Life in India/Villages in Carnatic
Villages of the Carnatic.
We reached Coonatoor, a town with a thousand inhabitants, just at dusk, and pitched our tent amid some tamarind-trees on the edge of the village tank. Our bearers, released from labour, clustered merrily around their fire, at a little distance from us, and cooked their curry; while troops of women from the town passed our tent, with their water-jars upon their head, and descending to the tank, Rebecca-like, drew water for their households. In the accompanying illustration, we have a Hindu female bearing her vessel to the well for water. In her right hand she carries a rope for the purpose of lowering the vessel, when the water is drawn from a well or deep tank. From her nose hangs a ring, others are in her ears, and a necklace around her neck; and on her wrist she wears bangles, a kind of bracelet. Her arm is marked below the shoulder with sacred ashes, in honour of the god Siva.
Men, boys, women, and girls, with one accord, united in gazing with astonished curiosity at the strange apparition of two white men with their attendants upon the banks of their retired tank. It was too late to preach: we therefore got our tea—nowhere more refreshing than amid the langour and exhaustion of an Indian journey—and after bathing, spread our palankeen mattresses upon the ground, and slept undisturbed, except by the intrusion of half-starved dogs, searching for any thing worth carrying off.
Long before sunrise, the little birds in the tamarind-trees waked us with their morning song. Already the women were coming to the tank for water, and the men gathered round, curious to watch our movements. Our toilet duties and morning devotions seemed equally interesting to them; and, as we had only the upper covering of a tent without its walls, we were fully open to observation. Our breakfast, too, eaten from the little camp-table, with the mysterious tea-pot, knives and forks, was an affair most astonishing.
Before eight o'clock, our mats were spread upon the ground as seats for auditors, our Tamil and Telugu tracts arranged on the table, and the preaching commenced. Successive companies seated themselves upon the mats or stood around, and heard exposures of idolatry and the publication of the atonement of Christ as the only remedy for sin-sick souls. The spiritual head of the Mohammedans received a New Testament in Hindustani, for which he begged most earnestly. A very handsome and interesting Mohammedan sepoy, who was conveying government money, begged for one also. He was told that we had but two or three, and could not give them there, as we wished to reserve them. In the afternoon, he came again, and pleaded so earnestly and affectingly that we could not refuse his request. When, with apparent sincerity, he asked us how we could answer to God for not giving him a book to teach him the way to heaven, we could no longer hold out, and he bore the sacred volume away in triumph.
In the afternoon, we had a visit from the chief men of the place, three Mohammedans and five Brahmins. They were received courteously and seated honourably in the centre of the tent, while an attentive crowd sat and stood around to listen to the discussion between their great men and the white padrés. After an exchange of compliments, the subject of religion—a subject always in order with the Hindus—was introduced. One of the Brahmins, a man swollen with pride and self-sufficiency, made himself chief speaker. The discussion was long, close, keen, and exciting to both parties, but, on the whole, the Brahmin stood it well. We cannot wonder that their anger is stirred at the exposure of the gods whom they teach the people to worship, and at being told that the idols by whose sanctity they live are but stones; that all their good works are vanity and folly; and that they themselves, who put themselves scarce below divinity, must come as miserable sinners to sue for mercy through the merits of a crucified Saviour. If we would argue, as they propose, that each way is good for its own believers, they would be perfectly satisfied; but for them to come to Christ for salvation, is more than they can endure to think of. “Do not say that, or I shall be angry,” said the proud Brahmin; yet it was said many times. For these pharisaical priests there is but little hope; but it is a great point gained when the poor people, who are bound by their false teachings, see their guides confuted and silenced by the simple Word of God.
Sunrise, the next morning, found us with our tent pitched in the neighbouring village of Camakoor, a little village of five hundred inhabitants, with ten temples. We pitched our tent in a beautiful spot, between the large temple and the tank, in a space surrounded by shade trees,[1] and spent two days preaching with much satisfaction to the simple country-folk. Before our tent was up, we were surrounded by half the men and boys of the town, who gazed with unbounded satisfaction upon our every movement. From the washing of our hands and faces onward, each act was full of interest to these untravelled villagers. When Mr. S. drew out his watch, a group of boys, encouraged by his friendly jokes with them, came near to look at it. Opening it, he showed its wheels and motion to them, and let them hear its ticking. "Oh! it goes! it goes!” they cried out. “Yes," answered Mr. S., “my watch goes, but your god in the temple out there cannot go!” This thought struck them very forcibly, and doubtless was more effectual than volumes of argument would have been.
Some of them had seen a “Matha Covil," or "mother temple," as the Roman Catholic churches are called, from the worship of the Virgin Mary as mother of God, and supposing them to be places of Christian worship, they wanted to know, with much simplicity, why we decried idolatry. “You too,” they said, “worship the cross, draw cars, ring bells, burn candles, &c.” “But," they were asked, “if a Pariah should put on the Brahminic thread, rub ashes on his forehead, and come to you, saying, 'I am a Brahmin,' would you receive him as a Brahmin?” “No, indeed!” "Then, if men walk contrary to the Christian Veda, (Scriptures,) shall we call them Christians? Look at the commandments of God in our Bible.” The second commandment was quite satisfactory to them; but to us it was a sorrowful thing to find the gospel thus misrepresented among the heathen. It is a difficulty, how
Hindu weaving, p. 235.
ever, which you meet with everywhere in India.
While we spoke to the people, my attention was attracted to a knot of simple countrymen, apparently strangers. They sat together on the mat, listening to all that was said, and nodding to one another their approval of the truth. “It is all true! all true!" said they. “If we were rid of the Brahmins, we might go over, but they can crush whomsoever they please.” This, alas! is too true; and multitudes are restrained from embracing Christianity by this fear of priestly power.
While we were thus engaged, a party of the villagers were busily employed, within a few paces of us, in getting up warp for the weaver's loom. Warping mills being unknown to the Hindu, this, as all other mechanical operations, is effected by unaided labour. A number of small stakes are fixed a few feet apart, along a distance of some forty yards, and the thread is carried between the stakes by the warpers running round and round them with their spindles till the work is done. The warp is dressed with congey, a paste of boiled rice. The weaving is almost as simple an operation as the preparation of the warp. The loom is suspended from the rafters of the weaver's dwelling; the operator usually sits on the ground, with his legs in a hole dug under the loom, where his toes are usefully employed in managing the cords attached to the work. With a rude machine, costing, with all its appurtenances, but a half dollar or dollar, seated on the ground of his clay-built hut, the Hindu weaver produces fabrics of wonderful fineness and elegance, that once were the admiration of the world. Now, however, the great cheapness of the goods made by the aid of machinery and steam in Europe and America, has diminished the demand for Indian cloths abroad, and even threatens in India itself to drive the laborious Hindu from competition with his more ingenious competitors.
From this place we made an afternoon visit to Calumboor, a town of two thousand inhabitants. As our time was short, we walked through the streets, telling the people to meet us at the mundapam, the stone portico usual in Hindu villages. By the time that we had made our circuit and got to the rest-house again, a large audience was assembled. We sat down on the stone floor, with the elders of the town seated before us, and the multitude standing or sitting behind them. The oracle of the place was a man born blind. By birth, he was a mechanic, but his lack of sight led him to study, of course through his ears alone; and now he was the learned man and philosopher of Calumboor. He sat upon our right hand, and by his side the head Brahmin of the town, a fat, merry-faced fellow, the very image of good nature.
When all were silent, our errand was made known, and the system and practice of Hinduism tested by reason and the writings of their own philosophers, who saw the folly of polytheism and idolatry, though they could show no true way of salvation. Verse after verse from the Tamil poets was quoted, ridiculing idols as but stone, proclaiming the vanity of washing in sacred streams to cleanse the soul, and maintaining the sinfulness of worshipping more than one God. As each sentiment was advanced and defended, “ True! true!” said the blind philosopher, and from his well-stored memory, he called up and recited other quotations to the same effect. Thus each argument was enforced by their own teacher, whose word none ventured to gainsay. “But," said the philosopher, “thus the world goes: it is full of vanity and sin! Tell us what is truth! what can we do?” The gospel plan of salvation was then unfolded to them, and they were shown how God could be just and yet justify sinners, since his own Son had descended to earth to suffer in their stead. To this not a word was objected. Even the Brahmin applauded all that was said, and expressed the earnest wish that, if we came into the country, we would settle in their town.
Next came a rush by the crowd for books. With some difficulty, by appealing to their politeness, we made men and boys sit down, and, distributing our store, departed well pleased with our short visit to Calumboor, with its blind philosopher, good-humoured Brahmin, and attentive people, and with the opportunity thus afforded to preach the gospel in idolatrous India.
Observing, on our return, a small palmyra-tree hung all over with rags, we inquired what it meant. This tree, they said, is the residence of the “cloth-rending goddess," and all who pass tear a shred from their robes to throw as an offering to her. The belief that trees are the residence of supernatural beings is very prevalent in Southern India. Devils, especially, are supposed to have their abode in them. When a person is, as they believe, possessed of a devil, and foams and raves under its influence, his friends call an exorcist to cast the devil out. The exorcist, with prayers, signs, and various incantations, drives the spirit from the body of the possessed, leads it (as he affirms) to the tree, and, taking a nail, drives it into the trunk, thus nailing it to its prisonhouse. Should the tree be cut down, the devils, they believe, will escape, and entering the body of the disturber of their peace, do him some painful, if not fatal, injury.
During the remainder of our stay at Camakoor, we had an unbroken succession of visitors. As we had medicines with us, mothers came with their sick children, the blind were lead to us for healing, and the lame wished their limbs restored to them again. We could do but little for them; yet it was a satisfaction to do that little, and to exhort them to seek a better portion than this world.
As the day wore on, people began to come into the town, to attend the market or fair held each Tuesday,—some with bundles hung on their arms, some with packages upon their heads, and others with bullocks loaded with their goods. As our tent was standing upon the spot used by them for the exhibition of their wares, we struck it and moved to the mundapam, (for these stone porch-like rest-houses are found in almost every village and town,) and left the green to the people. Here our audiences were increased by the many strangers collected by the fair, so that we could scarce manage to eat. While Mr S. made a hasty meal, I kept the people: we then exchanged places, and he preached while I eat. It is difficult to decide which was the most attractive to the assembly—his eloquence or my humble meal; certainly the spectators seemed as deeply interested as the auditors. I could not but smile, as I stood by the palankeen taking my tea and toast, (the latter made in Madras before our setting out,) at the admiring gaze of the multitude, who probably for the first time saw a real doorey take his food.
When we left them, the scene was a very pleasant one. The round plot of ground between the tank and the temple was filled by concentric circles of sellers, with their goods piled or spread before them. Here would be a heap of white cloth, in pieces proper for dresses; there, others dyed yellow, purple or green, to suit the tastes of the women; in another place, the black, course cumbleys, or blankets, made of hair; in another, Madras handkerchiefs, &c. The buyers went debating and chaffering through the circles, strenuously raising their voices in their efforts to lower the sellers' prices. All was life, bustle, and animation under the stately shade-trees, through whose foliage the afternoon sun glanced bright rays of light on the busy crowd below. But our tent was packed, and every thing was ready for a move; so, bidding farewell to Camakoor and its fair-day, we jolted off to the music of our bearers' “Ho! ho! Hay! hay?" toward our next stopping-place.
- ↑ See frontispiece.