Life in India/The Badagas
The Badagas.
About four miles from Ootacamund, and in the bosom of one of the loveliest basins of the Neilgherries, is the home of the German mission to the peasantry of the mountains. Looking down from the saddle of the higher Ootacamund Valley, its appearance is most charming. The road winds its zigzag way down a steep hill-side to a rolling surface of rounded hills in a high state of cultivation, and dotted here and there with villages, while the slopes of the heights rising beyond are all green and gold with fields of wheat, barley, and other grains. Beyond these the summits of still higher peaks mingle with the blue of the sky.
The Kaytee-house was built entirely away from European society by Lord Elphinstone, then governor-general of India. It was purchased after his departure from the Neilgherries by a civilian high in rank, and as high in Christian character. This godly man personally laboured with the villagers about him, and invited the German missionaries on the western coast to commence a mission among that part of the hill population known as the Badagas or Burghers. At his death, he left the house with other property for the continuance of the mission commenced under his auspices. Now, despoiled of its rich furniture, its carpets, and mirrors, it is the dwelling of three simple-hearted and earnest German missionaries. The library has become a chapel, and poor, half-naked Badagas move where once gay lords and ladies assembled for the feast and dance. Little did Lord Elphinstone think that he was laying out grounds, planting trees, and building halls for these humble, but not less honourable men.
The Badagas (changed to Burghers by the English) are the farmers of the Neilgherries. They are now some twelve thousand in number, and, as their name indicates, came from the north. According to their own account, their ancestors fled to the hills six generations since, to escape the evils which followed on the overthrow of an old dynasty in the Mysore. Their language, the Canarese, is somewhat corrupted, but they are in all respects Hindus. To the Todars, as lords of the soil, they pay tribute of grain; for though superior to them in civilization, they are inferior to them in moral and physical force.
In religion, they are, like the people of the plain, worshippers of Siva in the form of the Linga, of Bursawa, the bull on which he rides, and of other Hindu deities. Their superstition is unbounded. Mr. Metz, of the Kaytee mission, greatly shocked them by his contempt of their fears. On the mission grounds stood a tree to which, in former times, they had been accustomed to offer sacrifices, regarding it as the residence of a god. By the predecessors of the missionaries this had been overlooked, but these sturdy followers of Luther would allow no idolatry on their premises. As the people of the neighbouring village were determined to continue their sacrifices, Mr. Metz announced his resolution to cut the tree down; they remonstrated, but in vain; they sent to the policemen for help, but the missionary was not to be frightened by the belted peon, (constable.) Axe in hand, he repaired to the tree. The Burghers warned him not to tempt the power of the god, and, when the axe fell with vigorous strokes upon its abode, foretold his sudden death, assuring him that the god would enter his body and kill him. The missionary plied his axe, calling on the god to come out and do his worst, until the tree was felled to the ground. Like the inhabitants of Melita, “They looked when he should have swollen or fallen down dead suddenly;" but when they saw that no harm came to him, they knew not what to say. Had he met with any accident or sickness months after this feat, it would have been set down as an evidence of the power and anger of the god.
The Badagas have an extreme superstitious fear of another tribe, the Curumbars, who live far down in the ravines and clefts of the mountains, two thousand feet above the level of the sea. They are about a thousand in number, and, while following a rude kind of cultivation, live largely upon their reputation as sorcerers. So greatly do the Badagas dread their magical powers, that if sick they will impute it to the incantations of some poor Curumbar whom they may have met when crossing the mountains. Indeed, scarce a misfortune befalls them but it is charged upon the sorcery of their neighbours. On one occasion, disease attacked the inhabitants of a village at the same time that a murrain carried off many of their cattle. There was not a doubt in the minds of the people that a Curumbar had done them this mischief by his sorceries. After watching some time for an opportunity, a number of them surrounded him in open day, and barbarously murdered the poor wretch. By the Badagas this was looked upon as a righteous punishment of a sorcerer; but the English authorities, not taking the same view of it, hanged one of the murderers. Need we say more to show that the teachings of the Bible are as much needed in these lovely mountain villages as in the towns and cities of the plains?
The state of morals among the Badagas is deplorably low; and, as they are devoid of education, the work of their enlightenment and conversion must involve an expenditure of much time and labour. Still, we doubt not that the lately-commenced efforts of these excellent men will in due time be crowned with success. When an entrance is fairly made into the mass, we may expect the work to go rapidly on. They now confess the folly of idolatry, and say that they wait for some to set them the example of embracing Christianity, so that they may not stand alone among their brethren and encounter the persecution of the nation.
In company with one of the German brethren, I had the pleasure of making an excursion among the villages of the Badagas lying to the south of Ootacamund. My companion was a true German, with his broad-skirted blue coat, and eyes as blue, honest, open face, and squarebuilt person, he looked the man he was, simplehearted, mild, persevering, and hardy. In his hand he carried a stout staff with a heavy brass head, for the purpose of defence from the buffaloes while journeying on foot from village to village over the hills.
Our road, or rather our way—for road there was none—lay over and among the mountain-ridges. Some of the hill-sides were clothed with dense woods. These woods abound with flowers: jessamines hang in fragrant festoons from the boughs of tall trees, with parasites, air-plants, and orchids of various hues, while the prickly branches of the blackberry and raspberry, with other shrubs, often make the forest almost impenetrable. Within the dark recesses of these groves, leopards, wild dogs, jackals, bears, and, more rarely, tigers, lie concealed, going forth by night to seek their prey. One village was pointed out to me which had been deserted by its inhabitants, because a woman had been carried off by a tiger from a neighbouring forest; and while we were on the hills, a poor shikaree (native hunter) was killed by one of these savage beasts while with a party beating the woods for some English sportsmen. Happily, they rarely attack man if not pursued or brought to bay, excepting, as has been before mentioned, in the case of “the man-eater," who, having tasted human blood, seems to hunt for men, lying in wait for them with wonderful craft. In such cases their ravages are fearful. Although I was constantly wandering through the forests, while on the hills, none of these dangerous neighbours showed themselves to me; if I passed their lairs, they kept quietly within them; yet, in some dark, dense, jungly-places, I would at times have a nervous inclination to look over my shoulder to see if I had company. One morning, while walking, staff in hand, upon a hill-side, I met a leopard apparently returning, from a night excursion, to his den. He came slowly up the declivity as I was walking around it, so that our paths would have just met. I stood still, however, and had a good opportunity to see him, as he did not notice me until within some twenty yards or so of where I stood; he then raised his head, and seeing a stranger, politely left me the open hillside, while he turned into a bit of wood close by. In form, he was full, round, and graceful, with a tawny coat beautifully covered with black spots. As his behaviour was so proper, I was pleased to have had a sight of an uncaged citizen of the jungle. Jackals are very numerous and bold, and make constant forays into the barn-yards. Porcupines also are troublesome, doing much mischief to the gardens.
The district through which we passed was, to a great degree, under culture, and many of the views were exceedingly pleasing. The peculiar rounded shape of most of the hills allow them to be ploughed from the base to the summit, and the village is usually placed on the sunny side, a little below the highest point. The kinds of grain most cultivated are wheat and barley, with others not known in America. The prince's-feather is grown for its seed, which is used for food. They sow in May, and reap in September; and, no sooner is the crop gathered in, than another of some different grain or pulse is sown, to be reaped in December or January. The fact that the Neilgherries receive the rains of two monsoons,–one from the south-west, and one from the north-east,–enables the Burghers thus to make two crops in every year without any very great effort. One of their grains very much resembles timothy-grass; another is ragee, a small seed from which a coarse black bread is made. This ragee is a staple article of food in the Mysore territory, and is greatly praised by the Mysoreans as a substantial diet. One of them, comparing it with rice, remarked that the Madras man eat his rice, and an hour after it was all gone; but he eat his ragee in the morning, and he had something to go upon, for “here it lies,” said he, patting his stomach, “like a cannon-ball all day.” It is not commonly known that, cheap as rice is in India, millions of Hindus cannot afford to buy it, but live on inferior seeds and grains. The habits of eating among the Badagas are very simple: the grain is parched, pounded, and then eaten, mixed with water and a little salt. As you cross a rivulet, you will see a company of them squatting beside it, unloosening a little store of flour tied in the corner of their cloths, and eating their frugal meal, made by mixing it with water dipped from the stream.
The little house at Waderoo to which my companion piloted me, and in which he lived when in this part of the hills, was a mere hut, with mud walls and a roof of thatched grass. His own mattrass he gave to me, and soon made himself another by filling a large bag with straw. A chest contained his lamp and housekeeping apparatus, which was simple, but enough for his moderate wants. Accustomed, if necessary, to eat with the Badagas or sleep in the verandah of their houses, he did not require many luxuries in his dwelling. The situation of the house was most charming, as it stood upon the summit of a hill surrounded by cultivated fields, and in sight of a number of Badaga villages. Several of these we visited, and were very kindly received, for all recognised a friend in their missionary, and discussed with him their quarrels and business with great freedom. He told them that his business with them concerned higher matters, but these, as yet, have but little interest for the villagers of the Neilgherries. To them, this life is all-important; the next, a matter of slight moment.
The villages of the Badagas are built with the houses standing in a row, each adjoining its neighbour, so that one roof covers the whole street. Sometimes a second street is built immediately back of the first, and in the same manner. The eaves of the roof in front are prolonged, so as to cover in a narrow verandah, on which the men sit or lounge when not at work. Before the houses is a level, hard-beaten area, bounded by a low stone wall. This is the thrashing-floor; and, as our visit was in September, it was being used for that purpose. Their mode of procedure struck me as a most lazy substitute for what is known as thrashing to the American farmer. A sheaf was laid on the ground, and a woman, with her cotton mantle wrapped directly around her body beneath the arms, taking a light stick, whipped the heads of the wheat until they were empty–all the while laughing, talking, and joking; while the men looked indolently on, or separated the grain from the chaff by pouring it from a basket to the ground in the wind. Some of their grains are thrashed by driving oxen over them on a circular hard-beaten floor. As you see the oxen stooping to take up a mouthful of straw while they walk their monotonous round, you are reminded of the command, “Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn.” A large share of the agricultural labours falls to the lot of the women, who, as in all heathen countries, are made the drudges of the family. Although neat in their villages, the Badagas cannot be praised for cleanliness of person or of dress. As they are in the habit of oiling their bodies, and not in the habit of washing their robes, the latter become so fragrant in the process of time, that a blind man would have no difficulty in telling when a Badaga passed him in the road. True religion makes men seek cleanliness in the outer man as well as holiness in the inner man, while heathenism tends to filthiness in person and dress, as well as to unholiness of soul.
At the funeral of a Burgher of some note, which I attended on another occasion and in another part of the mountains, some of the ceremonies struck me as peculiar. When we arrived at the village, the verandah of the united row of houses composing it was filled with a large company of friends and acquaintances, and many more were assembled in the area in front of the houses, or on the stone wall by which it was enclosed. In the centre of this area was a pyramidal bier, four stories in height, in the lowest story of which the body was placed, while long pieces of white cotton-cloth floated from the corners of the upper stories. A number of Kohatars were in attendance as musicians, and from their horns and pipes extorted most doleful sounds; while a large number of the mourners, with loud outcries, performed a singular dance around the bier, moving slowly round and round with their arms stretched out at length. My companion, Mr. Bühler, had taken his seat at some little distance on the area wall, and gathered quite a company about him to listen to his discourse. In the midst of it, the whole multitude, with a sudden rush, drove past us and up the hill, carrying off all the auditors but one, whose politeness led him to remain and tell us that they were going to the cattle-pen. We followed, and found a number of cattle in a large stone enclosure, which was almost knee-deep with dung. Into this mass of filth, a number of young men leaped, and seizing one of the animals, led it out of the fold, but not until they were completely bedaubed with ordure. After a short invocation, the resisting and struggling creature, upon whom the sins of the dead were supposed to be laid, was let go, and, with loud shouts, driven from the village, bearing away with it the guilt of the departed.
The bier was now carried a short distance down the hill, and, the body having been removed from it, new ceremonies were gone through with. Prayers were offered for the safe passage of the dead over an imaginary river in the spirit world, and a piece of money to pay his fare was placed in his mouth; the widow was brought near and stripped of her upper mantle and jewels, which were thrown upon the body; both body and bier were then carried to the borders of a little stream, wood was piled about it, offerings of grain thrown upon it, and the whole consumed.
The thoughtful reader will not fail to notice the universal acknowledgment, even by the most degraded tribes, of the necessity of some provision for the future world. In the ceremonies of some, the idea of sin and sacrifices for sin is a prominent one; in those of others, an effort is made to provide for wants which they believe to resemble the wants of this life. It is most rare to find a nation which does not recognise the necessity of some preparation or provision for the future world. But how dark are their views, and how ineffectual their expedients, until the light of the gospel comes in to tell of the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world! While we long, and, it may be, labour that the heathen may receive the truth, and so learn the way to a glorious heaven, let us take heed to ourselves, that we neglect not to provide for our own immortal souls and their eternal interests. Vain and meaningless though the sacrifices and ceremonies of the heathen may be, we, who enjoy a brighter light, should from them learn, at least, not to live without a preparation to meet our God in judgment. Should we do so, even the Todars and Badagas of the mountains of Hindustan will rise up to testify against us in that day. Reader! how is it with thee?
Pleasing as it would be to the writer to recall and to attempt to describe the varied scenery of the Nilagiri, he well knows that to the reader it would be far less interesting than to himself. Were it not so, he would be tempted to revive the memory of views from the summit of Doda-betta, (the great mountain,) when nothing but a sea of milky vapour rolled in fleecy waves over the whole lower world, and to paint the gloriousness of the expanse of hills and plains revealed when these vapours melted before the morning sun, and, breaking, mounted up in contorted masses to the clouds above; or of Kartery, three thousand feet lower, with its waterfall, and plantations of white-flowering coffee. He would essay to lead the reader up the declivity of the Mukortee peak, and bid him lie down upon the brink, and look into the abyss from the summit of the sheer, unbroken, perpendicular precipice; and then, withdrawing him, roll into the chasm the stone on which his elbow had leaned, and let him listen to its echoing thunders as it reverberated in its fall to the depths below; or would invite him to journey to Sisparah, the summit of the pass to the western coast of India, to look out upon huge buttresses of granite mountain clothed with a forest dense, deep, unbroken,—the abode of the wild elephant, the tiger, the buffalo, and ten thousand smaller beasts,—and stretching in one sheet of living green from the summit of the pass to its base, miles distant, and far away into the plains of Malabar. But it would be in vain; such scenes must be the reward of toilsome journeys and laborious ascents. Great and glorious are these works of God; most precious is their memory; but, to be known in their grandeur and beauty, they must be seen. We cannot do less than say that such things are; but the reader shall be spared the vain attempt to paint them for his admiration.