--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                             Truly yours,
                                                      S. W. BUSH.

    Medfield, July 20, 1860.

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

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

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

                                                           G. E. E.




                               CONTENTS.

                   LIFE AND RELIGION OF THE HINDOOS.


                                                                   PAGE

    PREFACE                                                       xxvii


                                BOOK I.

                              CHAPTER I.

    Hindoo Caste.--Its Origin, Elements, Division, Subdivision,
    Strength, and Influence on the People.                            1


                              CHAPTER II.

    The Birth.--Distribution of Presents.--Writing on the
    Forehead.--The Feast of Eight Peas.--The Day of
    Purification, etc.                                               13


                             CHAPTER III.

    Education.--Sanscrith.--Chalk in the Hand.--Patshata, the
    Teacher.--The Discipline in the School.                          18


                              CHAPTER IV.

    The Second Birth.--Brahmun Consecrated Thread.--Discipline
    and Privileges of the Brahmun’s Life.                            27


                              CHAPTER V.

    The Marriage.--Polygamy.--Koolyn and Moulick.--Marriage.
    --Age.--Selection.--Agreement.--Anointment.--Bachelor and
    Maiden Feasts.--The Joy-Cakes.--Bridegroom starts for Bride’s
    House.--Reception.--Discussion.--Twelve Friends Party.--Throwing
    Stone Party.--Ceremony.--Good Interview.--Dining-Room
    Plagues.--Distribution of Money.--Return.--Reception.--Bridal
    Feast.                                                           38


                              CHAPTER VI.

    Death.--Boithornee.--Bathing.--Anointment.--Sho.--Burning
    the Body.--Expression of Mourning.--Widows.--Shoratho.           55


                             CHAPTER VII.

    Domestic Life, Education, etc.                                   65


                               BOOK II.

    INTRODUCTION                                                     80


                              CHAPTER I.

                            BOIS-AK, APRIL.

    The New Year’s Day.--The Change of Account-Books.--Sacred
    Choir.--Dedication of Water-Pitcher.--Women’s
    Ceremony.--Way-side Hospitality.--The Idols in Water.            92


                              CHAPTER II.

                             JO-ISTO, MAY.

    The Worship of Shus-ty.--Son-in-law invited.                    102


                             CHAPTER III.

                            AUSH-ER, JUNE.

    The Bath of Jogger-nauth.--The Worship of the River Gunga.      105


                              CHAPTER IV.

                            SHRA-BUN, JULY.

    The Roth Jatra, or the Car of Jogger-nauth.                     130


                              CHAPTER V.

                           VAUTHRO, AUGUST.

    The Birthday of Krishno.--Fasting and Worship on the
    Occasion.--Rejoicing of Nuntho; the Worship of
    Monsha,--a Goddess whose Messengers are Serpents, Adders,
    Toads, etc.                                                     134


                              CHAPTER VI.

                          AUSHEEN, SEPTEMBER.

    The Doorga pooja.                                               136


                             CHAPTER VII.

                           KARTIC, OCTOBER.

    “The Lamp in the Air.”--The Goddess
    Kallee.--Torch-Festival.--Red Marks on the Door-Post.           149


                             CHAPTER VIII.

                       OG-GROW-HAW-UN, NOVEMBER.

    Juggur-dhartree and Rash-jatra.                                 155


                              CHAPTER IX.

    POUS, DECEMBER.                                                 157


                              CHAPTER X.

                            MAGH, JANUARY.

    The Morning Bath.--Shoresh-sotee, or Muse.                      158


                              CHAPTER XI.

                          FAL-GOON, FEBRUARY.

    The Thole-jatha.                                                165


                             CHAPTER XII.

                           CHOITHRO, MARCH.

    Churuck-pooja.--Hook Swinging.                                  167


    MISCELLANEOUS                                                   180

    APPENDIX                                                        185


                  A SKETCH OF MY LIFE AND EXPERIENCE.

    PREFACE                                                         195


                              CHAPTER I.

    My Childhood and Education.--My Mother.                         197


                              CHAPTER II.

    My “Second Birth.”--Consecration for the Priesthood.--Religious
    Training.--Death of my Father.--English Schools.--Zeal for
    Idolatry.                                                       210


                             CHAPTER III.

    First Views of Christianity.--Prejudices.--Sermon on the
    Mount.--New Testament.--Efforts and Struggles.--Comparison
    of Hindoo and Christian Doctrines.--Conversion.--First
    Zeal.--Perplexed by the Trinity.--Visit to a
    Missionary.--Trinitarianism.--My Difficulties.--Deistical
    Companions.--Arrival of Mr. Dall.                               221


                              CHAPTER IV.

    Why I became a Unitarian.--My own Reading and Study of the
    Bible.--The Missionaries’ Doctrines.                            256


                              CHAPTER V.

    Interest in America.--Desire and Purpose to go.--My Friend
    agrees to accompany me.--Ill Reports of America.--Horror of
    Slavery.--My Friend fails me.--Will go alone.--Arrangements.--My
    Mother.--Last Days at Home.--Voyage.--Arrival in
    America.--My Experiences here.                                  270

    FAREWELL!                                                       301




                                  THE

                           LIFE AND RELIGION

                                  OF

                             THE HINDOOS.




                    TO THE REVEREND C. H. A. DALL.


    MY DEAR FRIEND AND PASTOR:--

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

                            Your disciple,
                                            JOGUTH CHUNDER GANGOOLY.

  MEDFIELD, MASS., 27 October, 1859.




                               PREFACE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                             J. C. G.




                           LIFE AND RELIGION

                                  OF

                             THE HINDOOS.




                              CHAPTER I.

      HINDOO CASTE.--ITS ORIGIN, ELEMENTS, DIVISION, SUBDIVISION,
                STRENGTH, AND INFLUENCE ON THE PEOPLE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER II.

   THE BIRTH.--DISTRIBUTION OF PRESENTS.--WRITING ON THE
   FOREHEAD.--THE FEAST OF EIGHT PEAS.--THE DAY OF PURIFICATION,
   ETC.


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

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

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

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

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




                             CHAPTER III.

   EDUCATION.--SANSCRITH.--CHALK IN THE HAND.--PATSHALA, THE
   TEACHER.--THE DISCIPLINE IN THE SCHOOL.


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

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

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

    “Gooro moshoy, tomar pōrō hazir,
    Achē-dundo chārā dow jol Khaia ashe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER IV.

   THE SECOND BIRTH.--BRAHMUN CONSECRATED THREAD.--DISCIPLINE
   AND PRIVILEGES OF THE BRAHMUN’S LIFE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER V.

   THE MARRIAGE.--POLYGAMY.--KOOLYN AND
   MOULICK.--MARRIAGE.--AGE.--SELECTION.--AGREEMENT.--ANOINTMENT.
   --BACHELOR AND MAIDEN FEASTS.--THE JOY-CAKES.--BRIDEGROOM STARTS
   FOR BRIDE’S HOUSE.--RECEPTION.--DISCUSSION.--TWELVE
   FRIENDS PARTY.--THROWING STONE PARTY.--CEREMONY.--GOOD
   INTERVIEW.--DINING-ROOM PLAGUES.--DISTRIBUTION OF
   MONEY.--RETURN.--RECEPTION.--BRIDAL FEAST.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


                          “SREE SREE DOORGA.”

                  “THE WELL-WISHER, RAM CHUNDER DEB.”

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER VI.

   DEATH.--BOITHORNEE.--BATHING.--ANOINTMENT.--SHO.--BURNING
   THE BODY.--EXPRESSION OF MOURNING.--WIDOWS.--SHORATHO.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                             CHAPTER VII.

                    DOMESTIC LIFE, EDUCATION, ETC.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “OBJECT OF BLESSING:--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                             BOOK SECOND.




                             INTRODUCTION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER I.

                            BOIS-AK, APRIL.

   THE NEW YEAR’S DAY.--THE CHANGE OF ACCOUNT-BOOKS.--SACRED
   CHOIR.--DEDICATION OF WATER-PITCHER.--WOMEN’S
   CEREMONY.--WAY-SIDE HOSPITALITY.--THE IDOLS IN WATER.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER II.

                             JO-ISTO, MAY.

             THE WORSHIP OF SHUS-TY.--SON-IN-LAW INVITED.


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

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




                             CHAPTER III.

                            AUSH-ER, JUNE.

      THE BATH OF JOGGER-NAUTH.--THE WORSHIP OF THE RIVER GUNGA.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the Hindoo mode of Repentance.

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER IV.

                            SHRA-BUN, JULY.

              THE ROTH JATRA, OR THE CAR OF JOGGER-NAUTH.


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

  [Illustration: THE CAR OF JOGGURNAUTH,

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER V.

                           VAUTHRO, AUGUST.

   THE BIRTHDAY OF KRISHNO.--FASTING AND WORSHIP ON THE
   OCCASION.--REJOICING OF NUNTHO; THE WORSHIP OF MONSHA,--A
   GODDESS WHOSE MESSENGERS ARE SERPENTS, ADDERS, TOADS, ETC.


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

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

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

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

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




                              CHAPTER VI.

                          AUSHEEN, SEPTEMBER.

                           THE DOORGA POOJA.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the afternoon is the “vogue,”--dinner. It is to be observed here
that the Hindoos of all castes do not offer boiled food to the
idol,--such as rice, vegetables, fish, meat (of the he-goat only).
They make various distinctions between boiled and fried food; some is
allowable, and others not; for instance, a Brahmun would eat cakes
fried by a confectioner, but not rice boiled by him. The Brahmuns
only present rice, vegetables, and other cooked food, to the idols,
which are offered in the same way as the fruits, specifying them by
the name. When they bring these to the hall, they sprinkle the river
water along their path, on which the Brahmun with the dishes in his
hands treads. When the goddess is supposed to cast her glance at, or to
indicate an acceptance of the costly dishes, the screens are hung so
that none of the lowest caste can see what is going on behind.

The invited guests, as well as other poor low-caste people, take their
places in the order of their castes, and the Brahmuns serve them at
the dinner. O, the pleasant task! although, personally, I had neither
faith in nor delight at the worship of the idol, and stood aloof
in the hour of sacrifice, burning of incense, and offering meat to
the senseless deities, yet I used to come at this time and offer my
services in distributing food to the people. But as a disciple of Him
who blessed, loved, and ministered to the poor, neglected, and low, I
was particularly mindful to serve and wait upon such as rarely received
much care and attention from an orthodox Brahmun. Thus, during these
three days the people dine at each other’s houses, and all at the house
of the Brahmuns who are highest and first in order. In the evening,
the hall, the parlor, the entry, and the outside of the house, are all
illuminated with chandeliers, lanterns, etc.

The priest performs the “aurothee,” or moving of “four lamps” before
the face of the idol. While he is thus engaged, ringing a bell by his
left hand and moving the lamps by his right, some burn perfumatory
incense and fan the idol, and others devote themselves to silent
prayer; the band also plays in the yard. At the close, every soul
present is on his knees or breast, prostrating before “wood or stone.”
I was often found on the outside of the house, away from the idol, at
this time.

The guests appear again, and are entertained. The invited guests, the
men of wealth, offer a present of money to the idol, when they come to
the outer piazza of the hall. Beautiful it is to see men of different
ages and circumstances visiting house after house, in crowds, in the
excited, festive, superstitious Bengal. Would to God it was for some
other occasion, and not for the worship of the idols.

Late in the evening begin the music, singing, dancing, theatrical
shows, etc., quite different from those of Christians, both in regard
to time, process, and substance. The usual hours for these are from
eleven in the evening until six or seven in the next morning. On other
occasions, when there is no idol to worship particularly, the music and
shows extend twelve hours, without intermission. During these hours
the people sit still, sometimes go out, promenade, chew spices, smoke
tobacco, etc. The yard of the house, accommodating several hundreds,
is the place where the theatrical plays and other amusements are held.
For the information of the reader, I should describe in this place the
musical entertainments of the Hindoos. They are far inferior to those
in this country, in regard to the gorgeousness of the scenery; but
far superior in point of elegance, taste, and composition, either of
the tune or the play itself. A visit to the Boston Theatre, and the
splendid spectacle displayed therein of “Faust and Marguerite,” have
made me think the Hindoos are superior in their intellectual displays,
while the Americans excel in scenic representations. Dancing in India
is regarded in a contrary light from what it is in this country. Hence,
those who dance in the public theatre or private parlor are from the
lowest castes, if they be men, or public prostitutes, if women. For
the Orientals deem it a shame, an improper act, for women to sing or
dance before men. The dancing of a young girl in the above theatre
in Boston, and of others in the _polka_, would well confirm the
Oriental estimation of female dancing. The spectators do not gather
promiscuously, and pay the admittance fee, as they do in this country.
The music, dancing, or shows, whatever they might be, are open to
all,--but it is in a rich man’s house, where the heads and backs
of persons glitter with gold and jewels; the folks with cotton are
not welcome. However, they have other places to go to, where every
attention is shown to them. A Bengalee proverb says: “One door is
closed against, while hundreds are open to us.” I said there is no
promiscuous gathering; I mean the gathering of both sexes. The women
sit apart behind the screens, from whence they see everything without
being seen. But this is not the case with all. Sometimes a young woman,
with vain heart and handsome casket--body--manages to thrust out to
the public gaze her pretty hands, glittering with costly ornaments.
Thus the first two days of the Doorga pooja pass by, and the third or
last is before us, with its singular, absurd amusements. It is _katha
matie_, amusement with clay. After the usual sacrifices have been
offered, they wet the yard, and men of every age fall upon each other,
singing and dancing in abominable ways. Some songs are purposely
composed in vulgar words and sentiments, to be sung before the goddess,
their Mother! This mistaken band of men and boys, with instrumental
and vocal music, visit every house in the neighborhood which has the
image within it. As a token of respect, the master of the house, or
his representative, cordially receives this foolish party, and joins
their number. You must join them, otherwise they will run after you,
put clay on your clothes, and make you come at any rate. As they pass
by, it is difficult to recognize them by their faces. Their clothes and
whole bodies are so covered with clay, that at the first sight you will
take them for some strange creatures, or John for James and James for
Charles! Christians, who have no faith in the foreign missions, think
the Hindoos are well off. Come! O come and see this single abominable,
adulterous amusement of these men, the sad, the mistaken specimens of
humanity, and you will find a great gulf lies between you and them.
Thank your God and be grateful to his mercy. Spread the light abroad
that has been committed to your care, that millions of the Great Human
Family may see their course through the precipitous way of life!

Now, on the fourth, or last day, the image is thrown into water,
with absurd ceremonies and costly shows. Agreeably to the order of
exercises performed when a woman leaves her father’s house for that
of her husband, the women walk round the image, put some lunch in her
hand, and entreat her to come again the next year. The men write their
names on some _bāle_ leaves, and deposit them at the feet of the
goddess, hoping she will remember them by their individual names.

In the afternoon the bands play, the flags are waved, the guns fired,
and the image is carried to the river Gunga. Some people throw the
images into the water, while others take them on board of boats, and
thereby give the goddess a good sail. While young, I used to cry for
this treatment toward the “Mother,” and ask my father why it would not
be better to send her home by carriage, than sink her into the water.
When it becomes dark they return to their homes, the bands playing a
melancholy tune.

The benediction is offered by the priest at the place where the idol
was. A jar with water in it is placed on the same seat which the
goddess occupied, people sit on every side, and the priest sprinkles
the “peace water” on their heads. Lest the sacred water should fall on
their feet, which are regarded profane by the Hindoos, they cover them
with their clothes, while their heads are exposed to the shower from
the priest.

After this is performed what seems to me the best part of the worship,
i. e. the greeting of each other with salutations. Each person takes
a quantity of sweet confectionery with him, and goes round from house
to house receiving or giving salutations, according to his position. I
will describe this more distinctly. The Brahmuns do not salute other
castes; and the grown-up people receive homage from their juniors, but
do not give them any. Thus, a young man prostrates himself before his
older brother, and both before their parents, uncle, aunt, etc. They
put a little confectionery to each other’s mouths, and embrace each
other. On this occasion they use an intoxicating drug called “Vang;”
with the exception of this, I like the proceedings of the evening. Thus
close the Doorga-pooja holidays; doing some good, at least to the poor,
for they are well cared for, entertained in feasts, and admitted to
the fine shows in the splendid houses, where they are not allowed to
enter on other occasions. Besides these, they get such a quantity of
expensive eatable things as they never tasted before, and which they
enjoy for a week or more.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                           KARTIC, OCTOBER.

   “THE LAMP IN THE AIR.”--THE GODDESS KALLEE.--TORCH-FESTIVAL.--RED
                        MARKS ON THE DOOR-POST.


It has been observed before that the Brahmuns attach some degree of
sacredness to the months of April, October, and January. The month at
hand is October, and is a sacred one, and we will see how the Hindoos
observe it. There are a great many common religious ceremonies which
are not of much consequence; hence I will omit them, and direct my
attention to the four marked ones which are the subjects of this
chapter.

From the first to the last of this month, a lantern is lit and sent
aloft on the top of a bamboo, or a high pole of any other kind of wood.
As each house thus lights a lantern in the air, the number becomes very
large in populous places, and it is amusing to see them burn like stars
in the lower firmament.

The goddess Kallee. As I have determined to treat of the origin of,
or the causes which gave rise to, the Hindoo worship, I will briefly
describe the legend respecting the goddess. She is the wife of Shiba in
another incarnation of Doorga.

Under different circumstances, or to accomplish some personal or
universal good, Doorga the “great mother” appeared in various
incarnations. The legend tells us the following. There were two Oshoor
brother-rulers[23] of a kingdom. The world in their time suffered much.

Of all the worldly riches which allure the selfish adventurers, and
cause them to explore the uttermost parts of the earth, there was
something very peculiar which these two princes were wont to seek
after. Neither the burning gold, nor glittering jewels, nor the
absolute sway over the world was the object of their ambition. Human
beings whom some people call their “property” were the objects of their
ambition, and upon them the attention of these princes was fondly
directed. By their craving human beings, I do not mean that they used
to send a ship somewhere to the coast of Africa which would import
human “property” for their farm or plantation. No! Their ambition
was romantic, although not without sin. The fairest women, whom the
poets describe as the gems and the life of society, were the tempting
treasure to the eyes of these Sovereigns. It was a fixed determination
in them to place the most handsome female on the throne as queen. They
had servants to explore the vales and the groves of the female world,
in search of such flowers. Wherever an accomplished female could be
found, her parents would be requested to give her up to the throne,
either shining gold or reeking sword being offered as an inducement.
First persuasion, then violence were the methods to which they resorted
to secure their end. Discontent grew up and was universally felt.

The poor, insulted parents, unable to cope with the tyranny of these
wicked kings, appealed to the goddess Doorga, the great Mother. She
took pity upon these sufferers, promised them relief, and determined to
put a stop to the wicked life of the kings. Agreeably to her promise,
the goddess descended from her Koylas. In order to encounter the
servants of the King Shumbhoos, who were in a certain place in quest of
handsome females for their masters, she betook herself to a grove which
they must pass by on their way home. A Hindoo poet describes her beauty
in the following way. As she entered the grove her divine presence,
her unrivalled charms, her sweet graces, filled the place with solemn
grandeurs. The bees and the butterflies forsook the flowers, and,
taking her for a blooming lotus, began to hover round her person. The
members of her body created discontent among the inmates of the forest.
The white, fragrant lotus, hitherto the pride of the flowers, seeing
itself surpassed in beauty by the goddess, fled with shame to lodge in
the water forever. Her delicate, graceful neck drove the swans away
into the ponds, lakes, and rivulets. The pearls finding their pride
sadly broken by the bright teeth of the goddess, hid themselves in
their shells at the bottom of the oceans. The wild deer ran frantic to
see her eyes far superior in grace to its own.

In the ecstacy of his poetical imagination, the poet thus describes the
countenance of Doorga; that the Bromho, desiring to imitate her face,
created the full moon, and finding it, when ready, not half so handsome
as the face of the goddess, broke it into pieces in fifteen days! Vain
labor; he forms and breaks the full moon all the time! Hence are the
phases of the moon.

It happened as she expected, that the messengers of the king came that
way and were surprised to see the grove dazzling with her beauty. They
approached near, and asked: “Thābee! may we know whether a god or an
angel is mourning at thy absence? Is it a region in the sky which
is dark, being deprived of thy radiance? Who art thou that walkest
alone in these groves, fearless as a lioness, free as air, sweet as
roses, and mild as the moon? Or is it possible that thou art here,
forsaking the airy regions, to shine upon the earth for a season?”
Thus the goddess replied: “Noble friends! you are welcome in your kind
inquiries. Indeed, my address will surprise you more than anything
else in the world, for it is so singular, so romantic, so noble, and
so bold. Formerly I was a great princess, now an orphan, poor and
helpless, having no place where to go, and no kind friend to stand by
me.”

The messengers here interrupted her, when they knew the object of
their earnest search was before them; for the goddess declared herself
an orphan, poor, and helpless, and they hoped she would accept their
invitation, and become their queen. Again, her helplessness made them
sure of success, for if she did not comply with their request, they
would take her by force. “Thābee,” said they, “thy night of sorrows is
spent. Behold, the dawn of happy day is breaking upon thee! Follow us
to the throne of mighty Shombhoo, and thou wilt be the mistress over
his empire.” “I thank you for the generous invitation,” she replied;
“I wish I could accept it; but there is a great difficulty in my way.
I cannot offer my hands to any until a condition is fulfilled. In the
name of Truth, I have sworn to marry him only who would be able to
excel me in martial exercises. This is the solemn oath I have taken,
and I will observe it as long as I live.” It is impossible to describe
the surprise of the king’s servants, when they heard a young, weak,
delicate female challenge the mightiest king of the world. In vain
they attempted to convince her that such a daring, foolish oath would
bring her to shame, and make her surrender even to a man of common
ability; that if this was her condition, one of them could take her in
a minute. Finding her firm in her position, they one by one engaged in
a duel with the goddess, who killed them all. As the military custom
in India is to spare the life of those who bear news, she suffered
one to tell his king what had happened. Enraged at the news, the king
came out to meet the heroine in the grove, begged her to surrender,
promised her his love, but all in vain. She remained where she was. A
fearful battle was there fought between them; the king had his troops,
horses, and elephants, while the goddess, in a moment, changed her mild
appearance, became “Dic-ambonee,” naked, and astonishingly fearful.
Shiba, her husband, finding the world could not bear her fury, came to
pacify her and make her desist. But she was so much excited, that she
could not recognize him at all, and mistaking Shiba, who had fallen at
her feet, for an enemy, stood right upon his bosom. Hence the image of
Kallee is represented as follows: She stands on the bosom of Shiba, has
four hands, three eyes, and dark complexion. In her two left hands she
holds, triumphantly, a sword and the head of Shombhoo, whom she killed;
and by her two right hands she offers relief to her poor children. Her
necklace is composed of the heads of her victims who had fallen in the
battle.

The intelligent reader can easily find out the meaning of such
representations. Taking the fact narrated above to be a true one, we
clearly see that Kallee was a great warrior, a woman of unspeakable
ability, of generous heart, whom time and ignorance have deified.
Again, interpreting it allegorically, we see that the mercy of God
unto the helpless, and his wrath unto tyrants, have been beautifully
personified. The image of Kallee is a Hindoo illustration of the
doctrine of retribution. While two of the hands of the goddess are
punishing sin, the other two, at the same time, are offering peace to
the deserving.

The worship takes place in the night of Omabushai,--total
darkness,--and on the next morning the idol is thrown into water, as
usual. The buffaloes and he-goats are cut by the neck as sacrifices.

In the evening of the day on which Kallee is worshipped, the children
amuse themselves with torches. The white sticks of flax are tied up
into bundles, and each boy takes one in his hand, lights it in the
fire, and runs furiously in every direction. Boys strike each other’s
burning torches, and frequently get burned. This has its origin in a
belief that the light of these torches pierces the darkness of hell,
and helps its inmates to come out to receive the homage which their
descendants on earth pay on that day. “Fourteen lamps are lighted”
and put in different places round the house. Some red circular marks,
made with Shindoor, a kind of red powder, are made on the head of the
outside door.

The image of Kartic is worshipped, also. He is the son of Doorga, very
handsome in his appearance, and rides on the back of a peacock. Those
who wish to have some children born unto them, offer homage to him; but
as they rarely meet with success, they are told that Kartic will bear
witness of their religious deeds, and stand in place of their children!
However, they do not worship him a great many years,--only four in
succession, hoping to have offspring during that period.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                       OG-GROW-HAW-UN, NOVEMBER.

                    JUGGUR-DHARTREE AND RASH-JATRA.


The goddess Juggur-dhartree, in the present form, was unknown to
the Hindoos who died a few centuries ago. Her name has a fine
meaning,--“the nurse or upholder of the universe.” She is Doorga in a
different form, sitting on the back of a lion, who also rides on an
elephant, and tears it to pieces. The chief part of the worship is
similar to that of Doorga, in September, but covers only one day. The
sacrifices, feasts, and music are alike. There is, however, something
peculiar in the mode of killing the beasts for the sacrifice. It is
recommended that the victim should be pierced to death by spears, but I
never saw it done, anywhere.

In the night of the full moon comes the Rash-jatra. Its origin is as
follows. Krishto, the Hindoo god, had some young women for his friends,
whom he frequently used to meet in the groves. The sacred poetry of the
Brahmuns abound with the details of Krishto’s frolics with the women,
and the Rash-jatra is one of them. To commemorate these events, they
place the idols of Krishto and his female friends in an artificial
grove. The opulent Hindoos spend a large amount of money on this
occasion. In Calcutta, a rich family is widely known for the display
of statuary, pictures, and ornamental works, on the _Rash_. Every
American merchant engaged in the Calcutta trade knows that family, of
which Baboo Rajendro Narain Dutto is the head. The Rash continues three
successive nights, in which the image of Krishto and of his wife Radha
are exhibited with great magnificence.

The most celebrated Rash, however, is held in Khor-dah, a place on
the Ganges, nearly fourteen miles from Calcutta. But it is not so
expensive, so finished, so showy, as that of the Dutto family. They say
that the image in Khor-dah was carved out of a piece of marble having
miraculous power in it, which circumstance has spread the fame of the
idol far and wide. Splendid temples have been built for its abode, and
a fund adequate to defray the cost of the service has been invested for
its maintenance.

There are other celebrations in the name of Krishto, similar to the
Rash-jatra, one of which will be treated by and by.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                            POUS, DECEMBER.


This month, from its being very cold, I suppose, has no public worship.
Nothing particularly religious attracts the minds of the people, or
pleases their eyes. In fact, the artists who make the idols, and the
musicians who sing before them, close their business this month. But
it ought to be observed that the stage on which the Hindoos exhibit
their idols seldom becomes vacant. A worship of some kind, general or
occasional, must go on. The prevalence of small-pox demands offerings
to Shitola, the goddess of that fatal, contagious disease. A set of men
walk round from door to door with small images of the goddess. Coming
to the threshold, the idol carrier blows a shell to announce the advent
of the goddess, as well as to gather the inmates of the house, and
secure a hearing thereby. He sings or recites a false story descriptive
of the wrath of the goddess to the scoffers, and her kindness to the
believers, etc. I used to ask these men to go somewhere else, and not
to trouble us, but my mother would not have me do such things, and
asked them to come back, apologized for my rashness, bowed down before
their idols, and gave them some money! In the end of this month the
farmers particularly worship the barns, rice-stacks, etc., as the
representation of Luckhee,--the goddess of harvest, giver of wealth,
prosperity, etc. On which occasion the whole of Bengal makes a feast
of cakes for three days in succession. In these days some people eat
nothing but cakes of various shape, size, and taste.




                              CHAPTER X.

                            MAGH, JANUARY.

              THE MORNING BATH.--SHORESH-SOTEE, OR MUSE.


This month, though third in order, is the first of the three which
are held sacred by the Hindoos. On the first day of Magh, at five in
the morning, the whole country is up to bathe. The excitement thus
created is beyond comparison. Sacred songs, jubilees, exhortations are
heard from every quarter. The school-teachers form concerts of their
pupils, who sing the praise of the sacred river Ganges, through the
streets and before the temple. Men, women, and children crowd in the
Ghats,--bathing-places. As they go in they throw some fruits, such as
mangoes, bananas, cocoa-nuts, into the water as an offering to the
sacred river. Some continue their morning bath through the whole month,
others only three days, while a few religious persons continue it
through the year.

The Hindoos have no preaching like the Christians, but there is
something in that shape which occurs in this month. The religious
Hindoo engages a Brahmun to read and expound the sacred books in his
house, which is free and open to all hearers. This Brahmun is always
well trained, has full knowledge of the Scriptures, a fine, sonorous
voice, and is full of fun. In short, he must be learned, a good reader,
singer, and actor. An altar is made for him, on which he sits on a
cushion. He wears some flower-wreaths round his neck and head, like the
Grecian orators with laurels.

In the middle of the month the image of Shoresh-sotee is worshipped.
She is the giver of learning, poetical genius, and efficiency in music.
Hence the poets, orators, singers, pay her homage and worship. Every
family is not required to buy her idol, for the worship of books,
writing-desks, inkstand, pen, musical instruments, do just as well.
Even at the foot of the image these things are set in order. The
schoolmasters make a grand idol of the goddess, and tax their pupils
to meet the expense incurred thereby. There is one thing singular and
unpleasant to the children. They are forbidden to eat _Kool_, a
kind of plum, until it has been offered to the goddess; and if they do,
her wrath will doom them to a life of ignorance. As the _Kools_
grow earlier than the time of the worship of the goddess, they feel
very badly seeing the trees smile with red and yellow fruits, while
they are not able to touch them. The temptation on the one hand,
and the fear of becoming dunces on the other, trouble them. Under
such circumstances the cunning boys come to an understanding with
the goddess, and promise to present her double or triple the number
of _kools_ which they eat before the time. Thus, with care and
caution they keep the accurate account of the _kools_ they eat,
and produce the same before the image, agreeably to the contract made
before. The worship occupies one day only, which is spent with music
and other amusements.

Besides being the daughter of Doorga, the great goddess, Shoresh-sotee
has a legendary tale attached to her person, which is regarded by
the Hindoos as a genuine fact. Much as I do doubt its genuineness,
I think it is a beautiful story, contrived to show the mercy of the
goddess to her children. It is as follows. There was a young princess
in India whose youth, personal charms, and mental accomplishments had
made her the admiration of the time. Among other things that brought
her notoriety, there was an oath she had taken, to the effect that
she would give her hand to a man who would surpass her in power of
reasoning, and conquer her in intellectual warfare.[24] The learned
young princes and nobles of literary renown crowded her palace, but
success did not smile upon any of them. One after the other they
took the field of controversy with the maiden, and were vanquished.
Disappointment and shame became their reward. Next to the kings and
nobles, the Brahmun sages--whom we might call Depositories of Indian
literature--made their appearance, but had to wear crowns of shame.
Whether some superhuman intelligence shaped her arguments so as to
render them impregnable, or her personal charms, her “lightning-like
smiles,” or her “voice sweeter than Cuckoo’s,” threw a net of
confusion over her opponents, I cannot say. While the vanquished party
of the Brahmuns was returning home, they determined to know if anything
could be done to punish the proud princess. Finding their own literary
merits quite inadequate to the purpose, they did not hesitate to resort
to stratagem. As the troubled company moved slowly homeward, contriving
some way to ruin the learned maiden, it happened that a young man,
singular in every way, came before their eyes. He was tall in stature,
dark in complexion, unintelligent yet mild in his countenance. To
describe his ignorance, which was proverbially great, the story says
that the Brahmuns found him sitting on the branch of a lofty tree, and
severing the same with an axe from the main trunk, not knowing that
his own weight will facilitate the work, and that great will be his
fall on the ground below! This ridiculous, yet pitiable scene attracted
the attention of the sages, and they halted. This philosopher on the
tree would make a good match for the princess, they said, if he could
be saved from the ruin which his own hands were bringing upon him.
They beckoned him down the tree, hinting that they have something very
important to communicate to him, and so he came. In answer to their
inquiries he told them his name was Kalidass, a Brahmun by caste, and
that he had had no education. They informed him that they knew the
latter while he had been on the tree. They asked him to follow them
if he wished to marry a rich, noble woman in the country. He begged
them not to make fun of him, as he was too unworthy of the bride they
spoke of. However, they let him understand that they would do what is
necessary, argue with the princess, and arrange the matter prudently,
provided he would go with them as their Master, keep himself seated in
a dignified look, which they would show him how to assume, and now and
then make some gesture during the discussion. He consented to their
words, and leaving his axe and anything he had behind him, followed the
cunning Brahmuns to catch a woman. The unfortunate damsel fell a victim
to the united subtility of the Brahmuns, acknowledged her failure, and,
faithful to her vows, married Kalidass, their supposed Master.

At the usual hour a maid-servant showed him his room, and he entered
in, tired and excited. Illiterate as he was, he was able to reflect
upon the contrasts between his position then and a few hours
previous,--a boor in the country, and a master of the sages,--a
poor Brahmun in the morning, and the husband of a princess in the
evening,--accustomed to lie down on the cottage-floor, now the silvery
bosom of a bedstead in the palace is to receive him. There was a
mosquito-net round the bed, and he did not know how to get in. The
story says, he climbed the bed-post that held the net, to see if there
was any opening on the top, and finding none he jumped in, tearing
the costly net to pieces. Late in the evening the princess came in,
and first of all, wishing to exchange some words, began to look for
a topic. In the mean time a camel in the king’s stable roared. “The
Oostros roar very loud, do they not?” she said. No response came from
Kalidass. “Am I wrong? Is it not Oostro which I heard roar just now?”
“Yes, you are right,” he said; “certainly it is ‘_Oo’tro_,’” not
knowing the true pronunciation of the word. The princess felt quite
alarmed at the word “Oo’tro,” for a scholar, a man of delicacy would
hardly use it. She thought perhaps it was owing to a “_slip_ of
the tongue,” that he said _Oo’tro_, or it might be that he was
tired or was making fun.

Venturing again, so as to find out the truth, she begged him to tell
her what it was that roared a little while ago. At which he, in his
full ignorance of the case, replied, “It was _Ottro_,” making
it a new term altogether. The literary princess was shocked at it,
knowing that the Brahmuns had ruined her; and indignantly striking her
husband with her foot, she left the room. I do not believe this part
of the story; it is contrary to the Hindoo custom; no insult is so
great as to touch a man with the foot. Women, especially delicate and
learned ones like the princess, could not do such a deed,--it is not
only a great insult to a husband, but a real sin. It may be she had
left the room disrespectfully, which, too, was not polite. Whatever was
the case, poor Kalidass felt very much mortified, rose from his seat,
looked towards heaven, and with tears said, “Mother Shoresh-sotee! the
man is a mere animal who does not possess thy blessing in his soul.
A woman insulted me! And why? Because of my ignorance of science and
literature! To whom shall I go for redress but to thee, O Goddess of
Learning? I am too old to begin to study. What shall I do then? I do
not wish to live an insulted life without learning, without worth, any
longer.” He then left the palace and his learned bride, and entered
into a desert with a view to put an end to his life there. Finding a
lake before him, he went in to drown himself in its water. While on
the point of merging into eternity he heard a voice saying, “Do not
die, child! here I am, thy Mother, come from heaven; thy tears have
fallen at my feet, and thy prayer hath sunk deep into my heart, so I
descended on earth to redress thy grief. I am Bak Dabie! Sink thy head
into the water of this lake, and when thou hast lifted it up a clearer
atmosphere will spread over thy head.” At the direction of the goddess,
Kalidass immersed his whole body in the water, and lifting up his head,
saw the goddess standing in the air. Inspired with a miraculous gift of
knowledge, he immediately offered a prayer to the goddess, describing
her beauty from head to foot, in language which the Hindoos think very
chaste and high. In fact it is a fine specimen of Sanscrith poetry. The
Hindoos are taught to repeat it in their schools. Unfortunately the
goddess found fault with his description of her face first, and said,
“He will be killed by the hands of a vile woman.” The sentence has been
fulfilled in the life of Kalidass.[25]

Thus the insulted Brahmun miraculously became the greatest of all the
poets whom India ever produced. His writings, still extant, are real
treasures, both in regard to their poetical splendor, their sublime
depth, and their moral bearings. Such is the legendary manifestation
of the goddess to Kalidass, which, although a mere story, has much
influence upon pure Hindoo minds.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                          FAL-GOON, FEBRUARY.


The Thole-jatha. This means the amusement of Krishto and his female
friends with a swing. In the temple hall, or on some high altar, a
throne is set, and the images are placed upon it. This comes in the
time of the full moon. A few days previous to this the boys become
very troublesome to each other, and to the men in general. They buy
small hand-pumps, made of bamboos or tin, fill some jars with colored
water, station themselves by the wayside, and seeing men pass by,
pump out the water on their clothes. There is no remedy against this
plague, for you do not know where they are; they lie in ambuscades,
and, to your surprise, wet you with the red or yellow colored water.
They will take you unawares, as did the Indians the troops of General
Braddock. Sometimes they meet you in the street, four or five at once,
and trouble you from every direction. As they seldom attack men with
dirty clothes, one might escape the boys by wearing a less showy dress.
Again, they make a kind of seal, by cutting an apple into halves, which
they dip into ink and stamp on your side, breast, or back. This is
worse indeed, for sometimes it is difficult to wipe out the stain-mark
by several washings.

In the evening before Thole-jatha, the image of Krishto is conducted to
witness _Cha-churr_. A long bamboo, covered with straw, is stuck
into the ground by the side of the river or in the field. The Brahmuns
who carry the idol and its throne on their shoulders walk round the
bamboo post seven times, while the drums, flutes, violins, are playing
by hundreds. They then set fire to the post, and fireworks of various
descriptions are burned. Early in the next morning the idols are
placed on the hanging throne. The people witness the scene with great
pleasure, for it is said, “The sight of Krishno will effect salvation.”

There is some trouble, again, arising from the chief amusement of the
day. Abeer, a kind of red powder which the god is especially fond of,
is scattered everywhere. They make balls of it, and hit each other’s
face and eyes. Fortunately, Abeer does not blind the eyes; for when it
falls in, it waters them a little while, and thus makes them brighter
than before. In a rich man’s house, the guests are almost buried with
Abeer, without which the Thole-jatha is nothing.

The feast and music are as usual, for even a poor man must entertain
“twelve Brahmuns” on any religious holiday. This is one leading feature
in Brahmunism. It distinctly commands its believers to entertain
Brahmuns and other castes in the time of the idol-worship. Thus it
makes hospitality a part of the ceremony, and upon this the attention
of the gods is particularly directed. There is a beautiful story to
this effect. A man, according to his promise, offered a thousand
mangoes to the sacred Gunga, by emptying the baskets into its waters.
A poor man picked up one, and ate it. Now the goddess visited the rich
man in a dream, and demanded the full payment of mangoes, acknowledging
the receipt of _one_, which the poor man had eaten.




                             CHAPTER XII.

                           CHOITHRO, MARCH.

                    CHURUCK-POOJA.--HOOK SWINGING.


This is the last month of the Hindoo year, and witnesses that bloody
religious ceremony which is so much talked of in Christian countries.
It is Churuck-pooja; or, graphically, the swinging by the hooks. I
am aware that the Christian missionaries have taken especial care to
describe this fearful institution ably and accurately to their friends
at home. But as they write what they see, not what they know of the
Hindoos, they often fail to treat of the real state of the thing.
However, they are not to blame; for the want of true knowledge of an
object makes its description dry and imperfect.

It has been a belief in Hindoo minds from the remote ages, that
self-torture is essentially requisite for the propitiation of the gods.
The human body being made out of matter which is evil in its nature,
and wars against the spirit, it is desirable to macerate it, and give
dominion to the spirit thereby. This notion has created various orders
of Shun-nashi’s, Shadhoos, Jog-us, Mohuntros, etc., who are common in
India. It did not long remain confined to India, but, crossing its
boundaries, reached the people of Persia, Tartary, Arabia, Turkey, etc.
Its influence was also felt by the Christian Church in her infancy.

In India it manifests itself in some form or other in all the
religious institutions of the people. I have seen a man offer prayer
to Shiba, standing on his head; others on one leg for hours under the
burning sun. Some would not eat or drink anything unless it should
be put in their mouths, while others would not lie down at all for a
certain number of years. Nearly three years ago there came a Shadhoo
into our village, who spent a whole day and night on foot. His
disciples said that many years had seen him eat, drink, and rest in
that position, and perhaps his head will not touch the earth until it
does forever.

The subject of this chapter traces its origin from that singular
belief of which we have spoken. Ban Raja, a king of great religious
enthusiasm, is said to have instituted this ceremony in honor of Shiba.
From the fifteenth of March the Mool Shun-nashee, with others, walks
round the place at the pretended permission of Shiba.[26] They carry
with them a great quantity of Oothuries, or thread, and finding a
low-caste man within reach, they put a Oothuries round his neck, crying
aloud, “Tarash-orāre nash Shiba!” From that moment the poor man becomes
one of the party, forsaking his professional business until the end of
Shun-nash. This mode of enlistment seems to command the victim, “Follow
me, and let the dead bury their dead.” There is no way for his getting
out free; he must wear the badge of Oothuries, and walk day and night
with the party at the penalty of excommunication or a fine.[27]

It is to be observed here that the Brahmuns do not join the party
at all: they put heavy burdens upon others, but do not help them
with their fingers. Hence the Shun-nashees are always from the poor,
ignorant, low castes. As there is no fixed limit to the number of
Shun-nashees, they enlist hundreds within a few days. However, the
number is great or small, according to the popularity of the idol.
Though every idol is of Shiba and every temple is his abode, yet some
are believed to possess the fullness of the god in greater degree than
others, and are revered by the people accordingly. Thus there are
three temples of Shiba in one village, and one of them draws crowds of
worshippers toward it, which fact increases its income, and its priests
receive a great deal. Now Shun-nashees thus gathered together spend the
rest of the month in visiting the idols of Shiba and their brethren in
different villages,--very like to the custom of the fire-companies in
this country, who receive from, and make visits to, their friends of
neighboring towns. When two or more parties come in collision, they
stand in order, and salute and embrace each other with loud shouts of
“Tarash-orare nash Shiba!” Each party has some leading men, who sing
a few verses, desiring their friends to expound or solve them as the
nature of the question would require. The trumpets are sounded, the
bells rung, the flags waved, and the staves carried by hundreds. As
they march in procession their music and shouts deafen the ears and
make heads ache.

On the day before the Churuck-pooja, the ignorantly mistaken as well
as daring men in the party make _bans_, or pass the thick iron or
bamboo sticks through the skin of their arms and tongue. Indeed, it
is a fearful sight! Not only do the grown-up men do such things, but
boys of thirteen years or more pass sticks through their skin. I have
seen men pass four Sholas (bamboo sticks of the thickness of our first
finger) through the different parts of their left arm, and binding some
extra ones with them, make a little terrace, with a vine creeping over
it. Others make a hole in their tongue sideways, and pass through it
the tail of Gochora (the flat-headed, venomous snakes). Thus arranged,
they go to the houses of the gentlemen and dance there a quarter of
an hour, getting a little money for compensation. By a little money,
I mean from a quarter to a whole dollar. The money thus realized is
disposed of in making some vile shows before the temple, and to buy
intoxicating liquors for those who exhibit these bloody feats. A
low-caste old man in our village was preparing some fine Sholas, to
show a feat altogether new and surprising; but he died before the time
came. Among other things his beloved wife remarked, in the course of
her lamentation, that “he made grand preparation to excel others in the
_ban_, but could not succeed!” Then comes the Churuck the next
day, with an aspect more dreadful than the _bans_.

In the morning, the Shun-nashees all go to bathe, and gather a large
number of cocoa-nuts, bananas, and other fruits. Before the temple,
the _Jhap_ is performed. It is a terrace made by sticking some
bamboo poles in the ground, and sometimes rises twenty feet high. The
Shun-nashees, both young and old, climb up the terrace and stand in
two rows, one above the other; the spectators stand all round; some
climb up the trees, to get a better view. A few men post themselves
near the foot of the terrace, holding a large bag in their hands, by
which they receive the men who jump down from the terrace, one after
the other. This bag is stuffed with dry leaves, so as to make it soft,
and a _Botty_ (kind of large knife, not very sharp) is put over
it. When everything is ready, then Mool Shun-nashee bends his head
to the god, takes leave of the brethren on the terrace, scatters the
flower-wreaths, raw rice, bananas, etc., to the crowd below, and,
lastly, jumps down on to the bag, or, rather, the mattress. After him,
all the Shun-nashees jump down in the same way, one by one, amid the
deafening shouts of the crowd and the sound of the trumpets.

In the afternoon, the order of the exercises is as follows. Before
going to the Churuck, the Shun-nashees ask the god’s permission, which
he gives by a nod, seen by the priests only. They put some flowers on
the head of the idol, and if one of them, at least, should slip down
from it, it is interpreted as the pleasure and permission of Shiba.
Sometimes the flowers do not fall easily, being at the centre of the
idol’s head. This is interpreted as owing to the anger of the god.
As the Shun-nashees are to fast certain hours of the day, and live
according to the rules appointed by the priests, it is believed that
they have violated the rules, by eating or drinking, which circumstance
has offended the all-knowing Shiba. Hence, seeing the flowers do not
fall from the idol, the priests command the officers to bind the
Shun-nashees and beat them with stripes. I have seen the young boys
roll round the temples, their hands tied together, in order to appease
the enraged god. It is curious that they always suspect the boys of
violating the rules of the Shun-nashee’s life, even if they observe,
with their native earnestness, almost every “jot and tittle” of the
regulation. It is the grown-up, old, indifferent men, who privately
eat and drink, I believe; and the poor boys suffer for their sin. As
the idol delays to give its permission by a nod, and by throwing some
flowers from its head thereby, the priests interpret its terrible
wrath, and order the town officers to be bound also. It is, however, a
beautiful lesson the Brahmuns teach by this; they say, “The sin of the
king causeth his subjects to suffer, and brings affliction upon them.”

There is a trick which the priests impose upon the people at this time.
They contrive every means to open the window of the temple, in order to
bring a draught within, that it may blow flowers away from the idol’s
head. In my village there is a back window in the temple, through which
the people on the outside look at the proceedings within. They, of
course, prevent the wind from going in, in some degree, and the fanatic
priests drive them all away, cursing and rebuking them shamefully. The
moment a draught of wind has knocked a flower down, they in ecstasy
dance round the temple, clap their hands, embrace each other, and
shout, “Tar-āre Shur-are nash Shiba!” etc.

In this state of excitement, they form a procession and march down to
the Churuck Tola, which is in some place very near the temple, or but
a little way off. The Churuck Garch, or “Swinging Tree,” is a heavy,
long, wooden pole, set up perpendicularly, with one end on the ground,
with _moche_ like the main-yard of a ship on its top, and which
can be turned round either way. Sometimes the Churuck Garch is nearly
twenty feet high. A man--the poor victim to the Churuck--bends down
on his knees and hands, while another draws out the skin about his
shoulder-blades, and the Cormokar, or the blacksmith, forces two iron
hooks (ten inches or more long) into the skin and the muscles. Some
daring man will suffer four iron hooks to pass through the different
parts of his body, so as to show his proficiency in the affair. There
are some strong cords fastened to the hooks, which also are attached
to a long, thick cord, and the man is drawn up to one end of the yard.
To keep the balance right, a man climbs half way on the rope attached
to the other end of the yard. Thus bound and hung, the victim jumps
in the air, and turns round the “Swinging Tree” from ten to fifteen
minutes.

Once, in my grandmother’s village, I witnessed a scene more desperate
than the above. A man swung round the pole nearly fifteen minutes in
the air, with his head downwards, and four iron hooks catching him by
the skin. His long hair began to wave in the air, and his hands beat a
drum which was fastened to the same cord. But expert as he seemed to
be, he could not as yet make good music. In some places several men
hang in this way in succession. I wonder that these men do not seem
to feel very much hurt; for I have seen them go to their respective
work within a couple of days. Coming down from the Churuck Garch, the
victims receive the benediction from the priest, who blesses them with
a flower from the altar, as a sacred relic.

The morning after the Churuck, the Shun-nashees gather together before
the temple, take off the Oothuries, or the sacred badges, from their
necks, return them to the priest, and shave a part of their heads (for
during the term of Shun-nash they are forbidden to shave their heads or
cut their nails). After this, they bathe in the river or tanks, as the
situation of the place will permit, and go to their own homes, eased
from the bondage of superstition.

There is one peculiarity, however, in the Churuck-pooja which is worth
noticing. During the Shun-nash term, the band is organized somewhat on
the principles of brotherhood, each member bearing a kind, brotherly
affection toward another,--an affection they do scarcely dream of
before. If one of the party dies during these holidays, they all
put on mourning according to the custom of the Hindoos. An insult to
one is felt by all, for they being different are yet the members of
the same body in Shiba. They regard the badge they wear round the
neck as binding them together into the sacred bond of fraternity. The
ever-vigilant, ever-living caste system interferes, of course, with
their manifesting fully the relation they bear towards each other.
The Shun-nashees of different castes would not eat at the same table
or drink out of the same cup, although in other respects they do not
observe all the regulations of the caste.

Thus ends the Hindoo year with so many religious festivals, holidays
full of degrading and demoralizing amusements, and ceremonies bloody
and mistaken. Though the internal spirit of these hosts of religious
institutions tends to devotional and charitable purposes, yet the
influence of their outward appearances confounds and corrupts the
weak-minded Hindoo. The people in general do not strip them of the
veil, in order to find out the real significance within. They hardly
understand what those rites and ceremonies do mean, but in their
ignorance take them just as they are, and worship all corporeal
objects as true gods and goddesses. This feature of the religious
belief among the low and ignorant classes is very gloomy, for they are
hardly taught to recognize the difference between man and God. The
Brahmuns, the priests of these people, do not have a regular mode of
religious teaching. In the temples, by the side of the Gunga, under
the sacred Burr (banian-tree), or in their houses, very few words
are spoken by way of religious instruction. By some fixed mechanical
rules they are taught how, what, and when to eat, drink, bathe, walk,
speak, and sleep, and in these their religion consists. The language
of the prayers, being Sanscrith, is unintelligible to the worshipper
himself. Very few attempt to understand the phraseology of the
prayer, and think it improper to handle the inspired words. In the
prayer to Shuresh-sotte, or the muse, I find the description of almost
every inch and each member of her person, with rich, glowing poetical
imagery, which a sensible man ought not to apply to her, his mother
goddess. So it will be found that most of the Hindoo prayers are
immoral, yet beautiful representations of the personal graces of the
male and female deities, which simply please our senses and bewilder
our reason, instead of creating a deeper sense of reverence in our
religious nature. Again, the want of a regular system of religious
instruction has brought into the minds of the people all sorts of
mistaken, erroneous ideas respecting God, man, and duty; life, death,
and immortality. The man on the very verge of his life, standing
between the edges of this and the next world, hardly knows where he
is bound, whom he is going to, and what will be his true destiny. He,
under the burden of superstition, recognizes his god in the person
of the Brahmun, standing near his death-bed, or in the sacred Ganges
glittering yonder. If he should unfortunately die at home, or on
Tuesday or Saturday night, it is believed the gates of heaven will be
closed against him, until the Brahmuns, by some peculiar ceremony,
should exorcise his spirit, and with mortal hands open the gates of
Paradise! This is the substance of modern Brahminism. Its belief is
erroneous, its influence pernicious, and the end which it contemplates
as destiny is dark. It makes piety to consist in the ordinances, in
the law, such as in bathing, fasting, eating certain things, offering
worship to some visible objects on some fixed days. Besides what has
already been treated as the leading features of the Hindoo religion,
there are some additional religious institutions, which I will describe
to the reader before the close of the book.

Building temples to the gods, digging tanks, and planting trees on
the wayside, are considered very pious. This belief has prompted the
Hindoos to spend immense wealth in the erection of temples, which crowd
the banks of the Ganges. The number of the temples varies according to
the circumstances of the man; either two, twelve, or one hundred and
eight are to be erected and dedicated unto the gods. There are very few
men who have dedicated one hundred and eight temples at a time. There
are some, however, at the expense of the Rajah of Burdwan, which I hear
are very costly. On the banks of the Ganges, in lower Bengal, there are
several Ghauts (bathing-places) erected with brick or marble. Their
stairs are sometimes twenty feet wide and lead into the water several
feet deep. On both sides of the Ghaut either two or twelve temples are
erected for the abode of the idols. At the time of the dedication,
people are entertained at a great feast, money is distributed to the
Brahmuns, and the temples are adorned and illuminated.

The digging of tanks, especially where there is a scarcity of water,
is commendable, and a part of religion. I can see the necessity of
annexing this to the religion, for in a warm climate, were people use
water so much, a great many tanks are needed to supply their wants.
Hence we see almost every house in Bengal has a small tank, of twenty
to fifty yards square, attached to it, and in this they raise fish for
the family use. After a tank has been dug, it is filled with water,
partly from the sky, and partly from the earth itself. They stick
a long wooden pole into the centre. The owner of the tank, at the
direction of the officiating priest, crosses it by holding the tail of
a cow. This denotes the idea of crossing the river that glides along
everlastingly between this life and the next. On this occasion, also,
the poor people are entertained; a feast is given to the Brahmuns, etc.

Now the planting trees by the road-side must be noticed. There is,
however, a selection of the place where the trees are to be fixed.
Always the place where three roads from different directions meet
together is preferable. The number and species of the trees are
five,--such as Burr, Oshud, Nim, Bāle, and Amlokee. Five young shoots
of these trees are planted together, which mode is called “The union of
the sacred trees.” Scarcely all of them grow together, for, sacred as
they are, some of them occupy the places and crush the others to death.

_The daily worship._ The rich religious people in India have the
idols in their houses for the daily worship. There is a room entirely
for the accommodation of the idols, like the “baby rooms” in this
country. In it there are a throne, bed, seats, furniture, plates,
dishes, cups, tumblers, bells, wash-tubs, clothes, and ornaments, of
the lifeless gods. In the morning, the family priest comes in, awakes
the idols from their sleep, brings them down from the bed, washes and
wipes them, repeating some prayers and ringing the bell at the same
time. Dressing them according to their shape and size, he worships in
the usual way, by strewing flowers over them, offering them something
to eat, etc. The head member of the family would not eat his meal until
the idols have been cared for. In the evening, the priest comes again,
to give the gods their supper. First of all, he lights “punch-prodip,”
or five lamps, and waves them before the idols. He then puts them in
their respective beds, covers them with clothes, or hangs the mosquito
net round them, as the nature of the weather would require! Just as the
children take care of their dolls, so the Brahmuns serve their idols.

_The public worship._ In every Hindoo country, a party of
young men tax each family once a year and dispose of the money thus
realized in the “worship of twelve friends.” They charge also all the
bridegrooms who come to marry the girls in their village. A splendid
image is erected in the public place of the town, and music and
theatrical performances are held before it. This, taken on the whole,
is the worst of the Hindoo institutions. It corrupts the young, who,
taking this opportunity, do all sorts of immoral acts which they never
dreamt of before. You ask the boys when they learned to smoke, steal,
or quarrel, and they will point out these holidays to you. I remember
distinctly having stolen tobacco and a smoking-pipe (hooka) from my
uncle’s room, to help the smoking party in the garden. Almost all of us
were beginners in this filthy and unhealthy habit. Fearing our parents
would know it, we used to chew a piece of green banana-leaf, which in
some measure takes away the dirty smell from the mouth.

Again, as the musical performances are performed through the whole
night, these boys and young men go round the place, climb up the
cocoa-nut-trees and steal their fruits. As the cocoa-nut-trees are
very tall and the fall of the fruit on the ground makes a loud noise,
some seven boys were once climbing up a tree one after the other that
they might pass down the fruits noiselessly from hand to hand; the
most cunning of them did something to make his successor laugh, and
he doing the same, there wont a peal of laughter from the head to the
foot of the tree, which apprised the owner of his loss. One of the boys
attempting to come down quickly, fell upon some broken glass and was
badly injured. Fortunately I was not with them. To enumerate the evils
that rise from the Hindoo worship and holidays would occupy a book.
Coming out disfigured and bruised from the dark caves of Brahminism,
I hoped the British government would stretch forth its hand at least
against the most immoral, and ruinous institutions of the Hindoos,
because their own eyes are not bright enough yet to notice the defects
thereof. But my

    “Hopes that were angels in their birth,
    Perished young, like things on earth.”

The late Sepoy mutiny has, as I see, given a lesson which the
government must mind. However there is yet a hope of India’s
regeneration. The influence of the Missionary as well as the government
schools will open the eyes of the rising generation, and thus bring the
matter to a slow but happy close. Father of lights! let Thy knowledge
shine in every creek and corner of the world; and bring it to the
recognition of Thee, who art its Creator, and loving Father! Let India
worship Thee as her God and Father!




                            MISCELLANEOUS.


India is inhabited by a people of various colors, customs, and
languages; and consequently affords a picturesque scene to the
traveller. As the climate varies in different parts of the country,
the color of the inhabitants changes likewise; although they are one
and the same people, and their origin is the same,--the Indo-Caucasian
Stock. And what is more striking is the difference in the color in one
family. Thus, a mother is dark, the father olive, and the children are
yellow, of different shades,--one is as burning gold, while the other
is as gilded brass.

The people speak different languages in various parts of the
country, but all trace their origin to the great source,--the
Mother Sanscrith. The Bengalee, which has much resemblance to the
Sanscrith, is spoken in Bengal; the Orria in the Orissa, the seat of
the celebrated Jogger-nauth; Tamul in Madras, by the Moharashtros,
and the Hindoosth-anee in its various forms in the regions of the
northwestern provinces, and in Nepaul. Besides, there are several wild
tribes, such as Naug-poorias, and the Saun-tals, who speak tongues of
their own. The Brahmuns, in their religious services, and sometimes
in their conversation, speak Sanscrith, but the other castes use
Bengalee. For illustration I will give specimens of the same thing in
different languages of the country,--_I will go_, is in Sanscrith,
“Jochamee;” in Bengalee, “Amee Jabow;” in Orria, “Mo-ja-bow;” and in
Hindoosth-anee, “Haum gaga.” In their characteristics the Bengalees
are mild, peaceable, intelligent, speculative, and subtle, and those
of Upper India are brave, haughty, warlike, but kind. The Bengalees
in their bodily structure are delicate, while others are robust, and
well built. In the late Sepoy mutiny, the Sepoys--the people of the
northwestern provinces--took the lead, and the Bengalees did not help
them by their fingers. The latter hardly use warlike instruments, while
the former make them their companions. A gentleman in Upper India
carries his sword or a club, wherever he goes; but a Bengalee thinks it
savage to equip in this way.

I have been often asked whether my people smoke and drink or not. The
Bengalees do not smoke cigars, they think it mean, and ungentlemanly;
they use the Hooka in smoking.

The _tamack_, or tobacco, needs much care, and is composed of a
great many ingredients, such as thocta, or tobacco leaves, dry roses,
and banana shells, molasses, cinnamon, etc. These being chopped and
mixed together, are put under the earth for several days. When a person
smokes, the vapor does not come right into the mouth, but, passing
through a long pipe, comes into the bottom of the Hooka, which is
full of cold water, and making its way through another pipe, reaches
the mouth of the smoker. The people of Orissa smoke cigars as in this
country. Drinking spirituous liquors is very common with the young men
in the cities and mercantile places, where the Europeans import a good
supply of wines of various names and natures, and set the natives the
example. The Hindoo religion condemns a man who touches wine, except
in case of alarming sickness, which nothing but spirituous liquors can
cure. “As medicine, _Soora_ is to be used,” is the doctrine of the
Brahmuns. Some people carry it so far that after having recovered from
their sickness, they make _Praosh-chitro_, or atonement, for using
English medicine, which they believe is always prepared with spirit.
Others will not apply to a foreign physician at all, fearing that his
medicine, while it saves the animal man, may strike a death-blow to the
soul. Hence “it is preferable to die by the hand of Boitho, a physician
by caste.”

_Tarie_, or the juice of the palm or date tree, is used by
low-caste people generally. It has intoxicating influences, and is to
be had at a low price. The juice of the palm-tree is taken by squeezing
the stalks, which will fill a large pitcher with _tarie_ in a
few hours. It is used as yeast by the bakers in India. The Hindoos do
not eat meat; they have a great aversion to beef, ham, pork, etc. In
their villages a single cow is not killed in many centuries. The man
who whips his cattle so severely as to make them bleed, is outcasted,
ridiculed, and hated by the public as a _Koshie_, or a butcher.
The Hindoo law regulating the treatment of cattle is very kind to the
beasts and severe to their masters. If a cow, calf, or bull should
die with the rope round its neck, that is, through the master’s
carelessness, the law holds him guilty, and prescribes penances for
him to observe. He is required to walk from door to door, with a piece
of rope round his own neck, a straw in his mouth, and making imperfect
sounds like the cows. After three days of humiliation in this way, he
abstains from food and drink a whole day, shaves his head, offers money
to the Brahmuns, and redeems his sin thereby. Again, if a calf or cow
should fall into a pond and die, both the owner of the pond and that of
the beast, are regarded as sinners. The rational intention of all these
prescriptions is to inculcate the law of care and kindness towards dumb
beasts, especially the useful ones.

_The Knowledge of Art and Science._--The Hindoos from a remote
antiquity cherished the knowledge of the heavenly bodies, reckoned
eclipses, and watched the motion of the stars. These they did and do
by means of their fixed system of astronomy; they have no scientific
apparatus at all. European astronomers calculate the day of the
eclipse, using several instruments, but the Brahmuns do the same thing
without such aid. Architecture was known to them also from a distant
period. The remains of the old temples and ghauts in various parts of
India distinctly speak of their proficiency in architecture. On the
temple walls you will see the representation of the heavenly bodies,
the signs of the Zodiac, and the images of their gods, carved by men
who had lived, so to speak, in the very infancy of the world. The
knowledge of minerals was found among them also, for the universal
use of gold and silver ornaments, and metallic household utensils, is
evidence of the fact. They are unrivalled in the skill of working in
gold and precious stones. The manufacture of fine cotton cloth, such
as Dacai, and of shawls (the Cashmere), has obtained the undisputed
applause of the world.

In fact, the Hindoos did and do largely cultivate all the appliances
of civilized life. Only their knowledge of art, science, and
civilization is not progressive, but limited. They feel satisfied to
live, move, and die within the boundaries of their own acquirements,
and hardly desire to add to or vary from the prescribed institutions
of their forefathers. While the countries beyond Hindostan are making
astonishing advances towards enlightenment, discovering new inventions
for promoting temporal comforts, and introducing the best and choicest
things of the world among themselves, the Hindoos dig trenches round
their borders, and nourish their old national institutions in good
earnest. But there is a strong possibility that a mighty revolution
will take place in the social and spiritual condition of the country.
The introduction of European civilization has dazzled the eyes of the
young, some of whom, (though few,) are now eagerly co-operating with
their friends for the welfare of the country. The School of Industrial
Art, the Civil Engraving College, the Medical College, etc., are
blessings coming from the British Government, and to these the young
men from the high classes resort for instruction and improvement.

The Hindoos possess remarkable genius in imitating almost everything
put before them, provided their caste and religion do not interfere.
The low-caste people who work in the English factories, warehouses,
steamboats, etc., display a ready and admirable talent for the
business. On the Ganges, the uneducated, low castes manage steamboats.
They serve in various capacities in the dockyards, founderies,
factories, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Hindoos have their own system of agriculture, and raise fruits,
flowers, and grain, of various kinds. The chief productions of their
husbandry are rice, flax, sugar, indigo, cotton, potatoes, peas, beans
of different species, and fruits too numerous to name. India has no
winter; her rivers do not freeze, her high trees stand clothed with
leaves and decked with flowers all the year round; her birds are
merry, her sky fair, her sun bright and warm, her rivers grand, her
mountains high, her children numerous, intelligent, and philosophical,
her religion superstitious, her gods many, and her age old. May she
thrive and grow upward, high as her Hymaloy, giving her light to, and
receiving that from others,--this is the heartfelt prayer of her absent
son.




                               APPENDIX.


Ever since my arrival in America I have heard with great surprise the
statement, received on the authority of missionaries, that the Hindoo
mothers throw their infants into the river Ganges. Almost every man,
woman, boy, or girl in these United States knows it, and has seen the
illustration of it in various books. During my tour over some sixteen
States and the Canadas, I noticed that the Hindoo mother, her baby,
and the alligator, were the subjects of constant inquiry. The story of
the infants being thrown into the Ganges by their heartless mistaken
mothers, is believed by the people of this country to be either a
custom or a religious institution of the Hindoos.

I am aware that to speak against this prevalent belief is to falsify
the reports of travellers and to criticise the statements of foreign
writers who have disseminated this report throughout the whole
length and breadth of the land. On the other hand, I cannot suffer a
groundless and strange story to run so freely through the Christian
community, and bring upon the poor innocent women of India such
undeserved reproach. I do not wish to cover the really defective
institutions of my country. Her religion, rather than custom, sanctions
suicide in different ways, as manifested in the voluntary offering of
the widows upon the funeral fire of their husbands. The throwing of
babies into the Ganges or to the alligators, then, I would say never
was in the customs or religious ordinances of India. I never heard of
it even as a grandmother’s story; while, on the other hand, my mother
and other friends often spoke of the widows who burned themselves alive
with their dead husbands, of their preparation, their bidding farewell
to their children, committing them to the care of some kind relative,
etc. It seems strange to me, that, being a native of India, a Hindoo,
yea, a Brahmun, by birth, I did not know nor hear of this custom of
my own country, which is known to the people who live nearly eighteen
thousand miles from the same. What did not come to my knowledge during
my twenty-one years of life in India, came to my ear on the day I
reached America. “What is this?” they ask me. “What do they mean?
Hindoo mothers throw their babies into the Ganges to be devoured by the
alligators! Horrible!! Hindoo mothers do such things!! The same mothers
that sit with malshas (earthen pans) with fire burning upon them,
on their heads, shoulders, hands, laps, before the goddess Doorga,
and solicit the health and life of their children! The same that lie
down (hothea) without food and drink before the temple, in case of
the severe illness of their children, and who vow to appear before
the goddess with an axe tied round their necks, or to shed blood by
voluntarily tearing the flesh from their own breasts as an expression
of gratitude for the recovery of their children!”

The Hindoo parents love their children as well as do any parents in
Christendom; or perhaps I should say more, for some reasons of which
Christians are ignorant. The redemption of the Hindoo parents depends
in a great measure upon the lives of the children who send their
spirits to their destination by a peculiar ceremony.[28] They believe
the childless person has no heaven to inherit, no celestial pleasures
to enjoy. The Hindoo religion commands a man to marry several wives, in
order to raise up seed needed for his spiritual welfare, to say nothing
of his temporal. In case of failure, he secures the birthright of a
male child by adoption.

Now the question comes, Did these honest travellers and the reverend
missionaries report a falsehood? In reply, I would say, I have no
right to answer for them. They know themselves the grounds of their
assertion, whether it is based upon their personal knowledge of the
case, or upon the story of some tale-teller, who often takes advantage
of our ignorance and deceives us accordingly. To speak for myself, I
will confess that, although a Brahmun, a native of India, I never saw
a child thrown alive into the Ganges, nor heard of such stories until
I came to America. I have shown, by reasons drawn from the Hindoo
scripture, as well as from custom, that the sacrifice of an infant is
as monstrous in the sight of a woman in India as in America. I will
allege further, that the maternal affection is everywhere the same,
implanted in the human breast by the Creator. I thought perhaps some
traveller might have seen the deed done in certain wild portions of
India, away from the civilized and learned communities. In fact,
several of my friends here said, perhaps I do not know this. I was in
Bengal; it might have taken place among the ignorant people in the
wild regions. To my great surprise I met the following in a large
pictorial work on India, published in Boston. “Here (from the Saugor
island) thousands of mothers have thrown their children into the
Ganges to be devoured by alligators; not because they were destitute
of maternal affection, but because a mother’s love was overpowered
by her fears of the wrath of some offended deity.” Those who have
ever visited Calcutta, know that the Saugor island is at the mouth of
the Ganges, and only a few hundred miles from the city, the seat of
wealth, learning, and refinement. To present this matter in its true
light, I will describe this island and the sanctity attached to it.
It is less settled by men than by wild beasts. It has a population of
tigers, monkeys, and wolves. Very few children of Adam dare to dwell
among these disagreeable inmates of the isle. There is a light-house,
however, built by the British. The men who take care of the light,
and a few solitary monks who live there, are considered the destined
prey of the tigers, who are ready, whenever an opportunity occurs, to
make their meal of them, or, to use a Hindoo expression, “if not a
breakfast, a dinner, or a supper.” This place being near the confluence
of the river Ganges with the sea, is regarded as sacred by the Hindoos,
who resort there in the month of January to bathe, and spend three days
in tents pitched on the sandy banks of the river. Its sanctity draws
immense crowds only once a year, when hardly any mother carries her
child with her, for the place, as well as the river, is very dreadful.
The efficacy consists in the bathing in this place, not in throwing
children into the river. Those who go there go for the purpose of
purifying themselves with the sacred water, and not to commit so cruel
a murder as throwing children into the river.

So much for the Saugor island. I have sometimes looked at this matter
in a different way; that a traveller had seen perhaps an insane woman
throw her child into the water, which he interpreted as the institution
of the “heathen.” But it seems to me an unjust inference, to name the
fruit of insanity as the custom of a people, to stigmatize a whole
people for the folly of one, or a few even. I read in a Boston paper,
that the average number of suicides in the United States is nine per
week. Will it be proper for me to report in India that suicide is the
custom of the American people? No, I cannot tell such a story. When I
am asked about it, I will ascribe it to insanity or drunkenness. Once
more, I will say, then, as a Brahmun I never knew nor heard of the
story of children thrown by their mothers into the Ganges. If a Hindoo
mother hears this story she will press her babe close to her heart and
say, “Sweet treasure, I have drained the ocean for you. My tender kiss
is more genial to you than the sharp lips of the alligator. My loving
lap is a better place for you than the unconscious bed of the Ganges!”




                               A SKETCH

                                  OF

                        MY LIFE AND EXPERIENCE.




                              DEDICATION.

                       THOMAS GAFFIELD, ESQUIRE.


That you may know the personal and religious experiences of one in whom
you have taken so much interest, and as a token of gratitude for all
you have done for me during my stay in this country, this imperfect
sketch is respectfully dedicated to you by

                       Your friend and brother,

                                             JOGUTH CHUNDER GANGOOLY,
                                                Of Calcutta, India.




                               PREFACE.


To speak of one’s self is not an easy matter. There are two things to
be avoided,--vanity, which would cause one to put on what he never
possessed, to say what he never was, and thereby to exaggerate the
whole matter; second, cowardly humiliation, which would lead him to
hide what he really has, and not to say what he has a right to say,
lest the world should call him an egotist. It is better to take the
middle ground, and proceed with prayer and watchfulness, keeping in
mind “Thou God seest me.”

Since my arrival in this country, my friends have expressed a great
desire to know my personal history,--how I was educated, what led me to
change my former religious views, etc. This brief sketch, which I leave
to my friends as a “parting gift,” will answer all these inquiries in
a measure. This has been written in great haste. I have not had time
to revise this sketch. Whenever the reader finds a point not clearly
explained, he will please remember the circumstances under which this
has been written. Only a few weeks before my departure for home I
commenced writing it; and at the same time I had to attend to all other
duties, and to make preparation for the voyage.

                                                             J. C. G.




                          SKETCH OF MY LIFE.




                              CHAPTER I.

                MY CHILDHOOD AND EDUCATION.--MY MOTHER.


I was born of a Brahmun family, in a place called Balie. It is nearly
seven miles from Calcutta, the metropolis of British India, and is
beautifully situated on the river Ganges, the sacred river of the
Hindoos. Balie, for its numerous population, especially the Brahmun,
and its learning, is universally regarded as one of the large and
renowned places of Bengal. It has several districts, in which the
people are settled according to their castes; thus, in our part--the
Southern District--the Brahmuns live in one district. The physicians,
the astrologers, the barbers, the farmers, the goldsmiths, the
blacksmiths, the washermen, the dairymen, the fish-men, the shoemakers,
the hog-keepers, etc. have distinct quarters of their own. When you
come to a Brahmun, he can introduce you to twenty, more or less, of his
fellow Brahmun neighbors; and such is the case with almost all other
castes. The Brahmun population of my birthplace numbers more than two
thousand. There are several temples in this place; the chief of which
is one belonging to the god Shibā. There is a large market, perhaps
the largest, where people from the neighboring towns and villages
daily buy and sell their merchandise. There are two rum distilleries,
owned by two French gentlemen, a large sugar factory, established
by an Englishman, I presume; besides several castor-oil, gunny-bag,
brick, and rope manufactories. A canal, passing through it, has made
its north district a separate town, called Ootterparah, or north
village; the other, however, is connected with the main village by two
iron suspension bridges, one built by the East India Railway Company,
and the other by the Government. The Government bridge is long, and
handsomely constructed. As you sail up the Ganges from Calcutta, you
see it distinctly on your left, hanging in the air.

There are three or four English schools, and one of them, standing on
the Ootterparah side of the canal, belongs to the Government, to which
the high castes send their sons for an English education. To come to
Balie from Calcutta, the shortest way would be by railroad, which makes
its _first_ station here. There are also hundreds of small sailing
Dingees, which carry passengers to and from Calcutta several times a
day.

My father was a new settler in Balie; his native place is Vimpoor, of
which I have no knowledge. While a young boy he was left an orphan,
and with the care of a brother younger than himself. The only near
relation he had was his aunt, the wife of a celebrated priest in
Balie, who kindly invited the two orphan brothers to live with her.
I cannot help speaking, if but a word, in this connection, of his
uncle, as he seems to have been a very good and righteous man. The
simplicity of his character, his devotion to good causes, his love for
his fellow-creatures, were purely Christian. Among all his noble acts
of charity, the most prominent was his taking care of the orphans,
houseless, friendless, and helpless ones. He himself did not, as
we hear, have a large family of his own,--not numbering more than
eight members; still every day the floor of his dining-room had been
overspread with twenty plates or more. His guests were not from his
own caste exclusively; any child of God coming to his door for food or
drink, would meet a loving welcome. Indeed, to love God through love
toward man, was his darling motto. He manifested his love towards the
low castes as much as his office and his religion allowed him. His door
was open to all,--his house was the home for those who had “no place
where to lay their heads.” Like other priests, he used to bathe in the
Ganges early in the morning throughout the year, but excelled them in
his prayer and worship to the idols, which occupied daily nearly four
hours on the stretch. By two in the afternoon he would come into the
inner department of the house, and speak words of love to all around,
inquiring of one after his health, congratulating another on his
success, lamenting with a third his sorrows, etc. Entering into the
kitchen, the first question to his wife would be, “Has every one got
something to eat?” And receiving a satisfactory answer, he would put
his hand on her head, with the benediction, “Yes! God has answered my
prayer then!”

As this good old man had no time to inspect, nor inclination to
interfere with, the private proceedings of his guests, there arose a
universal outbreak of looseness and corruption of manners to which my
uncle fell a victim. But fortunately, my father, conscious of his own
responsibility as a moral agent, and desirous of becoming independent,
escaped the general contagion which was then making dreadful havoc
among his friends. But he could not save his younger brother, who chose
his own course, and ran headlong to destruction. Applying himself
diligently to the pursuit of theology, my father soon was able to take
care of the temple services, and to help his uncle in the discharge
of his priestly functions. By and by, serving as an assistant to a
Brahmun,--the priest over a wealthy family in Calcutta,--he stood on
a firm footing, married a wife, and determined to build a house and
remove his family into it. There was a piece of land close by his
aunt’s, which he bought with a small sum for the following reason.
There were some cocoa-nut, mango, and other wild trees on that lot
which were, as they believed, the homes of demons, so hardly anybody
dared to go to gather fruits thereon. It happened that my father, being
a young man of courage and good common sense, fearlessly used to go
there after the fruits which otherwise would have been left on the
ground untouched by human hands. The owner of the lot, finding that my
father enjoyed all the fruits of his trees which he had given up for
fear of demons, thought it prudent to sell it to him for a reasonable
sum. My father availed himself of the opportunity, and secured the lot
with all its trees, and speedily built a house on it. He often used
to say, he had driven all the demons from his place with “prayer and
fasting” unto the god Rama. It would have been difficult for him to
have moved to his new house, had it not been that my mother’s courage
was strong as his. For this new place had so bad a reputation that her
female neighbors did not dare to call on her in the evening, for fear
of the demons. She believed in their existence, but feared them not,
saying, that if we behave well and do not offend them, no demon would
trouble us in the least. I used to hear from her the stories of the
demons coming invisibly near the house in the shades of midnight, and
filling the place with the fragrance of some exquisite flowers. Such
fragrant flowers she knew did not grow in the neighborhood. Four or
five years after my father had removed to his new house a misfortune
happened to the family. He was on a visit to a friend in a neighboring
town, and my mother was left in care of a female servant. It was dark
midnight when “the object on the lap could not be recognized;” she was
sleeping in a room with her infant Joguth,--myself,--and the favorite
domestic was in her own bed close by. Some burglars, taking advantage
of my father’s absence, broke through the house, and robbed it almost
of its last penny. With a view of taking off the ornaments from the
ankles of the sleeping women, one of the burglars touched the feet
of my mother and thereby awoke her. She thought perhaps the servant
had in her sleep touched her feet with hers, and spoke to her to the
following effect: “Your limbs are pretty long, I see, On-nō!” “What
made you think so, madam?” “Why, from there you could reach my ankle.”
“_Your_ ankles? did I touch them with my feet? I am sure I shall
die pretty soon. That’s the reason why I do not wish to lie down close
to the Brahmuns, lest I should kick them while sleeping. Sleeping and
dining are just the same, you know,” etc. She rises from her bed, puts
her hand reverently to my mother’s feet, salutes her, and stretches
herself on the bed again. It can only be imagined with what death-like
silence the sons of sin heard the conversation, and, waiting a little
while, took off the ornaments from my mother’s body by force, and in a
few minutes went on their way with a rich spoil. The cries of the women
and the child gathered a crowd from the neighborhood. Some Brahmuns
examined the house and found it rifled; boxes and chests were empty
of their contents, as if they were just brought from the carpenter’s.
In fact, such was the entire loss of property, that my mother did not
have a second suit of clothing left, and the family had to eat their
dinner the next day on banana-leaves, on account of the plates, cups,
etc., being all taken away. With a manly resignation my father bore his
misfortune; and to add more to his discouragement, the next year his
house was broken into and robbed by the same burglars a second time.
The chief of these was a man belonging to a respectable family, now
living, I presume, who with his son has thrown several families into
poverty by robbing them in the midnight gloom! My uncle, being invited
to his house, a few years afterwards, recognized the very tumbler he
used to drink from at his own house. As the Brahmuns deem it a great
sin to swear by the Ganges, no matter under what circumstances, my
father did not raise any complaint against the man. He would rather go
poor and suffer loss than regain his property, if possible, by swearing
before a magistrate. His family grew larger, and what he subsequently
earned was consumed for their support; so he never could gain a
comfortable position again, in regard to pecuniary prospects.

Nine children were born unto him, of whom five are living. Of the
living, the first is my brother, the second and the third are sisters,
the fourth is the writer, and the fifth is my youngest sister. Our
names, although not in essence, are, in significance, pretty. My oldest
brother is named after the god “Krishto and the moon;” the oldest
sister is “Drop of Honey;” the second is “Young Beauty;” the meaning of
my name is “The Moon of the World;” and our youngest brother, who died
at seven, was “The Summer Moon.”

There being no system of female education in Bengal, my father applied
all his energies for my training, and being a religious man himself,
cared more for the right development of my heart than for my head. I
remember distinctly sitting in his lap every evening and committing the
prayers, proverbs, etc., to memory.

He had a remarkable faculty of cultivating, improving, and enriching
another’s memory. Every evening I had to learn either a part or the
whole of a prayer or moral precept, in the Sanscrith poetry, and
to recite to him _all_ the old ones beside. Thus, while other
Brahmun boys of my own age or older knew nothing about proverbs and
parables, my memory was amply supplied with the same. With such care he
had taught me these things, that what I learned while a boy, perhaps
nine or ten years old, I can repeat to-day, word by word, most of it
being prayers to nearly twelve deities, such as the Sun, the River
Ganges, Doorga, Shibă, Rama, Krishto, etc., and “an hundred and eight
proverbs,” besides select pieces from old Sanscrith poems, etc.

He did not aim at crowding my youthful mind with dry, unintelligible
precepts, but bathed it with their sweet juice. Indeed, ere I was
made Thejo, or Second Born, I could almost draw pleasure from those
Sanscrith proverbs, and recognize their applicability to the internal
phenomena of the world. My fondness for poetry--which afterwards
grew so strong that, though a renouncer of the Hindoo gods, I took
much pains to compose several pieces of drama from the legends--was
implanted in these younger days. And, as the result of learning the
stories and legends of the gods, a deep reverence for them filled my
heart. My childhood’s devotion to the idols was exemplary. My dear
mother told me several anecdotes of my early days, about my offering
or rather reciting prayers to the deities. During the great worship
of a goddess in our neighborhood, my father was going to see the
theatrical shows late in the evening. He awoke me from my sleep, and
gladly I started with him. It was my habit to thank the gods, each by
its respective name, before going out of doors. There was an idol of
Shawlgram in our house, and as I passed through a narrow entry, I
bent my head against the wall of the room in which the image was, and
offered prayers. One by one my favorite gods all came into my mind;
of course it took a longer time than usual to ask blessings from them
all. My father walked almost to the place of worship and turned back
to speak to me, but I was not there. Fearing some accident might have
happened, or that I was taken aloft by Neeshie, he hastened toward
home,[29] and found his little boy slowly striking his head against
the wall. He felt doubly happy in learning that nothing unpleasant had
happened, and that his boy was growing religious. How little did he
know then that a Spirit more hurtful than Neeshie had already taken
possession of the tender heart of his son. It was superstition that
caused him to “bow down to wood and stone.”

Through his precious help and guidance I early learned to read
distinctly and understandingly almost all the Bengalee books containing
the lives of the gods. The legends of Ramà, Krishto, the Ganges, etc.,
were my favorite studies. To do justice to his noble discretion, I
should say that he never put any reading of a light character within my
reach. I read over and over those religious books, which after a while
grew so familiar that I could read the most of them merely by glancing
at the page. The fact, that nearly half of my time was occupied in
reading became known to the people, who would come to my house or
invite me to theirs for the purpose. On holidays, I had to edify them
by reading or reciting the sacred things.

Some elderly woman would conduct me to the inner department of a Hindoo
house to read to the young women who are inaccessible to young men,
and not being themselves taught to read or write are strangers to
intellectual pleasures. My age and ability were remarkably adapted to
the case, because though a little boy I could accomplish a great deal.
I distinctly remember the congregation of women; one fanning me, a
second holding a plate full of confectioneries, a third, an old woman,
congratulating my mother for her having had such a child, etc. My
father would occasionally let me accompany him in his official visits,
that the religious zeal of his people might be quickened in hearing the
voice of truth “revealed unto the babe.”

I was sent to a Patshala, or house of instruction, at the age of five;
but I acquired more at home than anywhere else. Mental arithmetic,
letter-writing, composition, etc. I learned from my father. Such was
his untiring zeal to load my mind with all possible useful information,
that my first acquaintance with a few English words was made through
him. His priestly mouth, after imparting instruction in the Sanscrith,
would teach me a few words in English, such as the pronouns of
different persons and numbers; the word for God, man, hand, dog, etc.,
which he had picked up in some way, from those who studied English. But
I am sorry to see now that the good man taught me two or three phrases
in English with which the vulgar people swear. He of course did not
know the evil; he thought what the Englishmen use must be delicate,
proper, and useful.

Although not educated herself, my mother could teach me a great many
things in the absence of my father. She knew the multiplication table
up to how much eighteen times nineteen would be; also parables and
proverbs, all by heart. She would comment upon and furnish hints on
reading, explain difficult passages, and use the best materials in her
conversation. She too, like my father, valued more our spiritual than
intellectual accomplishments. Respect to age, love and devotion to the
idols, honor to parents, faithfulness to conviction, strict observance
of the customs of the country, were the themes she dwelt upon. These
she would require obstinately, not willing to take off the veil and
examine the substance within. How much I had to struggle against from
her displeasure when the free tone of my thought and desires after
reformation came into collision with her conservatism and adherence
to superstitious institutions, I cannot tell. My position, in after
years, proved diametrically opposite to her wishes in a great many
respects, and she persistently labors, even up to to-day, to reconcile
them, not making in the least any surrender on her part though. She
exhorted me all the time to observe “every jot and tittle” pertaining
to Hindooism, and would apply reason, persuasion, entreaty, and finally
threats for the purpose. My oldest brother had not the chance of being
under her care, nor of hearing her advice,--being absent from her most
of the time,--and he has grown a self-willed, immoral young man. She
laments very much over him, and says, “she would take twofold care
over Joguth,” lest he too should slip away from the path of right, and
disappoint her accordingly. Always she used to say, “He who comes last
runs towards the direction in which the first has gone.” That she might
not have occasion to suffer again on my account she built some walls
around me.

I know no mother in our neighborhood who watched the steps of her sons
so vigilantly as mine did. In fact the women of the adjacent houses
often said that “they never dreamed of or prescribed such regulations
for their children, and that they did not watch their _babies_ so
closely as my mother did her adults.” When anything unpleasant, wicked,
or vicious happened in the place, she would take the opportunity to
warn me, saying, “I hope, Joguth, you would die before you would become
guilty of such things. I should feel anxious to leave you alone in this
world, in case I should die first, much as it will be a happiness to
me. Remember the saying, ‘Let go your life, but retain your honor.’”
Her favorite mottoes were the following, which she would always hold
before me. When we complained of any one, she would say, “If I am good,
the world is good unto me.” In time of temptation, “Conquer within
first, and you will conquer without.” When any one is discontented,
and cannot live in peace with his brethren, her motto is, “Peace
accommodates nine persons in one room, but discord puts them in nine
separate ones.” Speaking of quarrelsome persons, her saying was, “She
who is naturally quarrelsome would quarrel with her work-basket.” Of
those who bring discord, “Wicked man and mouse break; good man and
needle connect.” Beside these she had other sayings: “Where there is
right, there is victory.” “Walk in the way of righteousness, and you
will receive your meal even in the midnight.” “If you want to be the
greatest, be the lowest.”

I have observed before that she would watch me on every side. She did
not feel satisfied with merely prescribing regulations for me, but with
strictness would see them carried out. Sometimes she would put some
false charge upon me, in order to teach me a lesson. “Joguth, were
you quarreling with the boy?” so saying, she would paint the evil of
fighting in dark colors. I was not allowed to dress gay like other
young men of my age, nor even to part my hair: “Comb your hair simply;
look _clean_ but not _foppish_.” She would comment upon my
mode of walking, smiling, and talking, and give some sharp rebukes if
there was any fault in them.

One evening I came very near the kitchen where the women were, walking
so slow that none could hear sounds of my steps. To my utter confusion
she said, “I am afraid of you, Joguth; what kind of walking was that?
You came in, giving no warning with your steps, so slow they were! O
Joguth, gentlemen do not do so; _thieves_ do. Were you practising
how the thieves walk?” When at home I was not allowed to talk to my
aunt, or brother’s wife even. My mother had great fear of young women,
saying that man could not corrupt them unless they yield; so more than
a dozen times she begged them not to speak to her Joguth.

She does not find any pleasure in gossip and slander, and avoids the
place where such are indulged. Her counsel is, “Speak good of others,
and bring their evil before you simply for the purpose of deriving
admonition from them. We are all liable to make blunders. ‘The saints
may err,’ is the Sanscrith saying. Our talking of the imperfections
and immoralities of others is just as ridiculous as the censure of the
sieve, which cried out, ‘Brother needle, why, there is a hole in your
body.’”

In her daily occupation and habits she is worthy of our imitation. She
is the last to go to bed and the first to leave it. You awake in the
midnight and you will find her at work or whispering hymns; rise early,
and you will see she has gone to the Ganges to bathe. Inaction is an
abomination to her: she would urge all to do something innocently
profitable. She hates debt, and fears it as death itself. At the first
call she would pay her debts, even if her children should suffer for
it. She believes that he who dies a debtor will have to settle his dues
after death; and to confirm this doctrine she points out the trees that
grow one upon the other, such as a banian tree upon the trunk of a
palm; explaining, thus, that the latter did not pay his debts, so after
death he has become a tree, and his creditor grows on his head in the
form of a banian. Such is an imperfect sketch of my dear mother, under
whose care and supervision my early days were directed. Any good thing
I have in me was the gift of this noble woman; she laid it in my heart
in its rude state, and a Teacher wiser and more unerring than she has
polished it afterwards. May God judge and reward her according to the
light she has. To whom much is given of them much shall be required.
God grant that before she breathes her last breath, she may know that
in deserting the idol gods her son has not committed an unpardonable
sin!




                              CHAPTER II.

   MY “SECOND BIRTH.”--CONSECRATION FOR THE PRIESTHOOD.--RELIGIOUS
   TRAINING.--DEATH OF MY FATHER.--ENGLISH SCHOOLS.--ZEAL FOR
   IDOLATRY.


The Brahmun boys are not permitted to touch idols or to perform any
religious services until they are become “Second born.” Accordingly at
the age of thirteen, I believe, I was consecrated to Brahmun life.

On a bright summer day the friends from far and near assembled together
at our house, having been previously invited to attend the ceremony. In
the course of the services the officiating priest cut three locks of my
hair in the name of the three principal Hindoo deities, Brahma, Vishnu,
and Shiba; then the barber shaved my head and put two small ear-rings
in my ears according to the religious law. After invoking the presence,
approbation, and blessing of hundreds of gods, the priest put a thread
round my neck. It is a sacred badge of the Brahmuns, made of cotton,
and not worn by the low castes. A yellow robe was thrown over me, and
a veil round my face, and I was conducted into my room. The period of
staying in this room without seeing any low-caste man is either of
three, five, or seven days, during which the Second born learns his
Shundhas--the especial forms of prayer. These are long, philosophically
constructed, and regarded _very_ sacred. The low castes dare not
hear of nor utter a word of them. My term in this secluded room was
very short,--only three days,--because my good, thoughtful father had
taught me those things beforehand, charging me not to tell them to any
low castes. I found them very useful now as I was to repeat them three
times a day.

Now begins a new scene in life in regard to religious affairs. We
had an image of Krishto at our house, and I had to worship it twice
every day, besides the idols of other families occasionally. Early in
the morning I would go after flowers for the worship. The rules for
gathering flowers are numerous, yet beautiful when understood. First,
wash your hands; do not put your dirty fingers upon the delicate, clean
person of the flowers; be very careful not to break a branch or to
pluck a bud; do not smell of any flower before you have offered it to
the gods; keep the basket with its treasures in your hand, and place
it not on the ground. Leaving the flowers at home, I would go to the
school for instruction, where again my discipline was novel. I must not
put anything into my mouth, nor sit on the same seat with boys of other
castes, etc. In the street the young as well as the grown-up low castes
would salute me, and I had to raise my little hands to bless them,
saying, “Be victorious!” or “Live forever!”

Some would bring a little water in the palm of their hands, desiring
me to touch it by the end of my first toe of the right foot, that they
might drink it. The form of words used by all the Brahmuns for this
purpose means something like this: “The sanctity of the right foot of
the Second Born is equal to the sanctity of the world and sea combined
together.” Heretofore I had no especial rules to observe in time of
eating, but now I must bathe first, then offer my prayer, worship the
idols, and afterward take luncheon. Again, keep silent while eating;
I must not leave my seat on _any_ account, unless I choose to
forfeit my meal; I must spare something on the plate for the creeping
things, etc.

I would speak of my daily idol worship. After washing myself, either
in the river Ganges or in some tank (in the latter case the Hindoos
sprinkle a few drops of the sacred water on the head), I would go into
the room where the image was kept on a small wooden throne, elegantly
furnished with cushions, pillows, curtains, etc. On the floor there was
a carpet-seat for me, some copper and brazen vessels, a hand-bell, a
large plate, with a good display of flowers, perfumatory powder, and
some edibles. Bringing down the idol from its throne, I would put it
into a vessel and pour water on its head by the right hand and ring the
bell by the other, uttering some words at the same time. Wiping it with
small towels, I would put it on a seat and scatter flowers, powder,
etc., on its head with much ceremony, offering prayer and praise to
it, ask its glance at the edibles, etc., and finally prostrate myself
on the ground in humiliation, and partake of the “food offered to the
idol.” By and by, when the dinner had been cooked and set in order, I
would carry the idol into the dining-room and offer the food to it the
second time.

While I was thus worshipping the idol, and forming plans for a higher
grade of devotion, my father was removed from this to the world above.
I was then fourteen years old, I think. He suffered a fortnight from a
fever, which finally brought an end to his existence. He retained his
consciousness, yea, even his literary priestly sensibilities, unto the
very last. It is customary in our country to read, from Hindoo sacred
books, to the sick. A priest was called upon to do this service to my
father. When he had finished his reading, my father remarked: “Friend,
to sell needles to a blacksmith is not an easy matter; what you read
to me has been _particularly_ meant for a case different from
mine.” I was not at home when he died, having gone to Calcutta to a
Brahmun woman who had taken much interest in my father. While I was
returning home in the afternoon a neighbor inquired of me “if I knew
how my father was,” and receiving a negative answer said, “Go home and
you will see.” Drawing myself nearer home the cries from my friends
told me my dear father was dead. His body was then on the funeral pile
on the bank of the Ganges, but I could not see it. They would not let
me go there. He did not leave any fortune for us. While breathing his
last, he said to my mother that the richest thing he left for her was
Ish-ur, or God; and, next to him, the “three diamonds,” his three sons.
“These three,” he said, “duly and rightly used, will meet all your
wants.” My uncle, the younger brother of my father, stretched forth his
kind hands over us. Not being a religious man himself, and inclined to
follow the fashion of the community, he desired me to study English
part of the time, and requested a fine Hindoo young man, a student
of the “Hindoo College,” to give me instruction. Accordingly I began
to study what is called “the language of the Jobuns,” and the first
English book I had was Murray’s Spelling-Book. Some four or five boys
came in, and we formed a class. Our teacher had only half an hour to
give to us, and after he had gone to his own school we used to talk
foolishly, play tricks, tear each others’ books, and thereby used to
enjoy _good_ but frequently _bad_ times. Finding me little
promising, our teacher advised my uncle to send me to a good English
school, which he accordingly did. It was a government school, at the
distance of a mile and a half from our house. I was admitted into the
third class, and our studies were The First Reader, Elements of the
English Grammar, and Geography. There being no especial teacher over
our class, the second teacher had the charge of the two, consequently
he held to the one, and took little care of the other. Not being able
to hear each boy read and recite, he would ask every second or fourth
boy to read a paragraph. We could know at once if anything would fall
to our lot, and could prepare that particularly. In the course of four
months a Bengalee gentleman, fresh from college, became appointed as
the third teacher, and we followed him to his forms. He was a very
irritable man, and would use his whip quite smartly and frequently too.
Among ten or twelve unfortunate boys who were the favored recipients
of his whip and blows I was one. Receiving some stripes for a couple
of days, I determined to get rid of them, because I had never met with
these disagreeable things before. The trouble was, I did not know how
to prepare my lesson; I wanted some help, but could not get it. He,
seeing me tolerably good in other studies, found out that I was not
“totally depraved.” So one day he asked me when I studied my lesson
at home. I told him I did not understand what study at home was; for
I open my books at school and nowhere else, as my friends do not know
English to guide me. He kindly suggested to me what to do. I followed
the advice, and in a week became one of the leading boys in the class.
One thing is worth observing, as far as modesty will permit, that
whoever was acquainted with me, admired my faculty of retaining things
in the memory. Those who know me can testify well to this point, but
for my part I can simply say this, that if I had anything in me which
drew the attention of a large circle, it was my memory. To-day I can
repeat word by word the chief part of the books which I had read ten
years ago. Whatever prizes I acquired in the schools were rather due to
my memory than anything else. When I had made some progress in English
studies, and my uncle refused to supply me with all the books I needed,
to the surprise of the school, I retained my honorable position in
the class, although I did not have more than four or five books out of
eight or nine,--the studies for the time. At this time my uncle, who
was a widower, married a young girl whose mother came to live with her.
She is a remarkable woman. Not having a good time with her husband,
as he had several wives at the same time, she fled from home with her
daughter of seven or eight years old, and some money, came to our place
and married her infant child to my uncle without the knowledge of her
nearest relatives, who made violent struggles for her afterward; but
it was too late. After staying a year or more at our house, the woman
managed to poison my uncle’s mind and destroy the peace of the family
forever. Quarrels, misunderstandings, rash and unkind remarks, often
marred the domestic happiness. In order to vex my mother, she would,
before her presence, speak slander of others; ridicule the words of
the Brahmuns, teach villainous stories to the children, sing audibly
nonsensical, comic pieces, and make rude remarks, etc. My mother used
to send me away with my books to some neighbor’s house, and would keep
herself in her own room. By day and night my mother’s prayer became at
this period, “Gods, remove me and my children to a wilderness, among
the wild beasts and the fowls who do not know slander, neither do what
they ought not.” For fear of the odium which would naturally fall
upon him, my uncle could not withdraw his help at once, but gradually
effected the object under various pretences. We could hear distinctly
in the evening the mother-in-law of my uncle entreat him to stop the
expense of my studies. In justice to him I should say, that a great
many times he rebuked her, saying, “His father has committed Joguth to
my care; it wouldn’t look well to neglect him. If he grows a man, he
will doubtless be a help to me.” But though “he feared not God, nor
cared for man,” her importunity wrought a revolution in his feelings.
The regulation of the school required the pupils to bring their
school-fee on the first day of the month in advance, and in default
thereof they would be sent home. My uncle would not give the money in
season; he would make excuses, and I had to stay at home. Thus in the
early part of every month I was compelled to be absent, and of course
lose my high place in the class. My teacher once opened the register
to show Mr. R. Hand, the head teacher, how my rank miserably suffered
for my absence during the time of delayed payment for the schooling.
Finally my uncle said he was in debt, and it cost him a great deal to
support us, so he could not pay the expenses of my studies any longer.
It was a dreadful calamity to me, which will be ever remembered.

The very boys who were juniors to me, and whom I used to help in
various ways, made astonishing progress in a few years, while I
remained almost where I was. The idea of taking instruction privately
from one who knew more than I did, did not satisfy me, for I had tasted
the pleasures of the school, deriving much from maps, globes, library,
and competition too.

There were free schools in Calcutta, founded by the missionaries, but
the expenses of attending them from Balie would be treble what it cost
me in the Ooterparah, Government School. For a year I remained at home,
making little progress in the English studies, and performing the
priestly functions as well as I could. Afterwards I was admitted to
several schools, but in none could I prosecute my course for more than
five or six months. Although busy in my scholastic duties, I did not
give up the habit of observing the fasts, worship, etc., of my country.
Yea, these troubles and misfortunes fixed my eyes steadfastly upon
the idols, and happily brought me to the arms of the “King eternal,
immortal, the only-wise God,”--the loving Father of the universe!

With a double zeal and devotion I pursued the course laid out by my
father; the love for the gods grew stronger, and their lives, as
displayed in our sacred books, seemed sweeter. Desiring to live and
move within a broad sphere of piety,--to observe the rituals and fasts
with the enthusiasm of grown-up persons, I made a new routine for the
exercises. The daily “morning bath” in the sacred river Ganges is
held by the Hindoos as a great religious act, productive of spiritual
excellence. I took a vow to do this regularly. At this period a
peculiar feeling, which is almost foreign to most of the Hindoos,
seemed to dawn its splendor upon me; it was an earnest desire to see
my gods respected, feared, and worshipped by all, and to bring all men
under their allegiance. This very desire, when reawakened by Christ,
and I forsook the idols, gave a sincere response to that soul-stirring
sentiment--

    “Be thou, O God, exalted high;
    And as thy glory fills the sky,
    So let it be on earth displayed,
    Till thou art here, as there obeyed.”

I summoned all my energies to serve the gods and goddesses according
to the rules laid down in the Hindoo Scriptures. In the morning I
would go after the choice flowers, that I might satisfy the idols with
just what they are fond of; for some Hindoo gods are fond of a certain
kind of flower or leaf which the others do not care for. It pained me
exceedingly to see the young men, my neighbors, go without prayer,
worship, or fast. I persuaded them to follow my standard,--assured
them if they would only come to the gods, their imperfections, wants,
sorrows, would be removed by the celestial grace. My exhortation
found immediate response from them. Among them two were shamefully
lazy,--could not prepare their lessons at all,--were the worst boys
of every school they went to. These finding me in a better and more
honorable position, begged me to show to them the source whence flows
“all good and perfect gifts.” As I had myself strong faith in the
benevolent disposition of the gods I urged my friends to come to them
for help. Accordingly a party of young devotees was formed under my
guidance, of whom all were Brahmuns. Being large in number, and having
among us daring elements, we could gather the best flowers from distant
parts of our village for the worship. While other Brahmuns had hardly
left their beds we were on the tops of large trees, and there filled
our baskets with varieties of flowers. We would then move towards the
Ganges, where, performing our ablutions according to the prescribed
rules, we visited the principal temple to worship the image of Shiba.
As my friends did not know how to worship it, and what form of prayer
to use in the different parts of the service, I had to do the business
of the priest, uttering audibly the sacred words learned of my father,
and making them recite after me. Before leaving the temple I would
decorate the altar and the image with the flowers, using all my skill
and earnestness. So regular were our visits to the temple, so many
flowers were carried there, that other Brahmuns coming in earlier would
say, “Joguth has not been here yet, we see.” The Hindoos fast a great
many days during the year, so I wished to do; but my mother interposed,
as it would have destroyed my health to abstain from food and drink
entirely for twenty-four hours. I used to observe one fast only,--in
the month of February, I believe. It is called Shiba Rattree, or the
Night of Shiba. The first part of the day was less trying, but in the
afternoon and night the face would turn pale, the eyes sink, the body
become weak, etc. Still, hoping to receive a blessed seat in the heaven
of Shiba, I would bear all these, and go through abstinence with a
cheerful heart. Once, while quite a number of us fasted, the forenoon
passed along nicely with fun, plays, and walks. A friend older than I
left us, and after an hour returned again. I noticed his face looked
easy, entirely different from that of an hour ago, and suspected he
had, perhaps, taken some food, and asked him about it. Before he
had time to say yea or nay, I saw something yellow on his lip which
proved to be the remainder of a fruit he had eaten. At this one felt
indignant, a second laughed out, a third said he would not fast longer.
I was left with one more to satisfy Shiba, by passing the whole day
and night without food or drink. My belief in the gods was so strong,
my faith in their protecting power was so unwavering, that I thought
I could hold close communion with them, see their smiles beaming
forth out of the eyes and mouth of the images. To Shiba I prayed for
learning; to Luckhy for wealth; to Doorga for relief from dangers; to
Krishto for heaven,--and I was pretty sure of getting them. Little did
I dream then that these deities are mere idols, whom I worshipped,
loved, and feared, and for whose grace I fasted so hopefully. During
the time of evening worship, when hundreds of lights were burned, the
band played, the incense filled the place with sweet perfume, and joy
shed its charms over all, I would stand reverently before the image,
look earnestly at its face, repeat silent prayers, and thereby feel
myself happy. At the close, I would kneel down, or sometimes prostrate
myself on the ground with humiliation.

The Brahmuns desired my mother to commit me to their charge, which
she did not, for various reasons. One of them, who had a large parish,
would send a substitute round quite often to the houses of his people
to worship the idols for them. I had to go, too, to a town across the
river Ganges to attend to the images. So strong was my affection for
the idols, so earnest was I to see all people worship unceasingly,
that while playing cards with my friends one day, I proposed an
extra worship of the goddess. The little band approved it; the cost
was counted and found too large for our private pocket to afford. I
encouraged them with a promise to construct the image with my own hand.
They considered the possibility of the enterprise, and we at once set
out to work. Accordingly, bamboo was brought, a piece of board, nails,
straw, string, etc., were secured. Fearing our parents would interfere
with this, we carried the materials to the top of a house, which in our
country is flat. One day a respectable Brahmun, looking at the parapet,
saw the hands of the image and came upstairs to see what we had done.
The neighbors flocked in to see, admire, and help at our work, and
a universal enthusiasm prevailed. A great many doubted my ability
to finish the idol, but I think I did it nicely. My oldest brother
painted it, and we received the praise of the people. To commemorate
this event we worshipped the idol annually, defraying the expenses by
subscription. It makes me smile to think that, when my friends invited
me to take the lead, as usual, in things in subsequent years, I pointed
out to them the error of idol worship. Of course they did not feel like
myself, so they came to a conclusion that I had grown crazy, and would
certainly become Christian very soon!




                             CHAPTER III.

   FIRST VIEWS OF CHRISTIANITY.--PREJUDICES.--SERMON ON THE
   MOUNT.--NEW TESTAMENT.--EFFORTS AND STRUGGLES.--COMPARISON
   OF HINDOO AND CHRISTIAN DOCTRINES.--CONVERSION.--FIRST
   ZEAL.--PERPLEXED BY THE TRINITY.--VISIT TO A
   MISSIONARY.--TRINITARIANISM.--MY DIFFICULTIES.--DEISTICAL
   COMPANIONS.--ARRIVAL OF MR. DALL.


Now begins an important stage in my life. The dawn of a bright future
breaks upon me with a serenity never before dreamed of. My Heavenly
Father, not willing that his child should go away from him and remain
ignorant of his gracious majesty, turned my course slowly toward his
infinite goodness. He could no longer suffer his child to prostrate
himself before “wood and stone,” and He sent His “Beloved Son” to
teach him and bring him to his “Father’s Home.” While much occupied in
observing the religious ordinances of my people, while summoning all my
energies for the cause of the idols, and offering all the treasures of
my heart and head at their feet, I heard of the celebrated Christian
Missionary, Rev. Dr. Duff of Calcutta, and his colleagues, making
converts of the Hindoo boys. My animosity towards Christianity rose
with all its fury, and I wished to see it die out, that it might not
rob the peace and prosperity of the Hindoo families, by stealing away
the young boys and leading them headlong into vice, immorality, and
misery. For the Hindoo’s impression of Christianity is this: That in
order to become a Christian it is essentially necessary that a young
man should treat his parents unkindly, eat animal food, such as beef,
pork, ham, etc., which the Hindoos detest very much, drink wine, not
wash his mouth after the meal, as the animals do, and forsake all
things which bear the name of Hindoo, no matter how beautiful they
are. Now, if these are the essential features of Christianity, why
should I have wondered that the Hindoos fear it? But thanks be to God
that _these are not_ parts of the religion of Christ; these have
little or nothing to do with it. Again, the Hindoo hatred towards
Christianity arises from another important cause; viz., that the lives
of most of its nominal advocates contradict its spirit. No nation is
so furious, proud, bloodthirsty as a Christian one. No country, I
presume, is flooded so often with human blood, as that which is studded
with “meeting-houses,” which publish the Gospel of Peace by myriads,
annually, of different editions, versions, and illustrations. The
gentlemen, the senators of Christian countries, impelled by animal
passions, fight duels, and thereby abuse the precious gift of God, the
life. These are the men who declare themselves disciples of Christ, who
own pews in the church, whose wives and daughters are Sunday-school
teachers. “But whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to
him the other also,” is a precept of their Teacher. My dear mother
would point me out the ambitious deeds of the English people, saying,
“There, Joguth, do not you speak of the religion of Shahebs to me;
put it on the shelf yonder; they have no religion at all! What! what
did you say, ‘And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away
thy coat, let him have thy cloak also!’ Very beautiful words, indeed!
O Joguth, what do the Shahebs do? Do they care a fig for them? No!
Their religion is ‘to rob those who have nothing to do with them.’ Poor
Runjit Serigh, the Queen of Nagpoor! I pity them; they fell victims to
the ambition of your Christian Shahebs. How I should like to see their
Queen, and tell her, ‘Shame to your subjects! They fight, they quarrel,
they rob our country. You do not know what they do out of your sight.
When they go abroad they forget the instruction of home,’” etc.

Having had a fear, and hatred, too, towards Christianity, I determined
to investigate its true peculiarities,--which I felt quite sure must be
childish and fallacious,--that I might be qualified to argue with the
Christians and triumphantly expose their errors. Some Christian books
were necessary, but how should I get them? I was too timid to go to
the missionaries; first, I could not speak English; and, secondly, I
feared them to be the “boy thieves,” as the Hindoos designate them. On
a holiday I saw low castes carrying home a quantity of “_Tracts_”
given to them by the servants of Christ. I managed to secure a copy
which contained that portion of Christ’s teaching known by the name
of the “Sermon on the Mount.” Need I tell to a Christian reader the
sublime beauty of these words of _Life_? I should say, however,
that I was quite disappointed in not finding fallacious, weak, foolish
doctrines in it as I anticipated. Its pages opened heaven before me,
and I could see distinctly its joys, its angels, and its blessedness.
I could see also the _earth_, not like one around us, in which
the life and its attendant functions have been manufactured by our own
hands, but one fresh from the hand of the Most High,--a pure, simple,
loving world! Over and over I read the tract, and wished to get some
more. A few tracts which I subsequently received contained a great deal
of the teaching of men, and less of His who had studied his theology
in the bosom of the Father, and who said, “My words are not my own;
what I have heard of my Father, that speak I to you.”

Reading the first tract, containing the “Sermon on the Mount,”
carefully, I became so familiar with Christ’s voice, that I could
recognize him from out the crowd. “Sheep know the voice of their
shepherd,” he says. I was told that a book called “Holy Bible” contains
the life of Jesus in full, and I longed to have a copy of it. As
there was no Bible in the house, I had some difficulty in procuring
a copy for some time. Providentially a Brahmun boy had brought some
pamphlets and a book to me, and begged me to make some kites for him
with their leaves. To my unspeakable joy the book proved to be the
long-sought one,--the life of Christ, by four evangelists,--the New
Testament! I made some kites with my own writing-paper, and the lad
gave me his blue book in turn. Now begins a period of investigation,
study, contemplation, of the teaching of Christ. Among others, his kind
words, inviting the poor, the suffering, the despised, to come unto
him,--“Come unto me all ye that labor, and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest,”--struck me very much. I was the worshipper of several
male and female deities, and some of them were my beloved ones; but
none called me in such a loving, affectionate way. His saying, “Take
my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart,
and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for my yoke is easy, and my
burden is light,” furnished me with ample materials for meditation. Who
is this, I asked, that promises us “_rest_,” without demanding
any compensation, as the Hindoo gods do? Carefully I followed Christ
in all his walks, listened to him while he was on the mountain, saw
him cure sickness and cast out devils, heard him bid the rough sea “be
still,” watched him at his table in the upper chamber, witnessed his
arrest, trial, and crucifixion, and his victory over death. With a
view of comparing Christianity with the modern Hindooism I took some
leading points of each. First, the Creator of the universe, who is he?
what relation is there between him and his creatures? where can he be
found, and how worshipped? etc. The belief of the Hindoos in regard to
these subjects differs in accordance with their caste, culture, and
opportunities. The learned Brahmuns derive their belief from the Sacred
Vedas; others from tradition; and the low castes have no knowledge of
them, perhaps, or the little they have is ridiculous. Christ tells us
our Creator is a Great Being,--God,--and that he is One. I received the
doctrine, as it confirmed beautifully my impression of a Creator. I had
this consciousness from my early years, but did not know who that Being
was, for Bromho is said to be the Maker of all, but he too rises from
the Bishto. Leaving aside the speculative theory of my country, I found
relief in the simple yet truthful words of Christ.

The Hindoos bear different relations to their gods. This seemed to me
absurd. For instance, Shiba is called “_Father_,” his wife Doorga,
mother, his two daughters are our mother too, who, according to the
common rules, ought to be our sisters. Krishto is addressed by the
term _Father_ also. Now the great Teacher says we have only one
Father in heaven, even God. When I learned of Christ that my Creator is
_one_ great Being, and though his majesty is infinite, his wisdom
unfathomable, his power unbounded, his position high, he is our Father
still, my joy knew no bounds. I became aware that my recognition of a
creator in the Bromho, Bishto, etc., was just as bewildering as to seek
an object in the gloomy chambers of Mammoth Cave. But Christ stood by
my side as a blazing light, and pointed out the shortest, easiest way
to my God, saying, “I am the light” and “I am the way.” I used to think
we could come to God through different routes, but now felt convinced
of the great advantage of entering in by the strait gate, treading the
steps of Christ, and following the guidance of the celestial Guide.
When I want to visit the city of New York, the prudent course will be
to take the express train at the Worcester Depot, and not step into the
Boston, Concord, and Montreal cars which will surely take me far, far
away from my destination; it will cost more money and longer time into
the bargain![30]

Where our Creator is to be found and how worshipped became the
subject of my inquiry. Hindoo gods have their respective heavens,
some particular places for their abodes, which they do not wish to be
away from. Thus Krishto reigns in his Goluck, Shiba in Koylas, etc.
The latter is said to have wept on leaving Kashie for a season at the
solicitation of Debodass, a worshipper.

But turning to Christ, I heard him say, our Father is
everywhere,--fills immensity with his presence; that there is no place
so high, so happy as to monopolize his presence, to confine him within
its enclosure; there is no place, on the other hand, so low that does
not contain him. The Mighty Omnipresent sits on high, the great King
of all, controlling the affairs of the universe with his powerful, yet
loving sway,--receiving homage from the Seraphim and Cherubim, and the
“just made perfect;” yet, at the same time, noticing the fall of the
sparrows.

In regard to worship, I was taught to worship the images of the gods,
to offer food and clothing to them, and occasionally to visit the
sacred cities, such as Orissa,[31] or Benares, etc. But Christ taught
me otherwise. He says, “neither this mountain, nor Jerusalem,” is to
be the favored place for worshipping God; “Worship him in the Spirit,
for he is a Spirit.” This seemed to me a beautiful idea, for it enables
high as well as low to worship the Creator,--to hold communion with
him,--to lay before him all their joys, sorrows, and disappointments,
instead of going after him in Jerusalem or Benares. Again, what a great
consolation it is to know that a pure and contrite heart, with all
its poverty and meekness, is more acceptable to God than the richest
offering, than temples of gold! How many thousands of the Hindoos
live and die in despair of that degree of spiritual perfection, that
peculiar blessing of the gods, which a few hundred dollars would have
secured for them! The poor man, notwithstanding all his righteousness,
the purity of his heart, and his love for holy things, is not entitled
to share the joys of heaven with the rich wicked man, who has spent
enormous sums of money in visiting temples, in pilgrimages, or in
worshipping costly images. This is the absurd belief I had in regard
to the worship of the gods, and I thanked God heartily when I got rid
of it. Secondly, I wished to know about _man_: my relation and
duties towards other men, etc. The theory that man is our brother,
being the child of a common Father, has been falsified by the system
of the _castes_, and by the power and sanctity of the priesthood.
A low-caste man is no more a brother to a Brahmun than are the inferior
animals. If a shoemaker accidentally should touch the plate of a
Brahmun, he would not use its contents; it is as if a dog should touch
it. I know that in this world we must have, of necessity, differences
in position, culture, accomplishments, etc., that one demands respect
of another; but do we stand high or low agreeably to our caste, wealth,
intelligence, before Him who is “no respecter of persons”? When a
Brahmun, I felt it was my duty--making a right use of my position
and its attendant prerogatives--to look at the low castes with
indifference. I did not touch them if I could possibly help it. I put
my foot on their prostrate heads, I gave the dust of my foot to them to
eat, and I promised them earthly and heavenly blessings. But the moment
I learned from the lips of Jesus what my relation is to my fellow-man,
and what duty I owe towards him, I clearly saw the low castes are just
as high as myself. Hearing that “God maketh his sun to rise on the good
and evil,” that the harlots, the despised, would enter into blessedness
before the proud Pharisee, I cheerfully abdicated the honors, the
prerogatives of my high position as a Brahmun, and wished to jump down
upon the level where the despised low castes stood. Indeed, who but God
knows the magnitude of the delight I enjoyed in standing by the side
of the low castes! While in the street I would walk close to them, and
thereby get an opportunity to touch them. Of course the grown-up low
castes would not come in close contact with me, fearing it would be
a dangerous thing for them. So I used to hide my sacred or priestly
badge under my clothes, which, if kept in its proper place would have
testified of my caste, and to speak kind words to the despised sons of
humanity.

After reading the life of Christ carefully, I came to the following
conclusions:--That our Creator is one God, who is not only the highest,
greatest, and most powerful of all, but at the same time a Father,--a
loving Father, with a heart more tender than that of any earthly
friends. Indeed, I love to dwell upon this latter conception of God
always. In hours of joy or in hours of sorrow I seem to forget that he
is a Lord, and I lean against his bosom with filial confidence. I had
to _fear_ the gods of my fathers, but when I sat at the feet of
the Divine Wisdom which presented to me one God, a Father, I wished to
_love_ him.

Secondly, that man is my brother, no matter whatever be his caste,
creed, color, or country, because the same Father has given us life; we
are alike the recipients of his blessing, and have equal claims upon
his unbounded love. I learned that the best and truest way to love God
is to love man; for what kind of love is that, if I bear it toward a
father, and hate his children whom he dearly loves?

Thirdly, that man is a free moral agent, subject, however, to the moral
laws of his Maker, the ultimate end of whose whole counsel is the
welfare of his children. It came to me that when we love each other,
live in peace, “bear each other’s burden,” and guide each other in the
path of righteousness, we are “co-workers with God;” and when we do
otherwise we bring misery and wretchedness upon ourselves, for which
we suffer and stand responsible to God. Although I had believed in
a future life long before I came to Christ, yet I did not possess a
rational idea of it,--it was wrapped up with a garment of mystery. The
worshippers of Shiba will be received in his Koylas,--those of Krishto
in his Goluck, etc., where they will breathe the breezes of different
Paradises. I often thought these must be narrow heavens indeed that do
not admit all. Again, how could the joys of heaven be perfect if we
do not meet with those dearest relations who died a long time ago, and
the objects of our love and affection taken away from us at different
times? My mother worships Krishto, and Shiba was my god, so of course
we both will be received by our respective gods. Would not the pangs
of separation attend us wherever we go? and even, taking for granted
that we are to see each other occasionally, it must be something like
visiting! But the future state which Christ promises us is where not
only our kindred might be admitted, but where those from east and west,
north and south would “meet to part no more.” “In my Father’s house
are many mansions,” he says, which “he goes to prepare for us.” What
a blessed hope it is for one who loves all the children of God, and
likes to see them, to live with them, and pray with them! In regard
to Christ, my impression became that he is the _Sent_ of God,
his “beloved Son” indeed. He was raised especially by our Father to
regenerate the world, to proclaim peace and good will unto men,--to
bring the wanderers back, to uplift degraded humanity, and break the
sting of death, and “bring Immortality to light.” He was a true model
of Humanity,--a perfect man. He was what man ought to be. Whatever
attributes of the Most High could be grasped by a finite nature were
fully given to him; so it is no wonder when we call him Immanuel or the
“express image of God.” We are all made in the image of God; but it is
a pity that we do not long stand in the state of purity, do not retain
our original stamp; the world paints us over, and thereby disfigures
us. But the plane where Christ stood was very high,--far beyond the
reach of the world; so that while on earth, he lived and moved with
celestial graces, and enjoyed sweet communion with his God always, and
died as a resigned Son indeed. He was entirely different from all
other religious teachers who have ever blessed the earth with their
instructions. There was one peculiarity in him which had not attained
its perfection in other religious teachers. Whatever this divine
Teacher taught he exhibited in his own life, showing thereby to the
world the practicability of his doctrines. A geographer informs us of
the position and the height of a mountain, the rise, course, and fall
of a river, and draws a map for illustration, that he may convey the
truth distinctly unto us. In like manner Christ performed his mission.
He teaches us humility,--behold the Saviour of the world washes the
feet of the low castes of Judea! He speaks love,--lo! he breathes love
from the cross, when the cruel and wicked sons of man were driving
nails through his innocent limbs! “Father, forgive them, for they know
not what they do!”

Desiring to be profited by Christ and to throw off the burden of
superstition, and to put on the yoke of Christ instead, I secretly
yielded to the longing for a new life. The old habits, religious
ordinances, the once beloved idols, seemed dry, unimportant things. I
could no longer hide myself within the “veil of taciturnity.” Now and
then I dared to speak to my friends new things, to breathe unto them
new affections, and to surprise them with new deeds. I would detail
as well as I can remember the trials, misunderstandings, and ridicule
that crowned my brow subsequently. The life of Christ proved so sweet
to me that I felt quite sure others would like it, so in the afternoon
I would go to some friend to read from it. Some liked it as a story;
others felt quite amused hearing of the miracles of Christ, as they
see most of them attempted by their countrymen, and their legendary
books too abound with such things. Even the raising of Lazarus from the
grave and the resurrection of Christ did not surprise them because
there was no novelty in them. I must confess, however, the miracles of
Christ did not strike me very much. Having witnessed some like them
done before me, and having read of such in our religious books, I did
not “seek after a sign,” but perceived wonderful miracles performed by
Jesus spiritually in my own case. These very hands of mine which did
not touch the low caste before, now stretched forth to embrace them.
Having eyes, I could not before see my path clearly; but Jesus made and
put clay on them, and told me to wash them in the pool of the Gospel,
which I did, and now I begin to see. I was deaf to the cry of duty; but
the gentle voice of the Teacher entered in, and I now hear it without
prejudice. I was possessed with “_devils_,”--the “_legions_,”
for they were many,--such as caste feeling, hatred towards low castes,
prejudices, etc.; but they all fled before the divine presence of
Christ, saying, “What have we to do with thee, thou Son of God.” Thus
I cared more for these spiritual miracles which helped me to begin a
new life and understand the worth of Jesus and his mission more vividly
than anything else could have done. I am aware that Christ himself
appealed to his miracles to prove to the Jews the divine sanction of
his mission. “If ye believe not me, believe my works.” But it was to
the simple yet weak-minded people that he spoke in that way. To some
he refused any miracle,--declined to do anything surprising, but spake
with authority as no man did before. I do not disbelieve the miracles
performed by Christ, as he says whatever he does he does by the power
of God, to whom everything is possible; as our poets say, that “He
can cause a pigmy to reach the moon, and a lame man to jump over a
mountain.” So is the belief with almost all of the intelligent Hindoos.

The Raja Rammohun Roy, too, cared more for “the precepts of Jesus”
than for his miracles. In his compilation of the words of Christ, he
begins with his words in the Sermon on the Mount, I think. He wanted
to have his countrymen know and value and follow what Christ said,
more emphatically, than rest upon what he did miraculously. Therefore,
believing as I did, in the miracles of Jesus, and knowing what would be
the feeling of my friends, I did not hold them as the foremost part of
Christianity, but presented to them the wise yet intelligible, the rich
yet simple, counsels of our Master.

While I was proceeding in this way to read and speak from the
New Testament, some Hindoo friends rose against me and reported
to the village and to my mother that I was soon going to be a
“_Beef-eater_” or Christian. This, of course, alarmed my mother
exceedingly, and she aroused all her energies to save me from the
impending ruin. Where shall I hide the New Testament? was the anxious
question that troubled me. She herself cannot read, so that was some
relief on that score. But the boys would come in my absence and take
any Christian book from my room and show it to my mother, making her
miserable thereby. Her fear of losing me grew so great, and also of
the disgrace that would surely fall upon the family in case I became
an apostate, or, worse than that, a “beef-eater,” that I had to feel
anxious about my other books while away, lest she should throw them all
into the water. Being acquainted with Rev. Mr. Dall, who kindly gave me
Unitarian tracts, I found great relief afterwards, because the tracts
being small, not handsomely bound, and not having the “Holy Bible”
written on them, my mother did not care about them. A large book,
handsomely bound, often creates suspicion among the Hindoos, especially
if the bearer be known to be an Anti-Hindoo in the least. Once I was
coming home with a large volume of the Bengalee translation of “Lamb’s
Tales of Shakespeare,” which I had borrowed from a rich Brahmun friend
in a neighboring town. Some men, pretending to hold a friendly talk
with me, made me stop. One said, “You have read a great many books, I
presume more than G----, P----, and M----, etc., have done. That’s a
pretty large book in your hand; did you get it from a Missionary?” I
gave the book to the speaker, who curiously opened it and read, “Romeo
and Juliet,” “Tempest,” “Macbeth,” &c., as its contents.

Christ says the tree will be known by its fruits. And again, if ye
love one another the people will know that ye belong to Christ. Seeing
our Master visit frequently the low, the despised, and the publicans
in their humble homes, my affection turned toward the publicans in
India. An angelic love hitherto unknown, which is “not a respecter
of persons,” sat in my eyes, and before them all the castes of the
Hindoos, from the Brahmun down to the hog-keeper, looked alike. I could
no longer accept their salutation without returning the same, and this
brought upon me the indignation of the Brahmuns and the terror of other
castes. With much fervor and perhaps with less prudence, I went to the
extreme at first, in returning the low caste the very _kind_ of
salutation he made; thus, when he bent his head to me I did likewise
to him; when he touched my foot, I wished to do the same. Of course
this was too much condescension on my part, which my friends could not
bear for a moment. They feared that my teaching them that way would
offend the gods, and consequently that something dangerous would happen
to them from their wrath! In order to make the matter sure and expose
me to the public hatred, some Brahmun boys would engage a low caste
to salute me reverently,--to take the dust of my feet and see what I
did. If I returned the honor thus offered me, the whole company would
clap their hands, ridicule me, and report it to my mother and other
high-caste relations. I realized in a measure how our Master had been
troubled by the cunning Jews who now came to gainsay his words; then
rebuked him for eating with the low castes, &c. One night while we were
discussing religious topics, (as they were wont to do, in order to get
from me my free thought that they might accuse me of infidelity,) one
asked, “Joguth, suppose you wanted some advice in relation to religious
matters, and the son of the washerman, B----, was fully able to give
it to you, would you go to him or to a priest?” Although I knew the
craft underlying the question, still I answered that, “If I can find
pure gold in a ditch close by my house, I would not go to Australia
for it.” The curious brother sprung up from his seat and hurled
anathemas on my head, saying I was the ruin of our family, a shame to
my caste, and an unworthy son to my father; that I would soon wear a
coat and hat, eat cows and hogs, and drink wine, etc. Such disagreeable
experiences, frequently visited upon me with ridicule and contempt,
gave me courage and wisdom. I applied the wisdom of serpents and the
innocence of a dove, as far as I possibly could, in my encounters with
those fault-seeking brethren. Under such circumstances _peace_
seemed as if it would desert me; but I retained its sacred influence
in my heart, and longed for that peace which the world cannot give
nor take away. Notwithstanding all these discouraging surroundings I
determined to be “about my Father’s business,” to go to the people and
speak to them kindly what I believed would promote their happiness in
life here and hereafter. Besides speaking to those within my reach in
my daily walks in life, I sought as places of my resort, the workshops
of some goldsmiths and weavers. These men I found very pleasant,
possessed of little education, but with a great deal of intelligence,
able to conduct a discussion upon high themes, and to comprehend the
best writings of the country. I found them, too, very familiar with
the Hindoo legendary works. Every afternoon and evening almost, half a
dozen men would assemble there, and one of the party would read aloud
from a religious book. But their attachment to the gods and their
legends did not hinder my going to them; on the contrary they always
used to talk with me upon religious and moral topics. By and by I
sought acquaintance with a party of young rowdies belonging to several
castes. Almost all of them drank wine, and frequented disreputable
places for pleasure and music. Nowhere did I enter with such an
earnestness to do good as here. I thought this was the true harvest to
be gathered, and I must work in it. Modesty stops my pen in writing
about the character I exhibited among them, but it is enough to say
that love and perseverance characterized my labor here. The young men
belonging to my own caste remonstrated with me, protesting that instead
of doing any good among these corrupted low castes, I should surely
bring ruin upon myself, and that my course was foolish. To these I did
not hesitate to repeat distinctly the words of Christ, to the effect,
that the sick people want medicine, but the healthy ones do not.

In course of time I found myself entirely deserted by my former
associates,--the friends who lived in the same quarter with me. In
fact, their animosity, arising from my not joining them in their
excursions for pleasure and sporting, grew so great that very few would
favor me with a smile or a word. One afternoon, as I was coming home
from Hourah, I met a dozen of them playing Mou machie, or beehive. One
of them inquired of me where I had been, and I answered in a low voice
and slowly, for I was very tired then, having had to walk home seven
miles without dinner. This amused them exceedingly, and each of them
attempted to surpass his comrades in imitating my voice.

These brethren reported to my mother all about my visits to the low
castes, my teaching them Christian doctrines, etc., and thereby made
her doubly miserable. Sometimes she would not eat anything, would weep
for hours, and throw away my books. “Joguth, I cannot bear all these
jokes and hard words; they complain of your teaching their children not
to fear gods, respect Brahmuns, etc. Being a Brahmun, you mix with low
castes. I am afraid you will sit at dinner with them some time, as you
say ‘caste is nothing.’ O Joguth, has Jom (or death) forgotten your
house?”

Although I felt quite sure that the gods of my country are mere
imaginary deities, or some ancient heroes deified after death, still
I could not readily free my mind from the fear and respect I bore
for them from my infancy. But something must be done, some measure
must be taken to make an experiment of their power, so that I need
bend before their images no longer. An old anecdote coming vividly to
my mind, seemed to discourage me for a while. It was this. Nearly a
couple of years before I had been to worship the idols belonging to
a widow. It was a winter evening, and carelessly I had forgotten to
cover them with their warm clothes. Next day I was told by that widow
of the great crime I had done, and I felt much frightened to see the
images suffering in cold. She said she retired late, as usual, and
notwithstanding a quantity of clothes on her back she felt chilly.
Not knowing the reason of such an unusual experience, she came to
the closet and found the idols laying unprotected in the cold! Now
a great fear filled my heart at the thought that, if owing to my
carelessness, the innocent woman suffered, how much more will I have
to suffer if I neglect the gods forever. But upon consideration that
God is mightier than all, that if we come unto him for protection, no
god, no spirit, can hurt us in the least, I grew strong. I would not
have gone so far as to touch irreverently the idols, had it not been
to see whether there is any consciousness in them; because I had been
taught to believe that they are living beings. So, one by one, I tried
the strength of the idols that fell within my reach, in treating them
with less care. Thus, one day while I was bringing down the idols from
a high place, like a mantelpiece, the heaviest of them fell down on the
floor, making a loud noise thereby. Hastily I picked it up, examined
whether any damage had been done or not, and washed it as usual. At
first, I thought I would not worship it in the prescribed ways; but,
fearing it would be too much for the first time, I thought it prudent
to worship it as usual. Thus privately taking steps too bold, too
improper for a Hindoo to venture, I determined to see the end. During
the time of Shundhas I would not repeat the creed-like formula, but
simply say Gayothrie several times, because the latter is a prayer to
an invisible, immortal Creator. My mother watched my movements for a
while, and inquired whether I had forgotten my Shundhas, saying that I
used to repeat them in an hour, but that I now finished in ten minutes!
I told her I remembered them all. But she would not believe it, and
called my older brother to examine me, which he did to his entire
satisfaction. He told her I knew them so well that it did not take me a
long time to repeat them.

To a town on the other side of the Ganges I had to go occasionally
to worship idols. During the holidays I was sent by my mother there
to worship the goddess of Learning. I did not repeat any prayer. I
sat down before the idol, and scattered flowers in the usual way. The
matron said, “I wonder how you could perform this worship in so short
time!” I felt embarrassed, and sitting before the idol in the next
house, spent more time in reciting slowly my English lessons learned
long ago,--such as “The English Grammar is the art of speaking and
writing the English language correctly.” “The Caspian sea or lake is
surrounded by Russia, Tartary, and Persia.” “A straight line that
divides a circle in two equal parts is called its diameter,” etc.,
and no complaint was made then. I am fully aware I did a great many
things at this stage of my experience which certainly wore a double
aspect,--not daring to let these changes in my faith be known to my
friends, and at the same time not wishing to follow what I conceived
to be superstition. Finding me going daily toward the wrong way, as it
seemed to my dear mother, she determined to commit me to the charge of
our family Gooroo, or spiritual guide, and to put his yoke on my neck!
This I resisted with my indifference, argument, and obstinacy, because
the life under Gooroo is indeed a life of foolishness. The Gooroo
selects from the hosts of gods a certain one for his disciple,--the
name and the nature of which he is to hide from the world and worship
it as his own. Again, what is worse still, he is to regard the Gooroo
as identical with his god, to worship him and do homage unto him, just
as he would to his God himself! When he visits the family every member
prostrates before him, and worships him. I hated to do that for three
reasons,--first, that since I had lost my faith and loyalty to the very
gods, I could not have any regard for a man whose only office was to
bind me into slavery unto him and the gods; secondly, I felt satisfied
with that unerring, unselfish Teacher who said, “Call no man thy
master,” etc., “I seek not mine own glory,” “Why callest thou me good?”
etc.; and hence, thirdly, I believed that the Gooroo and myself were
walking on the same road, side by side, so that neither ought to gain
a mastery over the other. But my good mother, like all other Hindoos,
felt otherwise. She sincerely believed that the influence of Oopodesh,
or regeneration by the hands of the Gooroo, would fill my heart with
new grace from _Istdele_ (the god selected by the Gooroo).

She sent for him, and he came to our house to convert me, not by
reasoning to the truth, but by the pretended majesty of his rank,--by
his appeals to the Hindoo customs,--unto gross superstition, which,
with prayers and tears I was trying to get rid of. At first I made
excuses, saying, “Let him give ‘montra’ (sacred words) to my oldest
brother; I am young, so there is no hurry about it now,” etc. But I
knew full well the purpose of my mother,--that she was anxious to chain
_me_, who was about to fly away from the gods! She said it would
look well to have the two brothers take _montra_ together--that it
would cost less, etc. More than six times the day for our “Oopodesh”
had been fixed, but I was where I was, or perhaps a little “higher.”
Sometimes, seeing that man coming to our house, from a distance, I
would immediately go to some friends and remain there until he had gone
home. My mother would follow my track now and then and bring me to
him, and plead for my indifference! One afternoon I was sleeping in my
room, and he came and began to talk to my mother. I determined not to
see him (as the rule would require me to prostrate myself before him,
which I hated to do). I thought I would go out by the back door, and
thereby escape the degradation of worshipping a man for the present,
if not the rebukes of my mother. But she came into my room ere I had
time to put my theory into practice, saying, “Joguth! Joguth! there is
Gooroo, who wants to see you.” I tried vainly to keep still and pay no
heed to her, as if I was in a profound sleep! She whispered into my
ear, “Do not insult the Gooroo--it is an unpardonable sin on your part,
Joguth. His look of displeasure will surely burn you to death,” etc.
At last, finding her too urgent, I declared openly that I had got the
“montras” from a Teacher, and that I did not want any other than these,
“The Lord our God is one Lord,” or “Om aka meb ’ŏ the ti-ung,” “There
is _one_ God without a second.” This did not satisfy her; although
my constant indifference to the Gooroo frightened him so he never dared
to raise the question again, yet my mother, perhaps, still hopes that I
might yield, for she _cannot_ conceive how I could do otherwise.

Thus troubled at home and ridiculed abroad, I longed for a free,
genial atmosphere. The very gentleness I wished to display at home,
the kindness to the low castes, brought ridicule upon me, and many
times I went to secluded places to cry to my Father and my God.
Providentially I had been acquainted with Baboo C. C. S., a native
convert to Christianity, and an energetic, highly-educated young man;
but the community hated me _more_ for this reason. As, owing to
the opposition and vigilance of my friends, I could not find a chance
to study the New Testament, I resorted to the memoirs of noble men and
women for Christianity. The life of Mrs. Mundey, the missionary to
India, interested me very much; the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” “Chambers’s
Biographies,” etc., gave me ample instruction. Indeed, I seemed to
find Christian truth almost everywhere,--in grammars, geographies,
histories, in the world around, and in the heaven above.

Through an earnest search I gathered a few friends who, though they did
not quite dare to forsake the gods and to reject the caste prejudices,
still promised a happy result in future. But none of these were my
nearest neighbors, so that I could go to them and spend a little time
in a pleasant way.

To see whether our caste feelings were gone or not we proposed an
experiment--and as it would not be possible to take a meal in a low
caste’s house because of the household, we resolved to cook some food
privately, and see what we could do. Accordingly, on a rainy evening,
we three, one a young farmer, a physician, and myself a Brahmun, cooked
some Khichwry (rice and a kind of peas highly seasoned with spice). I
could not help in the cooking, being entirely unacquainted with the
process, but our farmer friend, I think, was a “pretty good cook.” To
rise to the climax of the freedom so privately sought, I consulted with
some trustworthy and religious brethren, who hailed the enterprise
with joyous hearts. We used to meet in a field, and, on account of
the ground being wet, to spread some leaves over it, and thereby made
quite soft, comfortable seats. We did not know then what particular
form of prayer to offer to God, so I suggested to our brethren that we
would offer child’s prayers--bring all our wants, both temporal and
spiritual, before the throne of grace in perfect trust, and let Him
give or deny unto us whatever he pleased. So we prayed that the good
Father would cure our headaches, fevers, etc., that he would make us
good, honest, learned men.

This novel gathering in the field aroused the curiosity of the people,
who feared we should some day become very troublesome to the community.
The report reached almost every ear, and we were taken for adulterers,
or what is worse still, “_Kistans_” (Christians). This latter
charge was brought especially on account of _my_ being connected
with the party. But we did not feel discouraged, for we believed that
to make our thanks and wants known to our good Father, we need not
go here or there, close our eyes or open them, kneel down or stand
on our feet, utter words or observe silence, for the Object of our
worship is a Spirit, that fills the universe with his presence, and
who knows all, inspects all, loves all his creatures. Still man is a
social creature,--he wants advice, guidance, and help from others,--he
improves himself by others’ example. This change of my religious ideas
gave me one singular feeling: love for man in general, or in other
words, love for the low castes wherever they could be found.

Nothing pleased me more than a crowd of men in whose faces, eyes, and
movements we distinctly read the wisdom, love, and spirit of God. So I
wished very much to be with them, especially for religious purposes;
but my singular views of religion drove them away. In Calcutta there
are Christian churches where I could not attend, much as I desired to
do so. On Sunday, on my way to or from my friends in the city, I would
stand in a street on which a church is placed, watch the people as they
entered in, and eagerly lend my ears to the voices that were sending
up to the throne of grace the praises and songs. Of course I could
not stand long there, the bustling noise of the carriage-wheels would
drown the joyous voices, and so I reluctantly would direct my steps
homeward, uttering, “Blessed is the place where God is worshipped in
spirit!” O Father! though my countrymen worship thee through idols and
pictures, through forms and ceremonies, I rejoice to think that others
adore thee in spirit! A young Brahmun sold me six English books which
he had bought at a public auction in Calcutta. One was the “Memoir
of Mrs. Mundey,” two were books of Common Prayer, and the rest were
novels. My soul swam in ecstasy when I found that almost on every page
the prayers begin with “Our Father,” “Most Gracious God,” “O God, our
Father!” etc. Reading them earnestly, reflecting on the sweet, fervent,
childlike expression of the heart therein, my joy knew no bounds. I
made a present of one Prayer-Book to a Brahmun friend, and reserved
the other for my own edification. I must confess, however, that the
closing lines of the prayers, such as “in the name of our Saviour,”
“through Jesus Christ our Lord,” etc., filled my heart with confusion.
I believed God is unbounded love in his very nature,--gives his
blessings to his children before they know to ask for them. Why then
should I implore his mercy in the name of Christ? In the Hindoo prayers
I had found such conditions. I had been taught to expect blessings from
a deity through a second or third hand, so I feared these expressions
in the Prayer-Books might have the same meaning. In the heat of
enthusiasm at my freedom from superstition--with a desire to come to
God directly, I took my pencil and cancelled these lines. By and by I
came to the Litanies, where I met with “Glory to God the Son, and to
God the Holy Ghost,” etc. Who can these Gods be? inquired I of myself.
What book is this that teaches us to worship them? Let me see; is it a
Christian Prayer-Book that I have bought, or what? Spending a few days
in doubt and confusion I sought my friend to whom I had given a Common
Prayer-Book, and to my utter surprise found him troubled likewise. He
had marked out several passages in that book which ascribe glory and
worship to God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, etc., which he declared
foreign to the New Testament doctrine. We examined carefully some of
the leading places in the New Testament the second time, and found no
such thing as glory to the Son there. The Son says he did not come
to seek his “own glory.” When the disciples desired him to teach them
to pray, he said, “After this manner pray ye, Our Father which art in
heaven,” etc. Again, the very idea of worshipping “God the Son,” and
“God the Spirit,” seemed to us quite amusing if not quite _new_,
for we were accustomed to worship god the son, god the nephew, goddess
the niece, etc., while Hindoos in faith. So we thought we would not
worship these extra gods of the Prayer-Book, however moderate their
number is. It seemed absurd to us to offer supreme homage to a person
subject to hunger, thirst, weakness, sorrows, death, etc., and who
worshipped the same God with his disciples, and who craved for sweet
communion with his God,--to lay before him all his soul’s deepest
longings. Christ, I read in the Gospels, often sought mountain-tops, or
river-sides, away from the little band, to spend hours in prayer.

Not being able to remain in this state of suspense any longer, I went
to a clergyman and informed him of my sincere desire to know the God of
whom Christ is the “Beloved Son.” Very kindly he offered me his cordial
hands, introduced me to his library, and promised me his blessing every
way. At his request that I would attend the morning services in his
church, which were held at seven, I rose early and walked six miles
so as to get there in season. The services were conducted in Hindoo
fashion in some respect, as he did not read the Scripture himself:
there was another present to take that part. Prayers were offered
in behalf of the queen, the council, etc., which I liked very much,
because in seeking good for others we show our love for them. But alas!
the old trouble again! Again I heard of “God the Son, and God the Holy
Ghost” there!

Learning my troubles, and with a view to alleviate them, the minister
gave me a book called “Catechism,” but unfortunately, owing to the
peculiar state of my mind, it made the matter worse still. In it for
the first time I read expressions like the following, “As the very
God of very God,” “begotten, but not made,” “one in three, three in
one,” “yet distinct,” which to me sounded anything but rational. I
begged the minister to explain these things to me as they appeared
contradictory among themselves. I believed the very God is always very
God, and the very man is always very man,--they cannot be otherwise;
that humanity and Deity are two distinct things, so that they cannot
be made identical. Again, the word _Trinity_ was something new,
which, in my study of the New Testament I did not meet with. I was told
that these things lie beyond the reach of human conception; that our
best effort to understand or to explain them would be fruitless; that
although they seem contradictory and absurd to us, in reality they are
not so, because they are unfathomable truths,--the children of the
Revelations. This did not satisfy me, for I could not believe that our
reason would contradict what the Revelation has to say. In looking
at the matter with a simple and earnest mind, we see that Revelation
brings us new and important truths and is not afraid of the close
inspection of reason. Revelation owes much to reason, without which it
cannot perform its mission. God gave Revelation unto _us_, who are
endowed with reasoning faculties, that we might examine, reflect upon,
and receive its contents. Reason, then, is the key to open Revelation.

Again, there is _no failure_ in God; whatever he wishes to do
is done in the best manner possible. So if he wished to bless his
children with new truth in relation to his own nature, under the
new dispensation, he could do it distinctly, intelligibly, and to
their satisfaction. Our reasoning faculties do not object to the
sublime truths like these, “Behold, Israel, the Lord our God is one
Lord,” “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” etc., because these and their
kindred ones are substantial truths that men can live and die by.
Men of different religions, culture, age, and accomplishment almost
unanimously regard the above-mentioned precepts with reverence. There
is no controversy about them. Thus truth stands on its own ground,
self-existent, self-supporting forever.

“A thousand honest doubts are more manly than a single cowardly assent
to a proposition,” are the words of a Boston clergyman. I realized the
beauty of his doctrine in this stage of my inquiry. As I had got over
the fear of being damned, for not believing what my reasoning powers
bore testimony against, and what _my Teacher_ does not speak of,
I bade _farewell_ to the Christian minister with reluctance, and
directed my steps towards home.

My disappointment in seeing Christianity set before me in so many
unintelligible, mysterious doctrines, reminds me of a curious anecdote.
A man, poor from his early years, accustomed to live upon all sorts of
coarse food, became the guest of a very opulent man. He anticipated a
great treat there: he thought he would get some luxurious food, but to
his great surprise he found nearly the very coarse things he used to
eat at home, ready for his disposal. Astonished, he stood before the
table and began to give vent to his disappointment. “Friends! I left
you all in my broken cottage; here I am in a princely mansion, how did
you manage to come here? I did not think of meeting you so soon, and in
such a place!”

My disappointment was strong when I was greeted by so many absurd
doctrines, that pass under the name of Christian. I left Brahmunism
on account of these same obscure, dry, unintelligible precepts with
which it is crowded, and approached unto the handsome edifice of
Christianity with the hope of finding something better. But lo, the
very absurdity again! In Christian countries the people open their
Bibles, not so much to derive a certain belief from the pages as to
find support for an already acquired one. They go already prepared to
find this or that view. Thus a Unitarian child meets the doctrines
on the Unity of God throughout the Bible; and on the other hand, a
Trinitarian child finds hints and supports for his Trinity almost on
every page within its covers. My case was quite different; when I came
to Christ I did not anticipate much save that whatever he would utter
unto me must be sublime, redeeming, vital truths.

“What shall I do now?” became an important inquiry; go back to the
gods and goddesses of my fathers, or what? I felt ashamed of that
_catechism_, so I hid it under my books, that no opponents might
see it and ridicule Christianity before my face. Christianity is not
at all responsible for the hosts of dry, strange, unintelligible
dogmas that claim our assent. Some time afterwards my nephew, a boy
of thirteen, happened to open this old catechism of mine and to read
the “creeds.” He smiled a little, and said, “Uncle, what book is
this?” “That’s a catechism; don’t you see? It contains the Articles
of Faith!” “Of what faith, uncle?” “Of the Christian faith,” said I.
“Don’t say so! I declare! Isn’t the New Testament sufficient for that
purpose? Here, you see, I read Christ was both God and man. God is
one, yet has three distinct persons. Do the English people believe in
these things?” “Certainly they do,” I rejoined. The little boy closed
the book, saying, “Uncle, it makes me smile to think that the English
people who drive railroad engines, build steamboats, and send messages
through electric wires, should not know the difference between man and
God,--one and three,” etc.

After a short season of the “Suspense of Faith,”--not knowing where to
go, I met a young friend from Calcutta who is a member of the “Brahmo
Somaj,” founded by the celebrated Raja Ram mohun Roy himself, or by
his followers, I am not sure which. He brought me a large sheet of
partly printed paper in which I entered my name, residence, date of
subscription, etc., and thus took the name of “Brahmo,” or deist, as
far as the _unity_ of God is concerned. But as we wished to make
our religion depend more upon our _works_, our affections, our
love toward men in general, than upon a certain belief, I did not find
much satisfaction in my deist life. The Bengalee deists are men of
admirable character, of great intelligence, and of mild disposition,
but the majority of them lack the spirit of freedom. They do not have
much faith in the idols I think, but they have idols _at their
houses_, which are worshipped and taken care of at their expense.
How far they repudiate the caste system I am not sure, for I have not
seen nor heard of high-caste deists dining with low-caste brethren
publicly, nor have I known a Brahmun deist to marry the daughter of
other castes. I do not mean that _these_, i. e. eating, drinking,
and marrying with different castes are the essential parts of religion,
and that as such the Calcutta deists do not observe them. No; the caste
system, notwithstanding all its policy and the good it pretends to
do, is obviously detrimental to the progress of the masses in India.
It lies like the heavy Hymaloy over the heads of the low castes: they
cannot rise upward intellectually, socially, or spiritually. Hence the
first religious, philanthropic act of those who see the defects of the
caste system, ought to be to help its removal and to inaugurate a state
of equality among the people. My deistical brethren hardly take that
step, although they eat and drink forbidden food and liquor with rich
low castes, or with Christian people even privately. They have some
saintly men among them. I admire their precepts, honor their private
lives, and deem them noble. But they do not come like Jesus of Nazareth
unto the publicans and sinners, or to those with unwashen hands.

I became acquainted with a young Brahmun deist,--Baboo Raj-kifsen
Bannerjea, of Mahessolla, whom I found the embodiment of truth, love,
and piety. Indeed, the first _angel_ I met in this world was he.
His very mild appearance, his soft eyes, shedding forth love from
them, his tender voice, are the index of his inward accomplishments.
He is a man of considerable learning, and of wealth and high standing
in the community. Would I knew what first led him to reject the idol
gods! It would make a volume to write all about his life, which, though
short, is full of noble, philanthropic acts. His charity is broad,
yet discriminating; his dealings with others are frank and kind, yet
impartial; his manners are prudent, yet childlike. He observes Christ’s
rule as far as it is possible in regard to giving alms,--not letting
the left hand know what the right hand doeth. For the benefit of the
children of high and low castes he established a school at his own
expense chiefly; for the little help which he received from a few
individuals was frequently withdrawn on account of his anti-heathen
principles.

He has a large landed property which he manages with great caution, as
well as to the entire satisfaction of his subjects. I was present one
day at his office when a Mohammedan man was brought in on the charge of
robbing the garden of our Brahmun friend, his landlord. While he was
swearing vehemently in the name of his Allah, to convince the officers
of his innocence, our friend had been working an algebraic sum. Having
finished his work, he looked at him pityingly and with a tender voice,
said, “Friend, swear not! Think how much wrong you have done unto us!
You know all! you owe some money to us,--you are my subject. These two
obligations bind you to our family, as you say; you ought to protect my
property against the usurper,--lo! you are a usurper yourself! I wonder
you do not feel sorry for your conduct!”

Noble as this brother is, admirable as his deeds are, he lacks, as I
have observed before, that degree of moral courage which none but the
“Sent” of God could give. While enjoying the pleasure and privilege of
being with these brethren, and deriving much edification from their
amiable lives, the under-current of my soul was constantly flowing
toward Christ. I could not go away from him, nor forget his loving,
precious words that brought me out of superstition. Are not there men
who believe as I do,--that God is _strictly_ one,--that Christ
is the best of all religious teachers whom the world ever had or will
have, that he is the Sent and oldest Son of our common Parent? If
there are not any found professing such belief,--no matter; I shall
stand alone, and offer my help unto the world as far as I am able.
Theological differences would not stop my hand and heart from serving
and loving others, and this is the best religion indeed! While thus
defining my position and receiving instruction from Jesus secretly,
my esteemed friend, Baboo C. C. Singha, a convert to Christianity,
and who has been a preacher for three years, I should think, told me
that he had been told by Hodgson Pratt, Esq., of the arrival of a
Unitarian missionary in Calcutta, under the auspices of the American
Unitarian Association, and whose views of Christianity are different
from those of other missionaries. I could not understand the term
_Unitarian Christian_, because I was told if I did not believe
in the Trinity I was not a Christian, but a deist. We went to hear
the missionary, Rev. C. H. A. Dall, but not being accustomed to hear
or talk English, I did not gain much at first. He gave us his printed
sermons, and the writings of Channing, Burnap, Elliot, Cordner, Bartol,
etc., which, as I read them, not only confirmed what my belief had
been, but whispered to me, saying, “Friend, there are thousands on the
other side of the Atlantic who hold the same views of God as you do, so
you are not alone. Our fellowship and sympathy are yours.” Being made
acquainted with and interested in this missionary, I began to attend
his religious services on Sunday; but I could not do it regularly for
several reasons. Mr. Dall’s place is nearly seven miles from my house;
besides, there is the majestic Gunga to be crossed, which “alone is
twenty miles,” as the Hindoo saying is.[32] I had to take my breakfast
very early and to walk to and fro all the way, crossing the river by
steamboat either at Shal-kea, or Howrah. My dear mother was told by my
Hindoo brethren that I attended the religious services in a Christian
church, with Baboo C. C. Singha. She felt very much frightened at this,
and took measures to stop my going to Calcutta on Sunday. “If you will
not hear me, but will go to Calcutta on Sunday, go Joguth. The people
tell me, and I can presage too, what a disgrace and ruin you will bring
upon the family. They say you are almost a ‘_Kistan_’ now. You eat
_beef_ with the Yobuns; or, if you do not, they are quite sure you
will soon! I am afraid they will turn you out of the feast sometimes,
and I don’t blame them for it. Joguth, have you forgotten the proverbs
your father taught you? Remember that one member of the family destroys
its peace as one tree burns the whole forest, in creating fire by
conflagration. You will be the ruin of the family! You would not hear
the advice of those who are older and wiser than yourself; nor would
you heed my words. And why should you? The young bird, the moment its
wings are covered with down, leaves its mother’s nest to look out for
itself; so you, Joguth, you are grown up now; my advice, my guidance
would not be of any service to you (at least you think so). I do not
blame nor hate the Christians. Let them follow their own customs
faithfully. Jesu Kisto is their God; let them worship him; I have no
objection to that. As Brahmuns, we ought not to hate the gods of other
nations. Still we cannot worship them, for they are not ours; we have
gods over us. O what a pleasant sight it is to see the young Brahmuns
going to the sacred river, to the temples, etc. My heart is delighted
to see them! And you, mistaken child, hardly go to the temples or to
the Ganges! What business have you in Calcutta? If you will go there
on Sunday, go without breakfast; I shall not have it ready for you so
early,” etc.

Now, under these circumstances, I could not attend Mr. Dall’s services
on every Sunday, much as I wished to do so, and whenever I went, I went
without breakfast, and to the utter displeasure of my mother. On my
return, at four or five o’clock in the afternoon, she would not set the
plate before me, nor help me while I ate my dinner, but would go out of
the room to weep over the loss of her child.[33]

I grew so unpopular and the people began to dread me so much that they
would not let their boys visit Calcutta with me, lest I should make
them “Kistan.” But “where is will there is way,” is a true saying.
Notwithstanding all vigilance, ridicule, many from “north and south,
the east and west” of Calcutta would be glad to meet in Mr. Dall’s
room. Not fearing the difficulties, but rather rejoicing in them, with
an inward consciousness that we are not doing wrong before God,--that
to seek after the spiritual welfare of man in love, is the best service
humanity could render unto God and man,--some of us determined to form
a band of believers in and seekers after Truth. The Sunday-school
cards, containing beautiful verses, and the Sunday-School Gazette,
which Mr. Dall gave us, suggested the plan, and we succeeded in
gathering twenty-one high-caste boys, all of whom knew English more or
less. Not finding a convenient place for our purpose, we would meet in
some garden, away from the Brahmuns, and there read, sing, and speak
of God as set forth in the publications of the American Unitarian
Association, and of the Sunday-School Society. Again I was connected
with the school of Baboo C. C. Singha, a noble, energetic gentleman,
and this gave me a good opportunity to be known to many and to
disseminate the seeds of truth in their youthful hearts. But “a man’s
foes will be of his own household.” The brother of Baboo C. C. Singha,
a Trinitarian in his belief, having been converted to that faith in his
early years, began to trouble us in various ways, and not unfrequently
to take unfair measures and to use unkind words. From an American
book, called “Sargent’s Reader,” No. 3, I believe, I had selected a
beautiful piece, “Prayer for a Pure Heart,” and asked my young friends
to write it down and commit it to memory, which they did cheerfully.
This gentleman, while examining their writing-books, saw it, read it,
and liked it I am sure, and asked them who gave it to them. Of course
they told him that I had given it to them. He uncharitably made some
unkind remarks which surprised us all,--saying, in effect, “Joguth is
a hypocrite. Let him first be baptized, and then teach these things
to others,” etc. I smiled at this, and realized then the truth of Dr.
Channing’s discourse on the Church.

In the next chapter I shall attempt to give some reasons in relation to
my faith, and to state in what respects I differ from the brethren of
other denominations, and why.




                              CHAPTER IV.

      WHY I BECAME A UNITARIAN.--MY OWN READING AND STUDY OF THE
                 BIBLE.--THE MISSIONARIES’ DOCTRINES.


Before I begin to give my reasons in regard to my taking the Unitarian
name, I should say that these reasons are my own. They are the
fruits of a mind uninfluenced by Unitarian, or Trinitarian theology.
Beside the New Testament, and the Author who studied his theology
“in the bosom of the Father,” I had no missionary to influence me at
first. So that what I say I utter from my own heart, and on my own
responsibility. Let not the Trinitarian condemn, nor the Unitarian
triumph on account of my views and interpretations of some of the
leading dogmas, which have split the Church of God into fragments. But
let them both charitably hear my free thoughts and testimony. I do not
attack nor flatter any particular dogmas, through force of sectarian
feeling.

My object is to seek truth with an unprejudiced mind, and to
speak it faithfully when found. I would observe perfect frankness
in my statements; and if I use any word, or expression, that
sounds irreverent to the reader, I would beg him to regard it as
unintentional, for I mean nothing irreverent, nothing hostile to true
piety. Moreover, I should say that I did not resort to Neander, Clarke,
Livermore, or other writers and commentators for help, not because I
should not value them, but because they are almost strangers to me.
I did not know that they were to be had, and so could not go to any
such commentary on the Life of Christ. I believe that the best and
most infallible commentary a man can write, is to explain Christ, by
his life, by his actions; thereby exhibiting him in vivid, living
illustrations. The blessed Teacher did not come to puzzle us with
intricate enigmas, nor to bind us under the heavy burden of mystery.
Nor did he come with imperfect knowledge of things, to favor us with
half of the necessary information, and leave us to guess out the other
half. Whatever he deemed necessary to the life, comfort, and salvation
of man, he taught distinctly, intelligibly, though often in parables.
He did not even resort, like the modern preachers, to those truths
in nature which lie beyond the conception of the masses; such as the
solar system, or the attraction of gravitation. But, that we all might
understand, and be profited by him, he alluded to the fowls in the
air, the lilies of the field, the fall of the sparrow, and the hair of
our heads. He prayed, and thanked his Father that through him He had
revealed truth unto babes, or simple-hearted men.

But I do not undervalue the earnest labors of those good Christian men,
who have written and who will write, commentaries upon the Gospels. I
honor every honest effort to edify man. But, as I said before, I put
more stress upon, and can understand more distinctly and profitably,
the commentaries written in actions, than those drawn out by pen and
ink.

The following are the points which I did not dream of, while studying
the New Testament,--which, when stated to me, I could not look at
without surprise, and could not believe. They are the doctrines of the
Trinity,--the total depravity of the human race, or human nature,--and
endless punishment in hell. Now as I hear of these, and their kindred
doctrines, I do not believe them, nor think they have anything to do
with true religion, because they seem to me irrational and unscriptural.

_The Trinity._--In giving my reasons for not believing this
doctrine of the church, I shall be as brief as possible. It is a
self-contradictory, and unintelligible riddle--a production of the
fancy wrapped up with a sense of piety. They say the Trinity is a
sublime union of the Three in One,--the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Ghost. Common sense teaches us that one is always one, and
three are always three. We distinguish persons by their respective
individualities. So the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, must each
have a distinct individuality, otherwise they could not be persons; and
if so, then they have their wills and affections separate from each
other. Under such circumstances, it is as absurd to receive the Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost as one, as it is to say, James, Mary, and Ellen are
one.

The religion of my country has a Trinity which I find far more
rational, more logically and philosophically consistent than the
Christian Trinity. And I do not think it a prudent choice to reject
the former, and accept the latter. Here is the Hindoo trinity, and the
relation--the equality between its three persons. “In the beginning,
there was Shuck-tie, or Power.” It is somewhat parallel with St. John’s
“In the beginning was the Word.” This “Power” was like the “Word” of
the Evangelist, a term of broadest import, including power in all its
elements, creative, sustaining, redeeming, sanctifying, destroying,--in
short denoting the whole substance of God, or it _was_ God.

Power manifested itself in three leading ways,--creative, sustaining,
and destroying. First of all, we need creation; so that power of God
(Bromho) which creates, becomes the first. Then, when something has
been created, we need support. The power or providence of God, that
supports the creation becomes the second. Finally, the economy of
nature requires destruction, so the power that destroys is the third.
These three are called a Triad. But it is obvious, that far from their
being the trinity of persons, they are the trinity of the attributes
of the same, one, great Being. These have been personified, and are
worshipped by the philosophical Hindoos, as the three deities.

One remarkable fact worth noticing is, the perfect equality between the
persons of the Hindoo Trinity.

We read in our sacred books, of Bromho (first) offering prayer to
Bishto (second); Bishto paying homage to Shiba (third). Sometimes
Bromho and Shiba worship Bishto, etc.

Compare the Christian Trinity with the Hindoo, with an unprejudiced
mind, and you will recognize a great difference between them. The
former would show its unsoundness when placed in contrast with the
latter. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The first two are
Beings, and the third, which is essentially God himself, is not a
Being, for the spirit of a being cannot be a separate individual. In
Oriental countries, we address one man in various ways; taking one of
his peculiarities, and personifying it in rich allegories. The three
persons of the Godhead must be equal in power, glory, and substance.
There is no equality between the three in the Christian Trinity; at
least, this does not appear satisfactory to one who is unacquainted
with the system. There are numerous indisputable places in the New
Testament, where the subordination of the Son, is set forth in a clear
manner.

The very passages, which are produced to prove the equality of the Son
with the Father, speak in connection of his subordination unto Him.
“All power is given unto me in heaven and earth,” is a passage put
forth, by intelligent men and women, to show that Christ is God. They
put much stress on “_all power_,” while a simple, uninfluenced
mind would put it upon “_is given_;” for whatever is given unto us
does not make us equal to the giver.

The more we receive from him, the more subordinate are we, and the more
thankful ought we to be unto him. The world might call us great, and
be dazzled with our splendor, which is given to us; still the sense of
obligation demands our respect, our thanks, our worship for the Giver.
But Christ did acknowledge his Father as the giver of his wisdom,
power, and honor, and never said that these belonged to himself. Before
or after performing some miracles, when the weak-minded spectators
were liable to have taken him for God, he was particularly careful to
destroy that impression about himself; saying, that he himself could
do nothing; and thanked God for the power which enabled him to perform
wonderful things. He would offer prayer to his Father, soliciting his
smile upon his works. Thus, standing by the grave of Lazarus, he lifted
up his eyes to heaven, and said, “Father, I thank Thee that thou hast
heard me. And I knew that Thou hearest me always: but because of the
people which stand by I said it, that they may believe that Thou hast
sent me.”

Frequently, in view of his mightiest works, he tells us that his Father
is greater than himself. Now, he, who is greater than another, cannot
be equal to him, at the same time. Two and two are always greater
than one and one. With us it might be possible to compete with, and
surpass one who was greater than ourselves, in wealth, learning, and
popularity; but God’s glory is unchangeable. If the Father, who is
distinct from Christ,--being one of the three persons who form the
Trinity,--be greater than Christ, he is forever so. I know there are
some passages, in which Christ identifies himself with God; such as “I
and my Father are one.” “He who hath seen me hath seen the Father.”
Let me give my experience as these passages fixed my attention. It is
an undeniable fact that both the Old and New Testament were written in
Oriental languages, which abound in allegorical idioms.

       *       *       *       *       *

My own thoughts very readily suggested to me the meaning of such
passages. When a plenipotentiary goes out to a foreign people, to
adjust or secure political or mercantile interests for the people or
king who sends him, he might very properly say that he and his king or
people are one. For he speaks and acts agreeably to the instructions
given him by the king or people he represents, and whatever he says and
does has been put into his power.

So Christ says he and his Father who sent him are one. He never did
or said anything against his Father’s will, and so he convinced the
world that he was the Sent--the especial viceroy of “the King eternal,
immortal, and only wise,” on the earth.

It is affirmed by Unitarian divines that, in order that the disciples
might not misunderstand Christ, when he said he and his Father are one,
he explained to them the nature of that oneness or union, by saying,
that the very disciples about him were one with him and with God. “That
they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that
they also may be one in us.” Still it seems to me that the disciples
did not have any difficulty in understanding what he meant by, “I and
my Father are one;” for this is a common expression--a prevailing
phrase--of Oriental lands, and they were familiar with it. When two
or more persons are said to be one, it is obviously meant that they
are of the same spirit, profession, culture, or will. We see in the
New Testament, that simple, unadorned words of Christ puzzled the
Jews more than his figures and allegories. For instance, when Christ
told the sick man, “Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee,”
behold, certain of the scribes said within themselves, “This man
blasphemeth.”

The expression, “I and my Father are one,” does not strike an Oriental
as having some unfathomable, mystic meaning; nor does it convince him
of Christ’s being equal to his Father in glory, essence, and existence.
“He who hath seen me, hath seen the Father.” These words, I am told,
are regarded as the strongest support of Trinitarian doctrine; “Christ
in them declaring most distinctly his identity with God, in every
respect.”

But this is a simple thing again. Ask a Hindoo child of seven or eight
years old, to show you his father’s house. He will direct you to go
straight ahead a few rods till you come to a store, and leaving the
store on your right, to go a little way and you will presently see a
palm-tree; and if you see the palm-tree you see his father’s house.
Does this imply that the palm-tree is his father’s house? No. So the
passage, “He who hath seen me hath seen the Father,” does not convey,
to any one accustomed to the Eastern mode of expressing thoughts,
the idea that Christ is God. The palm-tree of the Hindoo child is so
_near_ to his father’s house that if you see the one you cannot
help seeing the other. Our dear Master exhibited such divine graces in
his life, that it is not blasphemous for him to say, “If ye have seen
me ye have seen the Father.”

I did not dream of a triune God as I studied the New Testament, and
when it was presented to me in the creeds I found no support for that
dogma in the Scriptures. It seems to me that the doctrine of a triune
God, is not able to give “life, comfort, and salvation to the world.”
It is neither essential to, nor a part of, the religion of Christ. It
is the production of Oriental philosophers. In the course of time, it
migrated from the East to the West. As it passed from hand to hand, and
country to country, it lost much of its peculiar beauty. In conclusion,
I should say that an intelligent Oriental finds nothing rational in the
doctrine of the Trinity as it exists among Christians, because he has
seen a better one in his own country. Indeed, to receive this doctrine,
so absurd, so unintelligible, would be as ridiculous for him, as for a
Bostonian to sail to Calcutta for a piece of ice.

_The Total Depravity of Human Nature._--As my time would not
permit me to consider this subject in a way I would like, and thereby
show my reasons for not believing it, I would simply resort to common
sense and the Scriptures to expose the awkwardness of this doctrine. I
fully believe that such enormous doctrine as that of calling a child of
the Most High a totally depraved creature--having nothing good in him,
_is_ not, and ought not to be a part of any man’s creed.

It discourages man. It puts a mountain in his way. It weakens his
faith in a loving Father, when he is told that impartial justice will
hold him responsible for all the iniquities which he was created to
commit. I am aware that believers in this doctrine would say that
the atonement, made by Christ for our sins, has satisfied eternal
justice,--that “the blood of the Lamb has washed our sins.”

    “Bad leads to worse, and better tends to best.”

Admit one absurd theory, and it will bring others of the same nature to
its support.

The doctrine of the vicarious atonement is the centre of gravity which
supports the theory that man is a totally depraved creature. Without
the former, the latter will fall down on the ground, and break to
pieces, and no one would dare regard himself a wholly depraved being.
If I hear that a certain man in my city is an infallible physician to
cure consumption, I would not feel afraid to call my slight cough by
that fatal name--consumption. It troubles me to know what became of the
millions of souls born totally sinners, and who died before the blood
of the Lamb had been shed. Is it possible that our good Father filled
hell with human creatures, who bloomed in their infancy in the garden
of creation,--those simple, pure-minded ones, whom “no murder clothed
and no murder fed,”--who spent their lives in doing good?

       *       *       *       *       *

Perhaps some will tell me that Christ died for all; both those who
lived before his appearance on earth, and those who lived after. Here
is some trouble again.

If I understand rightly, it is said that the mere fact of Christ’s
offering himself, would not wash away our sins. We must believe in
him in order to receive the benefit of his dying. If so, then, even
to-day, there are millions who have no opportunity to hear of Christ;
consequently they cannot believe in him and his gracious atonement.
St. Paul writes, “How then shall they call on him in whom they have
not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not
heard?”

The idea of one man’s suffering, or making atonement for the guilt
of others, is a strange one. In the world we do not see examples
of it. The man who is guilty before the court suffers. His weeping
wife, loving children, and kind parents are not called upon to take
his punishment, much as they might wish to do it. I am reminded of
a poem in the Ramayona. When the god Rama was coming home, the sea
stood before his car, in a human form and thus addressed him: “The
ten-headed,--Rabona, the great tyrant King of Sunka, or Ceylon, stole
away thy wife, and thou didst erect a bridge over, and chain the sea,
to reach his kingdom. O Son of Rhaga, nowhere do I hear of such a
strange decision,--that one commits a crime, and another suffers for
it.”

The total depravity of man’s nature is a doctrine that is not
recognized by Scripture. Of course, there are many places in the Bible
where the sins of man have been set forth in dark colors; but that does
not imply that he is wholly a sinful creature,--born to be so. There
are instances too numerous to mention, both in the Bible and in the
annals of the world’s history, of men and women living a life of purity
and love.

Let us see what the Scripture says,--that God created man in his own
image, is an undeniable fact. “So God created man in his own image, in
the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.” In
what sense is man the image of God? Is he the image of God’s person?
No, it cannot be so. If we say that, we become pagans, and give a
physical form to God. Now, the safest and most rational way to answer
is, to say that he is the image of God’s nature, spirit, and love;
because we recognize glimpses of these Godly graces in man, more or
less. Here comes a proposition that the image of anything must contain
the peculiarity, or some likeness of the original, otherwise it would
not be an image. If I wish to draw a picture or make an image of the
sun, I cannot make it an oblong, triangular, or square figure, I must
make it a circular one; otherwise, people would call me a poor artist,
and the image a wretched one,--the image of some fanciful object, but
not the Sun. God is infinitely pure, holy, perfect in his nature. How,
then, could his image be totally depraved? Again, if man be truly
a depraved creature in his very nature, our Master, then, must have
uttered some sentimental words when he said,“Be ye perfect even as your
Father in heaven is perfect.”

It is hard for us to understand that the image of unbounded Holiness
is totally depraved, and that totally depraved creatures should become
perfect as their “Father in heaven.” Let theologians call man a born
sinner, yet he is not so. The Great Theologian, who knew human nature
well, its capacity, its excellence, bade it “come up higher,” and “be
perfect.”

_The Doctrine of an Everlasting Hell._--I cannot conceive of
anything as everlasting but God. Everything has its end at some time,
or in some way; but God is without end. All but God is subject to
change. He, our good Father, is unchangeable and everlasting. The
Great King is the Sovereign over all,--heaven, and earth, and all the
hosts thereof. If there is a place called hell, it must be before His
omnipresence; for there is nothing that is not known, and seen, and
made by God. He could not create an everlasting hell to torture his
weak, frail children. Whatever He has created is for their good.

Heaven and earth, with all their wonders, unite to contribute to the
welfare of God’s creatures.

Everything that lies within, without, around, or above us, speaks of
God’s unfailing love towards his children. He has placed us under his
moral government, the violation of whose laws brings suffering. The
same is true also in our relation to the laws of Nature. When we break
them we suffer for it; and the suffering is conditional.

I put my hand into a blazing fire, and immediately I feel the effect
of my imprudence. I then take my hand back from the fire, and resolve
not to put it there again. If I try the experiment again, the same
suffering is inevitable.

The All-wise Father has so ordered, that the violation of his
laws, physical or moral, will bring suffering;--suffering produces
repentance;--repentance will beget reformation; and reformation will
meet the approbation and smile of God. Such are his laws, and they must
do their mission. He punishes to cure, and not to kill. “He wounds for
his mercy’s sake,--He wounds to heal.”

“The parable of the Prodigal Son,” verifies this truth. When the son
wanted to have his portion given to him, the good father knew well what
would be his lot, by and by. Yet he did not interfere with his wish,
for he had made him a free moral agent. The child leaves his paternal
abode, and spends his portion, his energies, in riotous living. He
becomes poor, has nothing to eat, and takes care of swine;--the
_very_ menial business in Oriental countries. His sufferings
create repentance in his bosom, and he starts for his father’s home.
What did the father do? Did he say, “Go from me forever, and live
in everlasting misery?” No. He is too good, too loving to say that.
He comes out of the house, welcomes the wanderer back, clothes him
with the best robe, and makes a feast. In the Bible there is mention
of everlasting fire; but the words are not in meaning according to
what they sound. If they were literally true, they would falsify
Christ’s “parable of the prodigal son.” It is a common Oriental way of
describing the state of unhappiness. When a boy I read these things
in Hindoo books. “It is said, Jom, or Death, has his angels, who dip
sinners in boiling oil. They fix large hooks in their throats and drag
them on some high places. They cause them to embrace pillars of fire,
and finally thrust them in ‘Nonuck Coondoo,’ or pit of dirt, in which
‘kit’ (a worm) dieth not.”

I am told that, taking the words of the Bible in a literal sense,
the Christian people believe in many absurd things, and teach them.
For instance, in a Sunday-school book, there is a question like the
following: “Where do the wicked go?” “To hell,” is the answer. All
right. “What kind of a place is hell?” “It is dark, and there the
worm dieth not, and there is fire unquenchable.” Now our common sense
springs up to protest against this unfortunate statement; declaring
that where there is fire unquenchable there cannot be dark at all. Such
a fire would light hell so splendidly as to enable its inmates to pick
up the very sand off its floor,--of course, if there be any.

Heaven and hell are within our own breasts. We experience the joys of
one and the pangs of the other. When we perform our duties faithfully,
and “love our neighbor as ourselves,” we then commune with God and his
angels; and that is what constitutes the joy of heaven. On the other
hand, when we neglect our duty,--seek after carnal lust,--defy God and
man by our thoughts and actions, and thereby bring sorrows, the hatred
of the world, and remorse of conscience--we make hell within us. A pure
and contrite heart is heaven, and a heart that loves self exclusively,
is hell.

Thus I have, very poorly but sincerely, attempted to give my reasons
for not believing in the Trinity,--the total depravity of human nature,
and everlasting torture in hell. To me they are unscriptural and absurd
doctrines. I do not trouble myself with mysteries, but receive the
simple words of Christ as my all-sufficient law, of which, “love to
God, and love to man,” is the essential part.

My Christianity begins where Christ opens his life, and ends where he
closes it. In his words I find my duty towards, and my relation to,
God, clearly defined. In Christ, I find a perfect humanity, and a safe
Guide to liberty, holiness, and love. Skilful orthodox ministers, who
are used to teaching those who are willing to hold their doctrines,
may pick apart these simple things which I have said. It will give them
no pleasure that I, a young man, have come out of the dark ways of my
people, and have found what rejoices my heart in Christ and in his God,
because I do not and cannot take with my blessed Christian faith the
opinions of the orthodox. I know what those opinions are; I knew them
before I gave up Hindooism, and they prevented me for some time from
finding light and joy in the Gospel. I know, too, what many of my own
countrymen, who have the best minds and who have outgrown Hindooism,
think of the views offered them by orthodox missionaries. Intelligent
Hindoos think that what these missionaries wish them to believe, as a
part of the doctrine of Jesus Christ, is very like some of the worst
things in their own religion, which made them doubt it and throw it
off. I know my countrymen will never be converted to these orthodox
views, though some of the missionaries are good men and work hard.
Their doctrines, which we do not find when we read the Bible ourselves,
stand badly in the way of their success. Intelligent Hindoos who throw
off their religion, generally become what are called here, “Infidels,”
or “Deists.” When a Hindoo gives up the superstitious practices of
my country, all the religion which he keeps is by clinging to, and
loving and trying to obey, some beautiful lessons of piety and morality
scattered over his sacred books, which are just like the best things
in the Old Testament. The orthodox missionary tells these Hindoos that
their sacred books are all “humbug.” The missionary is ignorant what is
in those books. At the same time he tells my countrymen that all the
Old Testament was written by God. My countrymen will never change their
religion for “orthodoxy.”




                              CHAPTER V.

   INTEREST IN AMERICA.--DESIRE AND PURPOSE TO GO.--MY FRIEND
   AGREES TO ACCOMPANY ME.--ILL REPORTS OF AMERICA.--HORROR OF
   SLAVERY.--MY FRIEND FAILS ME.--WILL GO ALONE.--ARRANGEMENTS.--MY
   MOTHER.--LAST DAYS AT HOME.--VOYAGE.--ARRIVAL IN AMERICA.--MY
   EXPERIENCES HERE.


As I was studying that phase of the American mind so richly exhibited
in the Unitarian tracts and books,--the sweet eloquence of Channing,
the astonishing clearness of the arguments of Burnap, the spiritual
insight of Bartol, etc.,--I was drawn very close to America. I
thought these people must be wonders, who have been able to sift out
substantial grains from a mass of chaff. Often with an exulting heart,
I have thanked God that the simplicity of the gospel is not lost,--that
the Christianity of the Apostles did not die under the sentence of the
Nicene Council, but is still alive, in good health, and _ever_
will be, until our Master has brought the whole world to subjection
unto his Father and our Father, and the creation bends its knee
before the throne of his God and our God, in the _name_, or more
distinctly, in the _Spirit_ of Christ.

My interest was not confined to the Unitarians of America, but it
extended to the country itself. I wanted to know about the people,
the customs, government, and prosperity of the country as much as
possible. The _very_ few books which I could get hold of,
containing accounts of America, were eagerly perused; and that portion
of the history of England which speaks of the American Revolution, was
read over and over with a throbbing heart. I felt indignant at the
proceedings of England against America, and in my sympathy suffered
with the American people, who I thought were better Christians than the
English. I prayed for and rejoiced at their prosperity, and determined
to visit them some time. Such was my habit of looking at the map of
North America, that the boys at our school used to joke me, saying,
“There, there is your America!” In our family circle every opportunity
was availed of to speak of the United States. My dear mother, who
rejoices at the prosperity of others, and hates tyranny and injustice,
heard with great pleasure of the American Independence. But hearing
me speak so much and so often of America, the younger portion of the
family, such as my sisters, aunt, etc., would joke me whenever an
opportunity was offered. For instance, if I said, “This cloth is not
good,” “You will find a better one in Amārică,” was their joke.

One bright Sunday forenoon, three of us were coming from Bali to
worship at Mr. Dall’s chapel, and a conversation took place upon the
future welfare of Unitarian missions in India. Our valued friend, Baboo
C. C. Singha, suggested that it would be a grand thing for the mission
if some of us who are so closely connected with the mission would go to
visit the brethren in America, tell them of our needs, offer thanks in
our behalf for the blessing they have sent in the person of Mr. Dall,
and bring home their help and sympathy. As for himself, he said he
could do this errand elegantly, were it not for his wife and children
and his school. I responded to his suggestion, and informed him of my
desire,--that this very thing had been the all-engrossing subject in my
mind. There was a young man, a native Christian, who wished to join me,
and thus we reached the chapel, making suggestions, discussions, and
resolutions on our way.

After the service, Chundy Baboo spoke to Mr. Dall about our wish to
visit the American brethren. He approved of it, looked at us with a
kind heart, and gave us encouragement. There was present with us a
gentleman, Mr. J. M. Hurd, of Clinton, Mass., who promised to report us
to the brethren at home, and to ask the American Unitarian Association
to respond to our wishes.

A few months passed away. Advices from Mr. Dall came to our friend C.
C. Singha, Esq., and he asked us if we were ready, and firm in our
position. I told him that I was firm but not quite ready to take a
decided step, as the circumstances under which I lived were against
my plan. The love for my mother was the crowning obstacle. In India
I never could spend three nights without my mother. From the houses
of my sisters I would come home not caring for rain or storm. Again,
I was very particular about taking my meals among strangers: hardly
could I make my dinner unless my mother was sitting by me. I was shy,
homesick, and unhealthy. One thing frightened me more than others,--it
was the food of the American people. They eat animal food, for which
I was not prepared, although I had no prejudice against it. My taste
is peculiar and sensitive. To eat “rare” beef (which in fact is
raw) is out of the question. I could not bear the flavor of duck’s
eggs, which some Hindoos use. Indeed, the charge which the Hindoos
bring against the native Christians, to the effect that they become
Christians for the purpose of eating beef and drinking wine, would not
be justly applicable in my case. For owing to my peculiar taste and
fastidiousness about food and drink, I can say, that during my two
years’ stay in America, I have not eaten as much animal food as the
Calcutta deists use in a fortnight. I have always been unable to eat
custard, which I am fond of, and plumpudding, if they are mixed with
wine,--not for any superstitious hatred against it, but I could not
bear its smell, which, however concealed under other ingredients, is
sure to encounter the acuteness of my senses. Hence, the good lady whom
I boarded with the most of the time in this country, would not use wine
in her cooking, even at the risk of spoiling things for an American
mouth.

Our friend, the young native convert, said he would come to America,
as he was outcasted and had no parents living, and no new sacrifice
to make. He wrote a beautiful letter to the Secretary of the American
Unitarian Association. He was older than I, and had a considerable
knowledge of English literature and life, having been a great deal with
the missionaries. In his character there is a mixture of childlike
simplicity with matured experience; he is a good-hearted young man.
I rejoiced at his earnestness, and hoped some one would join him in
the undertaking. He was speaking of his intended visit to the United
States to a deistical gentleman who is a great English scholar, the
head teacher of a government school, and well informed about European,
but less so, as it appeared, about American communities. My friend
heard him say that the Americans are a rough people, that most of them
are wild, and walk about with bowie-knives, pistols, and other deadly
weapons,--that their government tramples upon the rights and lives of
millions whom it holds in absolute bondage; and, what is more wicked,
that if a man should dare to speak a word against this unjust, inhuman,
and wicked institution, he would be insulted by the community, tried
and imprisoned, or hung by the law.[34]

At this time I saw a book called Uncle Tom’s Cabin, in the parlor of a
rich native merchant in Calcutta. Not knowing the nature and contents
of the book, I opened it and read the letter which a negro woman wrote
to her mistress before her flight with her child towards Canada,--the
Egypt of the slaves. I read of the pursuit of the master,--her crossing
the river Ohio, the hospitality of the Quaker, etc. I, of course,
took the story as fictitious,--something like the Arabian Nights’
Entertainments, for I _could_ not believe that a man could buy
or sell a human being, whatever might be his color, intelligence, or
position. My friends told me that this book gives a true sketch of
American Slavery. I would not at first believe it, and, calling up all
my good feelings towards the American people, came to the following
decision. Slavery might be existing in America,--it is a large country,
and perhaps among the aborigines, who are wild savages, this system is
prevalent. I hoped, also, to hear that the people of the United States
are diligently engaged in driving away the men-sellers. Sad logic! I
saw the picture of the _master_,--a white man, with coat, hat,
and watch-guard. Even then I could not persuade myself to believe that
this man was a citizen of the United States. I thought it was not
necessary to believe that all the white people are good,--these man,
woman, and baby-sellers are heartless ruffians, whom the laws of the
Christian United States cannot always reach. No! I was mistaken still!
They are the Americans,--the descendants of those who had come over
from England. Finally, I concluded that these slaveholders have no
_women_ among them, as the tender, kind-hearted women would have
put the abominable trade to destruction. To my utter surprise, I was
told by my friends that the slaveholders have their families, churches,
pastors, etc.! God only knows with what a sad shock my heart sank down.
I could not but think that in no portion of the globe had the blessed
religion of Christ been made into a machine to work for the selfish
man, to satisfy his cupidity, as it had been in the United States
of America. These men support, by Christianity, that very system of
bondage which Christianity came to destroy. The parable of the master
releasing his servant from his debt, and of that servant tormenting
his fellow-servant for a small sum he had owed him, came into my mind,
and I realized the truth uttered by those wise lips of Jesus twenty
centuries ago. Mr. Dall told me that there are free States in the
Union. This puzzled me again. Union of _free_ and _slave_
States! It must be a queer Union! No! it cannot be so. St. Paul could
not very well understand the communion of things of contrary nature:
“And what communion hath light with darkness?” etc. (2 Cor. vi. 14–16).
The union of fire and water, light and darkness, freedom and slavery
is impossible. So I concluded that there are good antislavery men and
women in America, as it cannot be that human nature there is totally
depraved; but these States must be pro-slavery, since

    “He who friendship with knave hath made,
    Is judged a partner in the trade.”

Reading in a small book something like--

    “The British flag floats over land and sea,
    And beneath it the slave is _free_,”

my joy knew no bounds. Hardly could I read the lines; the tears dimmed
my eyes, and I cried, “Father of the poor, bless the flag of England!
Wave, wave thou mighty flag with the cross on thy bosom, and draw the
low, despised children of God to come under thy protection. Thy charms
melt the iron that binds the feet of slaves! Wave majestically and on
high, that the bond may see thee through the wide country stretching
from Maine to Florida, and from Massachusetts to California!”

After a few months had passed, instructions from the American Unitarian
Association reached Mr. Dall, authorizing him to send a couple of young
men to America, that they might prepare themselves for the ministry
under its care. Mr. Dall asked the young man who had written to the
Association to get ready, and hearing that he could not sail alone,
found another to join him. By and by the first of these began to
make excuses, saying, he would be ready within a year or two, etc.,
while the second stood alone, ready to come provided he could find a
companion. Mr. Dall came to me and laid the affair before me. He did
not urge me, but he reminded me of my promise and inclination to come
to America. I regarded this as an especial call from God, and thus I
prayed: “Father, wilt thou indeed have thy child, who _first_
proposed going to America, carry out the undertaking? I see the cost of
the project: it will deprive me of my mother, sisters, brother, home,
and kindred during my lifetime; yet, if Thou wilt have me make these
sacrifices for the benefit of thy other children, thy will be done.
Enable me, then, to let the dead bury their dead, and to follow the
call of Duty!”

I gave my word to God, through Mr. Dall, and began at once to get
ready, because the call was so sudden that there were only six or seven
days for making the necessary preparations.

I had then been suffering from the effects of a violent sickness,
which had confined me to my bed for twenty-one days, a little while
before. My body was so weak that I could hardly stand long without
holding to something. But this did not frighten me. Within the weak,
unhealthy frame, my moral courage began to move as usual, with vigorous
throbbings, and I determined to sail on the day fixed by my friends.
It required great caution to arrange my things, as it would have been
impossible for me to leave home had any of my nearest relatives known
my purpose. I wrote some letters for my mother, uncle, brother, and
other friends, and hid them under the papers. The contents of these
letters differed according to the person I wrote to; but to no one
did I tell where, why, and how long I should be gone. I begged in my
letters to six different persons that they would take care of my dear
mother,--asking one to visit her occasionally, the second to attend to
her shopping (as the Hindoo high-caste females do not go to stores or
market), a third to read my letters to her, etc.

Three days, I believe, before I left India, my companion and I were
walking on the “_Strand_,” looking at the ships and talking the
matter over. He said the Americans are not trustworthy people,--that
perhaps the captain would take us to some island and sell us to the
savages, etc.

Once more we talked upon the American Slave-Trade. I hear in this
country the pro-slavery people call the Abolitionists fanatics,
affirming that they misrepresent the system, that they exaggerate the
cruelties practised on the slaves by their masters. But the world
beyond the United States does not blame the slaveholders merely for
the true or supposed cruelties practised by them. I hate the system
itself; the very name is a terror to me. As a pea has two pods which
enclose the seeds arranged in order in its womb, so slavery has two
pods, buying and selling human beings, and these enclose in them
vices of all descriptions. They say the slaveholders feed and clothe
their slaves comfortably. This does not justify the system. They do
not deserve our thanks for their kindness to the slaves. Slavery will
be profitable in proportion to the good treatment the _masters_
extend towards the slaves; so that kindness to the slaves is generally
based upon the self-interest of their masters, for which no thanks are
due to them. “If ye love your brethren only what thank have ye? do not
even the publicans so?” Who would thank a farmer that feeds and fattens
his turkeys to make money out of them at the thanksgiving market?

My young friend, with an astonishing forethought, sketched out the
dismal days which would inevitably be our portion if we visited
Christian countries. He informed me of a fact which the Trinitarians
had told him,--that the Unitarians in America are very few in
number--a set of fanatic, daring men, who have no truth, no church,
no fixed organization, etc. This did not frighten me, for I believed
that it is not always the case that truth dwells with the majority.
When God destroyed the world by a deluge, the faith of Noah and his
small household was entirely different from that of the overwhelming
majority, but this made no difference. God approved the truth of this
little band, and rejected others. In regard to the outcast life and its
attendant sorrows, insults, and helplessness, I looked on them with
indifference, believing that there is a Being who knows what I need,
and will provide for me accordingly. In days of sorrows I will lean
towards Him, and be comforted. My good Father is the richest, highest,
wisest, and most merciful Being, so if I trust in him, I shall have no
occasion to regret it. I would not let my heart be troubled with these
things,--with “what shall I eat? what shall I drink? and where withal
shall I be clothed?” and with whom shall I live? “The laborer is worthy
of his hire.” My own dear friends would not keep any social intercourse
with me I know; but God will bring others to me, he will raise kind
hearts to bless and sympathize with me. “When one door is closed
against, hundreds are open to you,” is the Hindoo saying, so I would
follow the call of duty, in hope, courage, and patience; believing that
all things work for the good of him who loves God.

My friend fell back, and I stood alone. Mr. Dall seemed to give up all
hope of sending young men to America, and asked me if I would act like
others. “I have put my hands to the plough and I shall not take them
back,” was my reply.

A rich native merchant of Calcutta had told Mr. Dall that he would give
the passage-money of two young men if they came to America; but as my
young friend fell back, he paid the passage money and other expenses of
one.

The day before my departure I had to go to Calcutta to do some shopping
with Mr. Dall. My dear mother inquired of me the reason of my going to
Calcutta so early in the morning, as I had to go to the school by nine
A. M. I simply said I should probably return in time! but I did not get
home till nine in the evening. Mr. Dall rather injudiciously detained
me in Calcutta, carrying me here and there to see that everything I
needed had been bought. I begged him to dismiss me,--told him to attend
to, and arrange all that was necessary, and it would be agreeable to
me. But he would not. This detention had caused such an alarm in my
house that were it not a true purpose in me to go, I could not have
left home the next morning. I fully realized what the phrase, “wise
like a serpent,” means. As I was passing by the house of a gentleman,
my steps drew the attention of a boy, who cried, “Who are you?” “It is
I, Prosono,” I answered. “Where have you been, uncle? Your mother has
been crying the whole afternoon for you.” With slow steps and anxious
heart, I entered into my mother’s house. “Is it Joguth?” “Yes, mother,
it is I.” I walked into the dining-room to eat my supper, with a heart
full of fear and anxiety. She did not speak a word, but sat by me and
bathed the floor with her tears. I looked towards heaven, and my spirit
whispered, “Father, this is the beginning of the tears that must flow
from those loving eyes of my mother! Kind, loving, affectionate as she
is, I must leave her and follow the call of Him who said, “Who is my
mother?” I desire to be “about my Father’s business,” so strengthen me
to bear this separation. In Thee I recognize a heart more tender than
that of earthly mother. Most High, I would not look _around_ me
in this juncture, but _above_, for all the help I need.” After I
had finished my supper, she spoke, “Child, I heard that you had gone to
America.” This information was given to her by a friend whom I had told
that I should go to America very soon.

I leave the reader to imagine what kind of a night I had. Early in
the morning my dear mother, as usual, went to bathe in the Ganges. A
young lady had given me her ornament to carry to a goldsmith to have
it mended, as I was a friend to the low castes in general. I felt
that I ought to bring the ornament from the goldsmith and return it
to her, because if I did not, the lady would not know whom to ask for
it, and neither would the artist know to whom to return it, as it was
given to him in private. I went to that man, but he was not at home.
In vain I searched for him in several places where he was supposed to
be, and I could not wait any longer, because my mother would expect
me to breakfast. I returned home by half past eight, I believe, took
my bath as usual, and entered into the dining-room for breakfast. The
day before was the fast day of the Brahmun widows. So when my dear
mother sat down to help me she looked very tired, after twenty-four
hours’ entire abstinence from food and drink. I put the things into
my mouth but had no strength to chew them. A deep anxiety, love for
my mother, the thought of separation, seemed to fill my heart, and I
cast side glances at her face, for I knew that if I lived a hundred
years as a Christian, after my return from America, I should not be
allowed to sit at meal on this floor and near my dear mother. She
noticed the uneasy feelings, and asked, “Joguth, what is that cloud
on your face? You look very pale. Are you unwell, child? Tell me what
ails you,--I am your mother. Can’t you confide in me?” etc. I knew not
what to say at first, and answered, “Mother, a young man has a great
many things to think about.” After breakfast I entered into my bedroom
and she followed me there. Not knowing what to take and what to leave,
I walked from one end of the room to the other, putting my hand upon
my clothes, books, pictures, etc. I sat on my bed, and whispered, “No
more will my tired, sleepy, or sick body lie on thy bosom; no more from
thee my voice will rise, in midnight gloom, to the throne of grace;
no more shall I bathe thee with tears, which are counted and known by
Him only who knows no sleep.” My mother said it was almost time for
me to go to school. So I got up and thought I would not loiter about
the room as it would create suspicion in my mother, and perhaps all
my cherished plans and precaution would be crushed and frustrated. I
must go without scrip--without a second suit of clothes--just as I am.
The celestial voice bids me to “let the dead bury their dead;” and so
I must not look at these things, my books, clothing, etc., useful as
they are. God will provide me with all I need; I would “come and see,”
with a filial confidence, how good my Father is. Just as I was, with
one shirt and one mantle on my body, I went out of the room. My mother
came after me, and said, “Child, how long it will take you to learn to
wear your own clothes properly,” and began to button my shirt or outer
garment. I saddened at the thought that on my return from a Christian
country, those fingers that fix my shirt now would not touch _me_.
The last words I heard from her mouth were these, “Joguth, do not eat
confectionaries on the way: you are sick, and can’t digest those rich
things, child. Come right home after the school, and you will find your
supper ready.” “Mother,” thought I, “the supper which you so kindly
wish to prepare for me will be, I am afraid, a two-edged sword for you.
I do not know where I shall take my supper to-night,” etc.

Thus equipped with moral courage, taking no money, nor clothing, but
a trusting heart, I left home and its inmates never to enter therein
again, as my own. I commended my kind mother and other dear friends to
the care of Him, the good Father of all.

In order to make another effort in relation to that young lady’s
ornament, I called at the goldsmith’s house, but with no better
success. A dear young Brahmun friend, who is a hearer of Mr. Dall,
and to whom I had confided my secrets, informed me that if I would go
with him to a public woman’s house, I might possibly find the artist
there. As there was no time to lose, and the ornament must be obtained
and returned to the owner, I agreed to his suggestion. There, on the
Ganges, stood the cottage of sin, and as we knocked at its outer door,
a female voice inquired, “Who are you?” “Please let us go in,” said my
friend. “No,” she said, “first tell me what you want, and then I’ll
see whether I can let you in or not.” “I want to see Ombika for a
minute, and that is all.” “Ombika is not here,” she said, and we heard
her voice no more. “What is to be done?” I said. “You come with me,”
my gallant friend replied; “there is a large opening on the wall which
would be a capital approach for us to get into the house.” I hesitated
a little, but he said I must do it, under the necessity,--that these
cunning girls must be intruded upon that way. Slowly we walked to the
opening, which was large enough to admit us both into the house. We
found the artist there, and I asked him to return the ornament to me.
He began to make excuses, said it was not quite ready, but would take a
couple of days to finish it. “Friend,” said I, “I cannot wait a couple
of hours for it. I am going to a distant place, so please return it to
me just as it is.” He talked and argued about the matter, and wanted to
know how long I would be gone. Of course, I could not tell him directly
about my plans. He returned the ornament partly done. It would not have
been safe _at all_ for me to have returned it to the owner for two
reasons: first, that she lives so near my mother that if I went to her
my mother would the first person to see me, and her fears and surmises
would be doubly confirmed by my untimely return from the school;
secondly, the young lady would feel surprised to find her jewelry half
finished, and suspect my proceedings, and inform my mother accordingly.
“Be wise as serpents and harmless as doves,” is a saying full of
wisdom. I called a boy, whom I knew to be very good and reliable, and
said, “Will you take this package, to P----, to-morrow, and tell him
that I desire him to give it to T----?” I charged him to see P---- the
next day, because if the young lady received her ornament the same day
the matter would be worse,--my mother would know it, and my friends
would at once start in pursuit of me. The good boy performed his
mission satisfactorily I heard. I begged my friend, who helped me to
find the goldsmith, to go to my mother two days after I had left, and
tell her about the letters I had written and hidden in my desk. While
passing by an apothecary’s I remembered that I owed him a little money,
and paid him with the small silver pieces I had in my pocket.

Much as I wished to reach Calcutta before the high tide, I could not.
I asked the boatmen to land me at Bag-bazzar, at the lower part of the
city, whence I proceeded to Mr. Dall in a covered Palkee, or Palanquin,
as foreigners call it.

Desiring to get a musical instrument (a flute), that I might practise
with it on board the ship, and thereby cheer up the lonely hours, I
tried hard, but could not succeed. Mr. Dall said he would bring me one,
but, whether for want of money or of time, I do not know, he failed
to do it. As I must embark right off before my friends could arrest
me, Mr. Dall took me to his room and asked me to wear pants, cap, etc.
O, I _hated_ to do it, fearing the people, even the low-caste
boatmen would laugh at me. I told him that there was no necessity for
my wearing this strange costume here in Calcutta, that if I had got
to do it, I would do it at sea. He would not hear my reasons. I told
him again that the English dress would not help me to become a good
Christian,--it would only make me look like the strangest and ugliest
creature in the world. Fortunately my logic prevailed, and we got in a
carriage with our respective dresses.

The ship Sabine, that brought me to this country, belongs to Mr.
Tredick, of Portsmouth, N. H. Not knowing where she was lying at
anchor, we came down the river as far as Bishops’ College and had to go
back again. She was near Baboo ghaut. Leaving me on board the ship,
Mr. Dall returned to the city with a view to bring the necessary things
for the voyage. After dark, our party of four sat at the table, and
another, the cabin boy, waited upon us. They all drank wine and ate
smoked fish. The smell of these two things was so disagreeable that I
thought that they were fit only for savages. One of the party, a young
man with a large round face (the second mate), began to sing comic
songs and make music with his feet, striking them on the cabin floor.
The words of one of his songs were like these--

    “I love her, but she doesn’t love me!
    She loves another. O dear, who can that be?”

By and by the captain, Mr. Hendee, came on board with a few friends,
and they all entered into an adjoining cabin. I retired to sleep, but
these gentlemen made such a noise the most part of the night that
I doubt whether the people within half a mile had any rest at at
all. The corks coming out of the wine-bottles with loud reports, the
gentlemen knocking on the floor, their songs and imperfect utterance of
“Fa-re-well,” all these filled my heart with new and various thoughts.
I feared if these men were to be on board all the way, I had better
learn Christianity in Calcutta, and not take the voyage to America.
The first part of their singing was very good I enjoyed one song
especially,--

    “I am bound for the land of Canaan,” etc.;

but as they got under the influence of new or old wine, their songs
changed into--

    “For to-night we will merry, merry be.”

The knocking on the floor grew so violent that I feared they would
either hurt their feet or break the boards; and a Sanscrith saying
came into my mind: “The animal with long, pointed horns and sharp
teeth, and a man with wine in his stomach are to be avoided alike.”
By midnight I heard some one vomiting, and remembered the saying that
the pleasures arising from dissipation and sensuality very soon bring
sickness and misery.

Early on the next morning, Wednesday, January 27, 1858, Mr. Dall came
on board with all the necessaries for a four months’ voyage, and went
down as far as the mouth of the Ganges, returning to Calcutta on Friday
by the steam propeller that brought our ship down. Among various kind,
useful, and fatherly counsels, he warned me not to learn the profane
language that is freely used on board the ship, and wanted to know if
I had any farewell words to say to him. “Take care of my dear mother,”
was my charge to him, which he has carried out in Christian ways. He
also made a little blank-book for me which he called my “Journal,” with
the following advice and instructions:--


                               JOURNAL.

“I left Calcutta on Wednesday, January 27th, 1858, for Boston, United
States of America.


                              _Resolves._

“(1.) I will read the Bible as often as I can, and stay my lonely heart
on God by faith, prayer, and trust in Jesus Christ.

“(2.) I will daily pray the Lord’s Prayer, and rest all my anxieties
on ‘Give us THIS DAY our daily bread,’ and on ‘THY WILL, not mine, BE
DONE.’

“(3.) I will try to read the Bible _through_, from Genesis to
Revelation, on this voyage, and will make a record, if possible, of the
best thoughts as they suggest themselves to me.

“(4.) In the Bible I shall look for my comfort; in the history and
devout trust of the patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, from Abraham
(Genesis, 12th chapter),--‘The Lord said to Abraham, Get thee out of
thy country, from thy kindred and from thy father’s house, and thou
shalt be a blessing,’--through the Psalms of David, not forgetting the
25th and 26th. ‘The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,’ and ‘They
that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth,
bearing precious seed (i. e. of faith, hope, and holy purposes), shall
doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves (fruits of
his toil) with him.’ God grant it may be so with you, Philip, my son,
my firstborn in India. God help you! Do you struggle, with God’s help,
to be an honor and praise to your family, your city, your country,
and your friends, both in India and America, more and more as long
as you live, and when called to depart out of this world, may it be
to dwell with pure-minded spirits,--with the holy angels, and with
the just made perfect in heaven. Read the _Old_ Testament, but
make the _New_ your refuge and your rest. Trust in Jesus’s call,
‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give
you rest;’ ‘Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and
lowly in heart, and you shall find rest unto your souls.’ Matt. x. 29.
And again, I will have perfect faith in Jesus’s saying (as in Matt. x.
29), ‘Verily I say unto you, There is no man that hath left house or
brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or lands for my sake and
the Gospel’s, but he shall receive a hundred fold now in this present
time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and lands, with
persecution, and in the world to come eternal life. But many that are
first shall be last and the last first.’

“Often say,--

    “‘Jesus, I my cross have taken,
      All to leave and follow thee;
    Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
      Thou from hence, my all shalt be.

    “‘Perish every fond ambition--
      All I’ve gained, hoped, or known,
    Yet how rich is my condition,
      God and heaven are still my own!’


                         “_A True Christian._

“Let me strive to be a student and educator; a worthy representative
of my country; an ambassador from Asia to America; a mediator between
the East and the West; the bearer of pure and precious hopes between
two opposite sides of the world; a man of faith and love; a student of
human life; a seeker of knowledge in distant lands; a follower in the
steps of prophets and apostles, of Abraham and St. Paul; a practical
believer in human brotherhood; a pilgrim on the face of the world,
seeking pearls of knowledge; a servant, minister, and angel of God; a
man whose name is written in heaven; a man appointed by God to bring
together the ends of the earth; a leader and a pioneer to begin the
great work of union between the sincere and devout spirits of America
and Bengal.


            “_Things to be done if possible while at Sea._

“(1.) Get the list of the Books of the Bible by heart so as to
facilitate reference to them.

“(2.) Make all the progress I can in my Greek Grammar, that I may thus
come into nearer contact with Jesus’s words of everlasting life.

“(3.) Translate into Bengalee (prose or verse) those great thoughts of
the Bible which move me most deeply. Above all, put them into Bengalee
hymns, and so prepare in due time an original Bengal Hymn-Book.


                       “_Direction of Letters._

“To the care of the Rev. C. H. A. Dall, Calcutta, India, Overland Mail,
via Southampton.

“When you reach Boston, you will find letters from Calcutta waiting you
at the office of Dr. Miles, which is No. 21 Bromfield Street, Boston.

“Ask any Boston friend to forward your letters, enclosed in his, and he
will do it. Mrs. Dall will do it once a month, if you wish.


                       “_I will remember daily_,

“(1.) To _speak out_ clearly every word I wish to say, and look
straight in the face of the person I speak to.

“(2.) To say promptly, ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir,’ to every question.

“(3.) To walk my full number (200, 300, 400,) of rounds on deck;
exercise essential.

“(4.) When any one speaks to me my first duty is to _look at him_
with respectful attention.

“(5.) To practise writing my name after a good copy.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In regard to carrying out the above rules successfully, the reader will
understand it perfectly, when I say that as to the _first_, the
ship rode on the blue waves of the Bay of Bengal, I felt sea-sick, and
got rid of it only on the day when I arrived in Boston. Nearly _four
months_, this great monarch, the most disagreeable of all diseases,
had an undisputed sway over me. Occasionally, in very mild weather,
I could walk a little and move about on the deck. My constitution is
very peculiar,--I shall never get used to the sea. It seems to me
that if I were forced to spend my life on the sea, it would be under
constant sea-sickness. A trifling motion makes me sea-sick. I have
frequently been made sick in riding in stages. On my way from Fitchburg
to Templeton, by stage, I felt so miserable, that a good lady, Mrs.
J----, kindly invited me to come to and spend the night at her house.

It is customary in this country to offer the “rocking-chair” to a
guest. I always refuse it with thanks, for fear of its making me
sea-sick. On board the ship I could sit at the table at regular hours
most of the time. Knowing that nothing but _land_ would cure this
ugly feeling, I hoped that some provision, or water would be used up,
and thus compel the captain to touch at some place for fresh supplies.
But he had enough of everything.

While we were in the river our table was furnished with fresh
vegetables and fish, but as we launched forth into the ocean, we had
almost everything salted. Never accustomed to eat meat I found it
difficult to get along, as most of the edibles on board consisted
of salt meat of various kinds. Two days in the week we used to have
pea-soup and rice and curry. To be true and just to the Sabine, I
should say she had a large supply of provisions of various kinds,
which an American would regard as “real _treats_.” But I could
not relish most of them, being a stranger to their name and nature.
Mr. Dall had a large bunch of bananas, some tamarinds, etc., for me,
which became very serviceable to me for a fortnight. As the Hindoos are
taught to share eatable things with their friends, I gave some fine
bananas to the mates, the boy, etc. After a week I offered them some
again; but one partook of them, and the other refused them with thanks.

Now once, at midnight, a large, dirty hand was thrust into my
state-room and pulled some bananas from the branch; I did not know who
that hand belonged to. The same hand helped itself with my fruits again
the next day, and I could not help smiling. When I had offered them to
the brethren, they felt delicate and declined to accept them, and at
midnight came to help themselves. I took the bunch out and distributed
its contents among the sailors.

The captain, Hendee, was _very_ kind to me. As I was the
_only_ passenger, and had none to speak to (as the sailors are not
allowed to speak to any while on duty), I found Captain Hendee very
agreeable. Mr. Dall could not have put me into the care of a better
man than Mr. Hendee. He was a friend, teacher, guard, and pastor to
me. Every day he would take notice of what I had done, how much I had
read, what exercise I had taken, etc. Occasionally he would explain
some difficult passages in the New Testament and other books. When less
sea-sick, in mild weather, I used to read from the following books:
Waverley Novels, the Life of Napoleon, Pope’s Poetical Works, The
Tower of London, Paul and Virginia (in Bengalee), Dr. Kane’s Arctic
Explorations, the Bible, and Channing, etc. Besides, Captain H. had
American papers, such as Gleason’s Pictorial, the Olive Branch, and the
New York Ledger. This last paper did not give a good idea of American
people. Its stories I found to be fictitious love affairs, sentimental.
I felt surprised to think that such stories were put into the hands
of the boys and girls,--these will certainly corrupt them, and create
romantic, short-lived affections in their hearts. The Hindoo parents
do not read nor tell the stories of love affairs to their children,
because the influence of such things is very bad upon the young. They
fill their hearts with strange passions, which do not belong to them.
Hence, in this country I hear so much of elopement, coquetry, strange
unions between a boy of eighteen or twenty, and a woman of fifty!

Mr. Hendee undertook to teach me American etiquette, the discipline
at the table, in the parlor, etc., but he is such a jolly man that
whatever he taught I took for fun. He would ask me every morning, and a
great many times during the day, “Philip, how do you feel?” My answers
varied according to the true state of my feelings. While sick, I said
so, and while cheerful, I said _so_. But this would not satisfy
him. So he taught me to answer him as follows: “Philip!” “Sir.” “How do
you feel?” “All serene.” Then he would respond, “_Salubrious_.” He
told me, in fun, no doubt, that in Divinity Schools they make such long
prayers, that the students find their limbs stiff, having had to kneel
down so long. I hoped my friends would not put me in a school like
those, that would cause me to go home lame after prayers.

We had a remarkably pleasant voyage. Very few storms were experienced
on our way. One day, after a severe squall, Captain Hendee sat on the
gangway, tired yet cheerful, and, as usual, cried, “Philip, how do you
feel?” He asked me what I thought of the late squall, and hearing me
speak indifferently of it, said, “Philip, you are just like a baby that
knows not what is going on before him,” etc. And then he began to sing,
“From all that dwell below the skies,” etc. He would not hear any one
swear in the cabin, and often would say, “Mr. C., (the second mate,)
don’t, don’t.”

Every soul on board was kind to me, and I trust I was not less to them.
“Antoon,” a Spanish sailor, hearing that I did not eat salt meat, gave
me a sharp exhortation. “You are no good Christian! Me, the captain,
Mr. B., etc., are good Christians. We eat beef, ham, pork, plenty,--we
fat,” putting his hand on his stomach.

After a voyage of four months, we reached Boston on the midnight of
24th of May, 1858. Early in the morning, I got up from my bed and
waited for some friend, who, as Mr. Dall had told me, would come
to take me into the town; but none came, not knowing, as yet, of my
arrival. One by one the sailors left the ship, and I was on board
with “Antoon.” The whole day passed, yet no Unitarian friend made his
appearance to welcome me to the distant land. Not knowing what to eat,
hungry and low, I sat on the gangway to gaze upon the harbor. I was
delighted to see “Dorchester Heights,” which I took for a mountain, as
I had not seen any high ground before. Looking at the buildings around
the harbor, I believed they were churches, on account of the chimneys
which our Calcutta houses do not have. In order to spend the time and
forget hunger, I began to draw a sketch of the Navy Yard, East Boston
Ferries, etc. As the demands of nature must be met, I took a piece of
hard, square cracker and a little brown sugar, and made a supper of
them. In the evening I left the ship and ventured to go on shore in
East Boston, although “Antoon” feared I should get lost. Going a little
way I came to a place where a young couple were sitting near the water.
The girl went down to see whether the water tasted salt or fresh. I
knew then that, “even in heaven there are fools.” Anybody who has even
read of or seen the sea and its ways, knows, I am sure, that the water
therein is salt.

Next morning Mr. Hendee came on board and inquired if I were crying.
I told him that my heart was crying indeed. He sent his boy to escort
me to the office of the American Unitarian Association. As I passed
through the streets I was struck with the neatness of all around me,
except the dirty tobacco-chewers and cigar-smokers. The sidewalks were
novel to me. Although there are thousands of foreign or Western women
in Calcutta, I never was so near to them as to have any idea of their
dress. The dress of the females struck me, and I guessed there must be
some framework within, as it could not be that a woman would have such
large limbs. I feared to walk too close to a woman, lest by coming in
contact I should break her framework. But they walked so fast by me,
that I felt thankful that their frameworks did not tear my coat.

By eleven o’clock the boy brought me to the office where a young man,
Mr. Fox, spoke to me kindly, and said if I waited a couple of hours
I might meet Dr. Miles, the Secretary of the Unitarian Association.
There came in an elderly-looking gentleman, who, being informed of
my mission, conducted me to the church in Bedford Street, in which
the meeting of the Association was in session. I stood in a small
room leading into the church, and the gentleman took the letter of
“greeting and introduction” from me, and went in and put it in the
hand of the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, the President. I heard my friends say
that only a half an hour before my appearance, the Secretary had told
the congregation that he was expecting me every day. I was led to the
platform, the President received me by his right hand in the name of
the American Unitarian Association, and gave me a chance to speak a few
words, which I did. My appearance was so sudden, that I did not know
what to say until I opened my mouth; but he who assured his disciples
that they would receive words from above, favored me with the promised
gift. The meeting looked so solemn to me, that the impression it made
in my mind shall never be forgotten. The Secretary of the American
Unitarian Association took me to his house, where I stayed nearly a
week. I had dreamed while on the sea that the secretary was a man of
light complexion, without a beard, moustache, or whiskers, that he had
a daughter seventeen years old, and I would stay at his house. These
proved to be really true in every respect. In the evening of the same
day I attended the Unitarian Festival in the Music Hall, where again I
had to speak a few words to the brethren.

I had read about Christian fathers, mothers, and families, while in
India, but now at Dr. Miles’s I realized all. The gathering of each
member of the family at the same table, the exchange of kind greetings
between the sexes, their songs and innocent frolics, made me think that
these, when perfected and guarded with unfeigned simplicity, and done
absolutely for the glory of God and the good of man, are what might be
angelic.

After staying a week at Dr. Miles’s, I went to board with Mrs. M----,
only a few doors below his house. This excellent family did not treat
me as a boarder, but adopted me as one of its members. Good Mrs. M----
says she lost her son of my age, who died at sea; so she regards me
as her son. Not merely in words did they say so. In their untiring
attention to my wants, in their perpetual anxiety about my welfare,
they have shown a mother’s and sister’s hearts. They have done unto me
what I could not expect from them. They resorted to every available
means to make me comfortable. I owe my health and freedom from sickness
mainly to their care. I did not know well the flexibility of the
weather here, so could not dress accordingly. I did not learn to dress
properly, nor even know the names of many pieces of clothing until now.
It would take a long time if I entered into details of their kindness.
So I will pass on to notice my other homes and friends in America. The
Executive Committee of the Association desired me to spend the summer
months in studying with a country clergyman. Accordingly, on the 6th
of July, Dr. Miles took me to Rev. James Thurston’s, in Lunenburg,
Mass. Of course I felt very much confused at the frequent removals
from place to place, as such a custom is unknown to the Hindoos. This
is a charming place in regard to scenery, and, above all, I liked it
for its many hills, which I am fond of. The kindness of the family
soon cured my home-sickness for Boston, and I entered into my studies
with a cheerful heart. There was one source of pleasure here which I
did not have in either of my two Boston homes: that is children, of
whom our Blessed Teacher said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” The
inhabitants of this quiet place, both my Unitarian brethren, as well
as other denominations, were very kind to me. The Orthodox and the
Methodist clergymen, too, manifested much interest in my mission.

The Methodist brother has more than once cordially invited me to speak
to his people. The first time I spoke in the Methodist church I had
rather a novel experience. It was while I was speaking that a brother
close by shouted “_Amen!_” I thought it was a hint for me to stop,
as in Unitarian churches, “Amen” is only uttered by the ministers
at the close. As it was a wrong place to stop I made a long pause,
thinking that if they really wished me to stop the pastor would rise
and offer benediction; but nothing of this kind happened. I proceeded,
and to my utter confusion, “Amen! Amen!” from different parts of the
church. Immediately I stopped and was going to ask pardon, while “go
on, brother, go on,” etc., revived my sinking spirits. At the close the
good brethren explained to me what they meant by “Amen.”

On the second of October I removed to Boston, to Mrs. M----’s, in
Allen Street, and there stayed until the twentieth of January. Then
my course was toward Medfield, Mass., a place not so charming as
Lunenburg, but it has more people in it. My host and teacher here was
Rev. S. W. Bush, who is said to be, and I am sure is, an excellent
scholar and good Christian. As my stay with him has been longer
than with others in this country, I had a good chance to notice his
fatherly love for me, and his sanguine interest in the cause of Truth.
Every morning and evening, while at home, his prayer has unceasingly
risen to the Throne of Mercy for my welfare, and for the success of
the Gospel in all countries. His wife, as far as I can judge, is a
remarkable woman, social, refined, wise, literary, and good. Both
the husband and the wife have contributed much towards my mental and
spiritual culture. The people in this town of Medfield were kind to
me, a stranger, and nothing has happened during my sojourn among them
to pain my feelings. Besides Mr. Bush and wife, there were a good old
lady and daughter,--the owner of the house we lived in, who were not in
the least slow to confer their blessings and helps whenever I needed
them. The other clergymen of the place, one a Baptist and the other
Orthodox, were not wanting in the spirit of love in their acquaintance
with me. Our good brother, Rev. Mr. Sewell, deserves my regards and
notice too. He is a Unitarian clergyman, preaching to the Society in
Sharon. Besides his ministerial labors he does a great deal to promote
the welfare of his fellows, and is connected with several beneficent
institutions. He is an experienced farmer, a judicious manager of
the schools, and a good, kind gentleman. I have had the pleasure of
spending several happy hours with this Christian man.

In order to spend the “second winter,” which is trying to those from
warm climates, in Boston, as well as to receive instruction from the
clergymen there, I removed to Boston, where I stayed till the day
appointed for my start for India, Monday, the 11th of June, 1860. I
cannot drop my pen here without recognizing the kindness of my other
dear friends to whose care my Father has committed me. I hope the
reader will not regard me impertinent if I notice some of my friends
by their names. I know there are others in Boston and in other places
in the Union, whose hearts beat in Christian sympathy for me, who
have shown their interest in various _material_ ways. As they
do not tell me their names, I cannot enjoy the happiness of thanking
them personally. My Father who knoweth all and “seeth in secret
shall reward” them openly. Being absent from my dear mother, I first
recognized a motherly affection in the heart of Thomas Gaffield, Esq.,
of Boston. I cannot call his love and interest in me by any other
name, as they were not common nor temporary. During my stay in this
country, whether in Boston or in other places, he has exhibited an
unabated interest in me, has attended to all my personal affairs, and
I sincerely hope, while I am gone to work for God, his heart will find
its way to India. His Christian wife and sisters have been equally kind
and attentive. Mrs. G----, of Concord, Mass., will be remembered ever
for one among many other things. After my arrival in this country,
Dr. Miles removed me from place to place as a raw chess-player does
his Knight. My other friends did not have the opportunity of knowing
whether I had all the clothing that I needed. The garments I had
already were either too loose or too tight. Uncomfortably as I felt,
I knew not to whom to go for relief. But there is one who is not
unmindful of even the trivial wants of his children. He whispered to
his noble daughter in Concord, and she, with other kind young ladies,
made me comfortable clothing. Her interest for me did not drop down
with her needle and thimble, but is fresh, and will be, I trust, as
long as I stand a worthy recipient. The Christian ladies of Rev. Mr.
Muzzey’s Society in Newburyport, deserve my hearty thanks for their
sympathy shown me in different ways. Besides the contributions given
for my benefit, these daughters of God worked fancy articles and held a
fair, the proceeds of which were given for my personal comfort.

That noble woman, Mrs. L. M. Child, favored me with her acquaintance
lately, and I might name many other kind friends. I deem it a privilege
and honor to have become known to such persons. Reluctantly I pass
by my excellent friends and earnest Christian helpers, such as Rev.
Messrs. Hale, Bartol, Winckley, King, Ellis, Clarke, etc. The last
friends that my Father brought to me are Mr. and Mrs. Spring, of
Eagleswood, N. J. Since I became acquainted with them I believe that
this gentleman is really “_Spring_.” His heart knows no winter.
Such is his pleasant appearance and such are his Christian graces, that
in a few moments I felt myself drawn as closely to him as if I had
known him always, and as if his heart was my “OLD HOME.”

The little children even have been kind to me and brought me their
little presents. The first gift which I received in America, a handsome
Bible, was from a little thing, Miss Lucy Sands, whom I called in the
language of Bishop Heber, “Golden Sands.” A little girl in Newburyport
sent me twice some copper and silver pieces, making fifty cents in all.
She is the daughter of an Orthodox divine. A little child like this, so
full of love and kindness in her heart, does not look like a “totally
depraved” creature, although her father’s theology would call her such.

If my paper has no room for other kind friends, or my pen has forgotten
to chronicle their names, yet I know my heart has room for them all
and will never forget them. Their names have been recorded in the Book
of God, who will reward them abundantly for their kindness toward
one who is a stranger, and an outcast for the sake of the Truth.
The benediction of our Master will certainly be pronounced upon them
saying: “Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared
for you from the foundation of the world,” for “Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one of the least of my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”




                               FAREWELL!


    BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN THE FAITH:--

The time has come for me to bid you farewell. The circumstances under
which I came here just two years ago, and the circumstances under which
I return to India, are quite different from each other. I came with
fear, weakness, and low spirits. I go with courage, strength, and hope.
I came here a runaway from the Hindoos, without scrip, or a second suit
of clothes, but go with all the necessary help with which you have
provided me.[35] I came to a strange land, with little hope of finding
friends, and I go now with the pleasant memories of many friends, whose
hearts, prayers, and sympathies will accompany me in my labor in the
harvest of the great King.

I have availed myself of every opportunity to improve, to store my mind
with useful information. But I have studied or read very few books
during my stay among you. The main subject of my study has been Human
Nature in its different editions and volumes. The only possible way of
knowing God and his righteousness is through human nature. The image
beareth the likeness of the original,--the son inherits his father’s
nature in a degree; so our common Father manifests himself in his
child, man. Corrupted, mistaken, sinful as he is, you will find a great
deal in him to remind you of his Father. In us there are only extracts
from the sacred subject, God; but in our Elder Brother it is complete.
Whatever we are permitted to know of God, and as much as is necessary
for our life, comfort, and salvation, we may learn in the great volume
of humanity to which Christ gave “the finishing stroke.”

My friends had very many fears about my coming. First, I should return
to India with the vices and dirty habits of this country, such as
drinking wine and spirits, smoking cigars, etc. Second, I should not
be able to stand the severe winter of this country. Third, being among
the clergymen, who are said to be more sectarian than their people, I
should go home a narrow-minded Christian. But I am happy to say, as
far as my near-sighted eyes can see, that I stand above these fears.
I never was in the habit of drinking wine or using tobacco in any
form, and in this country I have carefully avoided these dirty things.
Eating much or little meat is another ugly habit in the opinion of
the Hindoos, and the native converts are often charged with becoming
Christians simply for the purpose of eating “cow and hog.” Although I
have no prejudice against meat, yet I presume that owing to my peculiar
taste, I have not eaten as much meat in two years, as a boy or girl of
ten in New England would eat in six weeks, especially if “Thanksgiving”
day should fall within them.

Having had no idea what an American winter was, I came unprepared; yet
I have not suffered in the least in these two years. The very coldest
days you had in the winter before the last, I rode in an open sleigh
over the hills of Lunenburg, without anything to cover my ears. In the
last winter, on the second of January, I rode in a similar conveyance
from Medfield to Boston with no protection for my ears. Thus, I have
passed unharmed through real winter days. Again, the good husbandman
who brought me a tropical plant from his garden into this part of
the world, put me in the green-house of your hearts, whose warmth, I
perceive, is as genial as that of the glorious luminary that shines
over the land of my fathers. Brothers and sisters, your hearts never
stood below zero in my case, never reached the freezing-point, but
always were warm, affectionate, kind.

In regard to the narrow, sectarian feelings of a bigot’s heart, I think
I have very little to fear. I do not condemn nor hate _any_ body
for his creed; yet, as a firm believer in the undivided Unity of our
God, I differ very much from some others. But I pray to God that I may
daily learn to love all his children. I like the creed-makers but not
their creeds, if they contain anything that is absurd and untrue. I
trust I have within this slender frame a heart whose commodious hall
can accommodate Unitarians, Trinitarians, Mohammedans, and Hindoos; for
He who has given it to me has given it on purpose that it might hold
all His children.

My visit, on the whole, has been a satisfactory one. Nothing seriously
disagreeable has happened to injure my health, heart, or usefulness. No
country has a canopy of clear sky over it always, no heart is beyond
the reach of sorrows. The dark clouds have hung over my head, and
thunders have rolled noisily, yet my earnest eyes have seen a clear
firmament beyond, and I can say with fulness of heart,--

    “In trouble and in grief, O God,
    Thy smile hath cheered my way,
    And joy has budded from each thorn
    That round my footsteps lay.”

The practical confidence in God’s parental care is a source from which
I draw consolation, courage, and strength. May we all truly believe
that our Father is good, and that his whole counsel aims for the
eternal welfare of his children. My second source of joy, courage, and
hope is my “confidence in man.” I do not wish to loose my trust in him.
If I am deceived by ninety and nine, I would still have confidence
in the remaining one. Thus with such views of God as a good, loving
parent, and with such feelings toward man as a trustworthy brother, I
hope to make my way while a sojourner in this beautiful world of God.

In this connection I would ask pardon if I have in any way pained,
offended, or done injustice to any. I know not that I have done so.
Yet how many things we do unawares. A kind lady wrote me a letter and
gave me some scoldings, saying that I had pained a great many for the
seeming coldness of my heart, that when people came to shake hands with
me and speak to me, I did not take respectful notice of them. This,
however, is a new thing in my nature. Those who know me know well the
average temperature of my heart. It might be (as she says) that, in
public gatherings, when tender greetings have crowded upon me, from
many persons at once, perhaps I have failed to speak to all. But this
is excusable, I know. How can one person speak to several at a time?
Frequently I have met four, five, or six brethren or sisters round me.
I have used both my hands to “shake hands” with them. Besides, in my
country, only one person expects to be spoken to in the same moment.

Again, I do not--though I have tried to do so--observe the formalities
and use the local phrases as much as they do here. There are some fixed
set of words which the people use, such as “How are you?” “Fine day, or
weather,” etc. These do not show real warmth of the heart, but come out
of the national disease of loquacity, I believe. My training has been
quite different, so I am liable to make a great many mistakes. Once
more, I would say, Christian friends, if I have done any wrong to any
of you, take it as unintentional and overlook it charitably.

Let it be known to you once more, that I go to India, but not to my
_Home_. You have frequently heard me say that on account of my
embracing the Christian religion I cannot live with my Hindoo mother
and other dear friends,--or rather, they cannot live with me. I am
going as a lamb among wolves; and in days of trials, sorrows, and
discouragements, I shall look first to my Father in heaven, and then to
you as my brothers and sisters. I go to preach and teach the truth to
my beloved countrymen, in your name and under your auspices, and I look
to _you_ for your help, prayers, and blessing.

The cause of Christ suffers severely from the injudicious preaching of
the Missionaries who go out to India from western countries. They think
that anything outside the Bible is _humbug_, _untrue_, and
_nonsensical_. They tell the Hindoos that their Holy Books contain
no truth, and that they themselves are going headlong to everlasting
damnation. These errors and follies I will carefully avoid. I would not
offend a Hindoo by insulting his gods, or puzzle him with a doctrine of
a Triune God and its attendant absurdities. I know the best way for me
will be to take a Hindoo saying, and present its truth in a practical
way. In order to attract respect, I would rather appeal to the Hindoo
Scripture, if it serve my purpose, than to Isaiah, Job, or Solomon. St.
Paul, while in Greece, appealed to a poet of the country, and thereby
secured the attention of the people. One can preach years from texts
taken from Hindoo proverbs, such as, “If you wish to be the greatest,
be the humblest,” “Feel for the world as you do for yourself.” Will you
say these are _humbugs_ because they belong to the Hindoos? No.
Christ uttered these very things. What I most earnestly want to do, is
to take Truth wherever I find it, and present it to my brethren in the
spirit of Christ, and show its applicability to our lives. If we are
faithful and labor patiently and prayerfully, aiming at the glory of
God and the good of Man, success will be ours. Our part is to sow and
water, and our Father will give the increase.

God bless you, dear, kind Christian friends! God bless you for your
kindness toward me! Do not let the interest die out when I go out of
your sight. I go to fight against sin, idolatry, and superstition,
and you who stay at the camp, or in the magazine rather, send me
ammunition and instructions, according to my need. This is the way to
carry on work. Trust in God, India’s future religion will be Liberal
Christianity.

Farewell to you all for a while. If Providence spares my life, I may
again, after four or five years of Christian labors, seek rest in your
homes, and personally tell you about the work of God. And if it be his
will that I shall depart from the world soon, what shall hinder our
meeting in our Father’s mansions? Farewell! “Lo, I will be with you
always” in the spirit. Heaven’s smile be upon you all, is the prayer of
your friend and brother,

                                                     J. C. GANGOOLY.


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


FOOTNOTES:

[1] See Appendix.

[2] In the English language there is no word to distinguish the
brother’s son from that of a sister. The Bengalees have different words
to define every relation distinctly. They have words to denote strictly
wife’s sisters, husband’s sisters, his elder and younger brothers,
the father-in-law of son, the children of the mother’s and father’s
sisters, &c.

[3] See similar custom among the Jews, Luke ii. 22.

[4] They do not use knives, forks, and spoons at the table, not because
they are ignorant of their services, but they do not need them. So is
the case with the table. They sit all separate as the custom requires,
and wash everything, even the floor, after the meal. They use the right
hand for food, and the left for the drink. If rice or any boiled food
should fall on the clothes, they will be washed after the meal. Owing
to these peculiarities, the Hindoos do not use table, knives, &c., like
Christians, who hardly wash themselves after the meal as the Hindoos
do. I have occasionally used the “_table_” in the place of floor,
in order to follow the English idiom.

[5] Means the son or daughter’s father-in-law.

[6] Foreigners have very imperfect ideas of Hindoo temples; they
think they are public places where people resort for the purpose of
worshipping their gods and also for hearing the instructions of the
Brahmuns. The temples are for the former, and not for the latter
purpose. In them are placed the images of certain gods, such as Shiba,
Kallēē, etc., which are worshipped and taken care of by some Brahmuns,
who either hire or own them. People bring (especially on some holiday)
their gifts of fruits, confectionery, money, clothes, etc. to the
idols, and offer them by the hands of the priests. The low castes are
not allowed to tread on the sacred floor, and they dare not do it. They
are satisfied with the pleasure of standing outside where the priest
comes out, sprinkles holy water on their heads, blesses them by putting
his foot on their hands, and returns them their trays, baskets, etc. in
which they bring their offerings. These are the leading features of the
services in Hindoo temples.

As the gods are presented to the children as irritable, fault-finding,
powerful, and fierce, the children fear, but do not love them. When a
mother would not have her child touch any eatable, let her only say,
“It is for the gods,” and that is enough. But still there are several
little ones who by not being allowed to put their hands upon some
tempting fruit or confectionery, because it belongs to the gods, hate
their idols, now and then. My own younger brother, a boy of four years,
remarked, “Mother, you say it belongs to Shalgram, that pineapple
belongs to Shalgram. I know that your Shalgram is a mere pebble.”

[7] Being brought up under this etiquette, I did not look at the face
of Mr. Dall or of good Captain Hendie in conversation with them. When I
first came on board the ship, Mr. Dall, because I looked aside, before
leaving us wrote down in my handbook the following: “When any one
speaks to me, my first duty is _to look at him_ with respectful
attention.” At any rate I did not lack “respectful attention” to the
speaker; but his age and our idea of reverence attached to it bent my
eyes downwards, that I might hear his words by my ear, receive them on
my head, and obey them with my might.

[8] The Hindoo Scriptures have a long story showing how Radha at once
became wife of Krishto and of Awe-an. It is hardly possible in this
connection to recite it. But let it be known that the Hindoos have some
reason to produce in defence of their faith, which they hold dear.

[9] A peculiar religious ceremony, like that of _baptism_, is
performed for every Hindoo. The Brahmun who does it, and selects a
male or female deity for his disciple, is called _gooroo_, or
pastor. The disciple, _Shis-ho_, can on no account change his
_gooroo_ or the god he furnishes. The _gooroo_ exercises
absolute sway over his _Shis-ho_; just as the “_infallible
Pope_” does over the Romanists. Gooroo has the power to send his
Shis-ho to heaven or hell as he pleases. Without a passport from him,
the “gates of heaven” would not admit the Shis-ho.

[10] It is customary with the Orientals to commit to memory the names
of the distant ancestry. Among the Jews it was the custom, and is so
still, I presume. Matthew and Luke traced the genealogy of our Master a
great way back.

[11] Great respect is paid to the cat as the messenger of the goddess.
They do not ill-treat this creature for fear of the displeasure of its
mistress. Love for animals is taught here in this curious way!

[12] It is surprising to learn that one man had “sixty thousand sons,”
all grown-up, reliable heroes at the same time; numerous as the sands
on the sea-shore. The Hindoos say this host of sons was born to fulfil
the prophecy of a Brahmun who had blessed the king, saying, perhaps,
“Be thou the father of sixty thousand male children.”

[13] This, and kindred anecdotes, have great effect upon the practical
life of the Hindoos, because they are thereby taught to believe that
their own good or bad deeds will bring forth fruits for them according
to their nature,--that by the mete by which they measure others will be
measured unto them. They are thus taught the Divine justice,--that God
is not a silent spectator of our proceedings: He notices everything,
and meets us according to our merit. Again, such anecdotes have another
influence upon the Hindoo mind. The Hindoos fear to insult a Brahmun,
whose wrath is warm enough to burn the offender to ashes. But the
Brahmun’s wrath does not amount to any visible danger now.

[14] This teaches a beautiful lesson of the nature of reconciliation,
although wrapped in the allegorical covering of superstition. We
see that none but the injured can forgive us,--that we ought to be
reconciled to him, and _redress_ the wrong we have done if
possible; for without reformation, mere repentance is nothing. The
Hindoo idea is, that even the gods do not stand by the side of the
offender if he does not humble himself and ask pardon, that is, if
he be not reconciled to his brother whom he had ill-treated. It is
something like the saying, “Make peace with thy brother while _he_
is on the way,” etc.

[15] In the Hindoo poems it has been shrewdly accounted for why
Vogiroth had no bones in him. I am well acquainted with it, but think
it not of much consequence to detail. Again, there is another thing
to be considered, the adaptedness of the expression to the taste of
a Christian reader. Every nation has its peculiar taste in regard
to the idiom and expression of thought; what is decent with one is
immodest with others. I see some expressions in the Bible which are not
permitted to be used to the English or American people. The Oriental
nations understand their peculiar meaning when they use those phrases.

[16] This is one of the leading features of Hindoo piety. In order to
secure the blessing of a god or goddess, it is essentially needful to
withdraw ourselves from the world, and take a vow to spend a certain
portion, or the whole of our life in the wilderness; to abstain from
food, drink, and recreation, and gradually to bring ourselves to that
state in which we do not live by “bread alone,” but by “every word that
proceedeth out of the mouth of God.” We read in the lives of the Hindoo
sages the process they had used to subdue their bodies, by continual
fasts and self-torture. In the early part of their hermit life, they
used to take a little food once a day, then once in two, and after a
while one meal at the end of the week. In warm weather their seat was
surrounded by a blazing fire made on purpose, and in winter they used
to immerse their bodies in water, and pray.

[17] Kasa, a copper vessel used by the Hindoos in their religious
services, to put water in, which they sprinkle on their heads and upon
the idols also.

[18] When I speak of the low castes, I hope the reader will not feel
sensitive, for I know the very classes of men who are high in Christian
countries are low in India. A great many men engaged in shoemaking
business move about as the “_upper ten_,” and are high caste in
this country, while among the Hindoos such persons, notwithstanding
their opulence (which begets high caste here), are lowest indeed.

[19] There are a great many anecdotes of deeds of valor and of
generosity attributed to this king. He is said to have destroyed the
Khitrias three hundred times. I should think it was the same Por-oosh
who had fought with the Macedonian hero on the frontier of India.

[20] Hoylas, the paradise of Shiba, is said to be a golden mountain,
similar to the Olympus of the Grecian deities. There is a mountain of
the above name in Thibet.

[21] The rice is made in a peculiar way, and called “authup.” The usual
way of bringing out rice from the husk is, first to boil, then dry and
thrash it. But this is not boiled at all, only dried and thrashed.
Hence the particular care taken in preparing this kind of rice
increases its price to some degree.

[22] The term worshipper, in the Hindoo sense, denotes the man who
spends the money, brings the image, and entertains the people at his
house, no matter whether he himself officiates and offers prayers or
not.

[23] Oshoor means monster, or opposite to Shoor-god. The men of cruel
characters, feared for their wicked deeds, are called Oshoor by the
Hindoos.

[24] This and kindred incidents show the ancient Hindoos did not
hold _caste_ as favorable, nor regard it as objectionable in
affairs of marriage, as they of the present age do. Now, as we
have observed in the first part of the volume, wealth, learning,
personal accomplishments, bow down to _caste_. A second-caste
man _cannot_, on any account whatever, marry his children to
those of the first, or to Brahmuns. But in the present case we see
the young princess offers her hand to an unrivalled intellect, not
caring as to the quarter or caste in which it might be found. There are
several instances of this kind, of fathers offering their daughters
to a suitable man. Thus Jŏnuk, the father of the goddess Shita, sent
a proclamation to the world that “Whoever shall be able to break an
arrow in two, shall have Shita for his recompense.” (This fatal arrow
belonged to Shiba, the Destroyer, and was left in the palace of Jŏnuk.)
In the legend we read of King Droupad offering his daughter to any who
would pierce the eyes of a gold-fish which had been hung six miles
above the ground, not looking at it directly for his aim, but only
seeing its shadow in a vessel of water. Doymontie marries a king who,
at her wish, boiled rice without fire and water. Bidda took a vow to
enter into literary and theological controversy with a man before she
would marry him. In the above cases invitations had of course been
extended to kings and nobles in general, and not of any particular
caste.

[25] The circumstances of the death of this noble poet are the
following. He was in the habit of visiting a literary public woman, who
was widely known for her acquisitions. One evening she was standing
near a pond, looking at the lotus-buds, when the king with his nobles
was passing by. The royal train halted by the pond to observe the rays
of the moon on its placid bosom. The king asked this question of his
friends: “Wind bloweth not, the water is calm, why then doth yon lotus
tremble?” The woman immediately went to her home and asked Kalidass
about it, who said it was for a Vromor, (kind of black wasp,) which had
got in to extract honey, but being too much intoxicated as the shades
of the eve were closing, the lotus made it a prisoner for the night.
As it moved within the lotus, it caused it to tremble. She came and
informed the king about the lotus. He was quite surprised, and asked
again, “Why the Vromor which gnaws dry woods does not cut through the
lotus and go out of it?” She flew to her chamber, and the great poet
solved the question. “The Vromor does not use his sharp sting, for two
reasons. Having drank too much honey from the lotus he is dissipated
now, and unable to use his weapon; secondly, he is too polite to cut
the tender lotus, the queen of flowers.” The king wanted to know if
it were her genius or that of another which solved his questions, and
desired to see her more at her home. She wickedly went first and cut
the head off Kalidass, who was sleeping then, that he might not be seen
by the king at her house.

[26] Mool Shun-nashee is the chief officer of the party called
Shun-nash. He is the _elect_ of the god, and takes the lead of the
party year after year, until he leaves this world for another. After
his death his son takes his post, or sometimes another is elected by
the priest and the Shun-nashees.

[27] The punishment by fine is inflicted by the Zamindar, the
landholder of the country. The British law does not authorize any
private individual to fine another, except the legal officers; but,
nevertheless, the poorer classes are in common cases fined and ill
treated by their landholders. The excommunication from the society as
well as from the caste is worse than the punishment by fine; for, over
and above the sufferings consequent to an outcasted life, the man is to
pay a certain sum of money to regain his lost position. The last state
of that man is worse than the first!

[28] It might perhaps be said by some, that, as the Hindoos do not
regard the female child worthy to redeem the soul of her parent by
Shrautho (as I have myself observed in the first part of this book),
they might throw her into the water. To this I reply, that the male
child of a daughter has the same privilege with the sons of the father,
to make the Shrautho. Hence, in India, the daughter cannot inherit her
parents’ property, but her son is the heir of the same.

[29] Neeshie, or Night, is the name of a species of evil spirits who
are believed by the Hindoos to walk invisibly on the earth in the
shades of night, and to entice young children to go with them. It is a
dangerous thing to be under their control, as the children cannot speak
a word or call for help when they are carried aloft on the trees. The
testimony of those who had been taken away by Neeshie is thus: “While
our friends were crying for and searching after us we saw them, and
wished to speak but could not.” The spirit, however, does not detain
its victims long, but brings them to their home invisibly.

[30] When I speak of our coming to God through Christ I do not mean
anything dogmatic in it. My ideas in relation to this point are
practical,--I mean an approach unto the throne of the Most High with
the _spirit_ of Christ, acting as he did, living as he lived. Put
on Christ around you; let his spirit approve your acts, guide your
thoughts, and sanctify your affections, and you will find yourself not
far from your Heavenly Father. This is the rational way of knowing him
as “the only true God, and Jesus Christ” whom he has sent.

[31] I did not live a Hindoo long enough to perform any pilgrimage, but
used to hear the stories from those who had been to the holy cities.

[32] The river Gunga is not twenty miles wide. This saying of the
Hindoos is applicable to any large river in the world, on account of
the inconvenience and delay, and perhaps danger, of crossing it. We can
walk or run on land according to our strength, but while on water we
are dependent upon the element.

[33] If such were not the difficulties to be struggled with, how many
good Hindoo young men would come to hear Mr. Dall’s preaching. There
are additional troubles: the neighbors watch their steps closely. This
is _one_ principal reason why Mr. Dall’s hall is not crowded on
Sunday. Judging the hearts of the brethren by my own, I feel quite sure
that the Unitarian rooms in Calcutta are crowded by them in the spirit.
While at home on Sunday, I used to reflect on the services and the
Bible class of Mr. Dall, and the elementary class of R. Counsel, Esq.

[34] He did not exaggerate all the particulars of this matter. During
my two years’ stay in the United States, I have seen, and read, and
heard enough of these things. For trifles men quarrel, fight, and stab
each other, and these are gentlemen too. On Sunday they hear their
pastors exhort, in the words of Christ, to “turn the other cheek also,”
when any man smote on the one cheek, and on Monday they fight duels for
words. Orations and Eulogies are delivered to their memory!

[35] Of course I had second and third suits of clothes with me when
I reached Boston, which were bought for me. I mean when I left
_home_ I did not bring _any_ dress except what I had on. Just
as I was I had to come out of it.


Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.

2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the
original.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.

4. Where appropriate, the original spelling has been retained.

5. Italics are shown as _xxx_.





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