Life in India/Perumanaloor
Perumanaloor.
It was near sunset when we entered the town of Perumanaloor, and a dreary, desolate spot it was. Our bearers picked their way cautiously and slowly through heaps of stones and rocky hillocks; even the temples upon the craggy hills looked repulsively ruinous, and decay breathed in the silent air. The houses in sight were dilapidated; every thing seemed to be falling to decay.
Getting out of our palankeens, we began to look for a place in which to pitch our tent. One of the bearers entered a street more respectable than the others, to ask for information, when two or three young Brahmins, horror-struck that one of this low caste should pollute the street in which they lived with his impure presence, rushed out in a state of much excitement, and with insolent violence bade him begone immediately. Although we had not entered their street, for this turned out to be the agragrama, in which Brahmins alone live, and where low-caste men are not allowed to come, they cried out to us also, in the same insolent manner, to be gone, and not enter the street in which Brahmins dwelt.
An older Brahmin, of much respectability, and with more knowledge of the changed state of India under British rulers, now came up to us. On Mr. S. telling him that such insulting and uncalled-for behaviour on the part of his young men was inexcusable, and ought to be reported to the collector, he apologized for them, saying, that no white gentleman had ever been in their town, and that these young men knew no better. He then showed us the way to the village grove and tank. The tank was in keeping with all that we had seen in this uninviting spot. It was a huge excavation, completely dry, with the exception of a large pit in the centre, at the bottom of which was a shallow pool of muddy water. This was the drinking water of the town. In our tumblers it had the appearance of uncleared coffee.
White men were a novelty, and a large company of the villagers was soon around us. They seemed very happy, poor creatures, in looking at us and our movements, but the Brahmins were full of insolence. They told us that we could get nothing here, not even water; and recommended, with a hypocritical anxiety for our welfare, that we should go to the next town, where, they told us, “the water was celestial”—a drink fit for gods. The oppresssed and simple people, as far as they dared, offered to bring us milk and all that their poor town would afford, and seemed quite delighted with the prospect of a good look at two white men with palankeens, table, chairs, and other wonderful things. Though the place presented few attractions, we decided not to give way to the insolence of the Brahmins, but to stay, that these poor might have preached unto them the gospel's joyful sound.
Our bandy, which had lost its way, now arrived, and we pitched our tent. This, with its tall central pole, its canvas roof, its cords and stakes, was a new source of wonder. Darkness had set in, and our lamp was lit; but still the lookers-on continued standing or sitting around, in the most favourable positions for seeing every thing. They were apparently fearful lest they should miss seeing something of note, should they quit their posts for a moment.
But at last even the most persevering gazer wearied, and left us to ask the blessing of God upon this benighted and priest-ridden land, and to lie down to rest. Spreading our mattresses on the ground, we slept undisturbed, except by the intrusion of stray dogs from the town, the hooting of owls, and the melancholy howling of packs of jackals wandering in search of food.
With the first gray dawn of morning we were up, but we were not early enough to anticipate the gathering of an audience. I wished to read, but had to give it over to speak to the people who were assembled in and about the tent. They sat down on the ground around me, and listened attentively for some time, when suddenly, in the midst of our discourse, a Brahmin, rushing up with furious gesticulations, roared out, that our pariah cook had entered the agragrama, (the Brahminic street;) he demanded, with many threats, that the sinful wretch should be immediately beaten.
The poor cook, on finding out what he had done, had fled to the tent, and now sheltered himself behind us, trembling with fear, and declaring his ignorance of its being a Brahmin street. Of course, we refused to give him up for punishment. On this the rage of the Brahmin increased; he ordered us to pull up our stakes, strike our tent, and be gone from the place. On our declining also to do this, he went away with loud threats, and, as he said, to bring the taliari (village watchman) to give the cook his beating. We did not, however, see him again. As his violence had not frightened us into any concession, he probably concluded that discretion would be the better part of valour.
During the day, the common people heard our discourse with much attention. They also brought many sick persons for medicine and healing, to whom we gave such assistance as we could; but the shortness of our stay did not admit of the beginning of treatment in many cases. They seemed much impressed with what was done for them, but the Brahmins were very ill-behaved. At one time, some of them, standing behind me while preaching, tore up two of our tracts, and threw the fragments over my head, much to the disgust of the more decent part of the audience. Of this we took no notice; but when the same men asked again for books, and behaved with increasing rudeness, we called our bearers and made them clear the tent. This they did with much willingness, for the insolence of the Brahmins had aroused their anger. After this we had our few feet of territory to ourselves.
We now retreated to our palankeens and lay down; but these box-like abodes were insupportable with the thermometer at 102°, and we had to come out and submit to the ceaseless gaze of the people.
Permit me here to observe to the reader, that although dwelling in a tent under the shade of an Indian grove, beside a village tank, with palankeens and bearers for conveyance, and dusky Hindus and lordly Brahmins standing as a background to the picture, may sound romantic and delightful, it is a life that has its reality too. A tent, without walls to keep out the scorching land-wind and the reflected glare of a torrid sun, is but a poor residence for the exotic from the temperate zone. Nor does water of the thickness of chocolate seem sweet, even though from a “tank.” Moreover, the ceaseless stare of a crowd, (to whom you cannot be always preaching,) from the time you rise until you retire at night, even though no act of discourtesy is committed, becomes very trying.
Yet it is a high privilege to be permitted to bear witness for Christ before the heathen. It stirs your gratitude to look upon these idolaters, and remember that you are a worshipper of the one true God, and that Christ the Saviour is your chosen King; and, while it calls upon you to praise the Lord for his distinguishing grace to you, it quickens your desire that these degraded men may be raised by the gospel from their wretched estate into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.
In this place, at Arnee, and scattered through the neighbouring country, you meet with a peculiar class of religionists, called Jains or Jainas. While at Perumanaloor, we had a visit from the shastiri or spiritual leader of the sect. In a long discussion, he defended the tenets of their faith and practice, especially the sinfulness of taking any life of beast, bird, or insect,—the eternal existence of the world,—that God is the origin of sin and holiness,—and, finally, that all religions were the same. This last is a very convenient doctrine when you cannot defend your own religion, and one constantly advanced in India. A brief account of this Hindu sect may not be uninteresting to some of our readers.