BOMBAY (Continued).
Every day’s experience of the
climate of Bombay assures me that, in what is called
the cold season, at least, it is the most treacherous
in the world; and that, moreover, its dangers are not
sufficiently guarded against by the inhabitants.
Cold weather, such as takes place during the period
from November to March, in all parts of Bengal, is
not felt here, the days being more or less sultry,
and tempered only by cold, piercing winds.
The land-wind, which blows alternately
with the sea-breezes, comes fraught with all the influences
most baneful to health; cramps, rheumatic pains, even
head-aches and indigestion, brought on by cold, are
the consequences to susceptible persons of exposure
to this wind, either during the day or the night:
so severe and so manifold are the pains and aches
which attend it, that I feel strongly inclined to
believe that Bombay, and not “the vexed Bermoothes,”
was the island of Prospero, and that the plagues showered
upon Caliban still remain. Though the progress
of acclimation can scarcely fail to be attended by
danger to life or limb, the process, when completed,
seems to be very effectual, since little or no pains
are taken by the old inhabitants to guard against
the evil.
Some of the withdrawing-rooms of Bombay
are perfectly open at either end, and though the effect
is certainly beautiful a charming living
landscape of wood and water, framed in by the pillars
at the angles of the chamber yet it is
enjoyed at too great a risk. Dining-rooms are
frequently nearly as much exposed, the aim of everybody
apparently being to admit as great a quantity of air
as possible, no matter from what point of the compass
it blows. Strangers, therefore, however guarded
they may be in their own apartments, can never emerge
from them without incurring danger, and it is only
by clothing themselves more warmly than can be at
all reconciled with comfort, that they can escape
from rheumatic or other painful attacks.
These land-winds are also very destructive
to the goods and chattels exposed to them; desks are
warped and will not shut, leather gloves and shoes
become so dry that they shrink and divide, while all
unseasoned wood is speedily split across. It is
said that the hot weather is never so fierce in Bombay
as in Bengal, the sea-breezes, which sometimes blow
very strongly, and are not so injurious as those from
the land, affording a daily relief.
It may be necessary, for the advantage
of succeeding travellers, to say that, in passing
down the Red Sea, in the autumn and winter months,
no danger need be apprehended from the effects of the
climate upon coloured silks. It was not possible
for me to burthen myself with tin cases, and I was
obliged to put my wearing apparel, ribbons, &c, into
portmanteaus, with no other precaution than a wrapper
of brown paper. Nothing, however, was injured,
and satin dresses previously worn came out as fresh
as possible: a circumstance which never happens
in the voyage round the Cape.
And now, while upon the subject of
dress, I will further say, that it is advisable for
ladies to bring out with them to Bombay every thing
they can possibly want, since the shops, excepting
immediately after the arrival of a ship, are very
poorly provided, while the packs, for few have attained
to the dignity of tin boxes, brought about by the
hawkers, contain the most wretched assortment of goods
imaginable. The moment, therefore, that the cargo
of a vessel hag been purchased by the retail dealers,
all that is really elegant or fashionable is eagerly
purchased, and the rejected articles, even should they
be equally excellent, when once consigned to the dingy
precincts of a Bombay shop, lose all their lustre.
The most perfect bonnet that Maradan ever produced,
if once gibbeted in one of Muncherjee’s glass-cases,
could never be worn by a lady of the slightest pretensions.
Goods to the amount of L300 were sold in one morning,
it is said, in the above-mentioned worthy’s shop,
and those who were unable to pay it a visit on the
day of the opening of the cases, must either content
themselves with the leavings, or wait the arrival of
another ship.
It is but justice to Miss Lyndsay,
the English milliner, to say that she always appears
to be well provided; but as her establishment is the
only one of the kind in Bombay, there must necessarily
be a sameness in the patterns of the articles made
up. The want of variety is the evil most strongly
felt in Anglo-Indian toilets; and, therefore, in preparing
investments, large numbers of the same pieces of silk
ribbons should be avoided, nobody liking to appear
in a general uniform, or livery.
The stoppage of the China trade has
cut off one abundant source of supply, of which the
ladies of Bombay were wise enough to avail themselves.
It is difficult now to procure a morsel of China silk
in the shops, and there appears to be little chance
of any goods of the kind coming into the market, until
the present differences between Great Britain and
the Celestial Empire shall be adjusted. With
the exception of the common and trifling articles brought
about by hawkers, every thing that is wanted for an
Anglo-Indian establishment must be sent for to the
Fort, from which many of the houses are situated,
four, five, or six miles.
As there are populous villages at
Bycullah, Mazagong, &c, it seems strange that no European
bazaars have been established at these intermediate
places for the convenience of the inhabitants, who,
with the exception of a few fowls, do not usually
keep much in the way of a farmyard. With an increase
in the number of inhabitants, of course shops would
start up in the most eligible situations, and should
the anticipated change take place, and Bombay become
the seat of the Supreme Government, the demands of
the new establishment would no doubt be speedily supplied.
It is impossible, however idle the
speculation may be, not to busy the mind with fancies
concerning the site of the city which it is supposed
would arise in the event of the Governor-general being
instructed to take up his abode at Bombay. The
Esplanade has been mentioned as the most probable
place, although in building over this piece of ground
the island would, in a great measure, be deprived of
its lungs, and the enjoyment of that free circulation
of air, which appears to be so essential to the existence
of Anglo-Indians, who seem to require the whole expanse
of heaven in order to breathe with freedom. The
happy medium between the want of air and its excess
will not answer the demand, and accordingly the Esplanade,
no matter how strongly the wind blows, is a favourite
resort. Although its general features are unattractive,
it occasionally presents a very animated scene; the
review of the troops in the garrison is seen to great
advantage, and forms a spectacle always interesting
and imposing.
This mustering of the troops is occasionally
varied by military exercises of a more novel nature.
The sailors of the flag-ship are brought on shore,
for the purpose of perfecting themselves in the manual
and platoon exercise, and in the performance of such
military evolutions as would enable them to co-operate
successfully with a land force, or to act alone with
greater efficiency upon any emergency. Though
not possessing much skill in military affairs, I was
pleased with the ease and precision with which they
executed the different movements, their steadiness
in marching, and the promptness with which the line
was dressed. They brought field-pieces on shore
with them, which, according to my poor judgment, were
admirably worked. These parades were the more
interesting, in consequence of the expected war with
China, a war in which the sailors of the Wellesley
will, no doubt, be actively engaged.
I had also an opportunity of witnessing
from the deck of that vessel, when accompanying the
Governor’s party on board, the manoeuvring of
the ship’s boats while landing a force.
The mock fight was carried on with great spirit, and
the most beautiful effect; the flashing from the guns
in the bows of the boats and the musketry, amid the
exquisite blue smoke issuing from the smaller species
of artillery, producing fire-works which, in my opinion,
could not be excelled by any of the most elaborate
construction. The features of the landscape, no
doubt, assisted to heighten the effect of the scene a
back-ground of lovely purple islands a
sea, like glass, calmly, brightly, beautifully blue and
the flotilla of boats, grouped as a painter would group
them, and carrying on a running fire, which added much
to the animation of their evolutions, the smoke occasionally
enveloping the whole in vapour, and then showing the
eager forms of men, as it rolled off in silvery clouds
towards the distant hills.
As I gazed upon this armament, and
upon the palm-woods that fringed the shore, I could
not help calling to mind the lawless doings of the
buccaneers of old, and the terror spread through towns
and villages by the appearance of a fleet of boats,
manned by resolute crews, and armed with the most
deadly weapons of destruction. The sight realized
also the descriptions given in modern novels of the
capture of towns, and I could easily imagine the great
excitement which would lead daring men to the execution
of deeds, almost incredible to those who have never
felt their spirits stirred and their arms nerved by
danger, close, imminent, and only to be mastered by
the mightiest efforts.
When any tamasha, as the natives
call it, is going on upon the Esplanade, near the
beach, they add very considerably to the effect of
the scene, by grouping themselves upon the bales of
cotton, piled near the wharf for exportation:
those often appear to be a mass of human beings, so
thickly are they covered with eager gazers. Upon
the occasion of the departure of Sir Henry Fane to
England, there appeared to be a general turn-out of
the whole of Bombay, and the effect was impressive
and striking. The road down to the Bunder, or
place of embarkation, was lined with soldiers, the
bands of the different regiments playing while the
cortege passed. All the ladies made their
appearance in open carriages, while the gentlemen mounted
on horseback, and joined the cavalcade. A large
party of native gentlemen assembled on foot at the
Bunder, for the purpose of showing a last mark of
respect to a distinguished officer, about to leave
the country for ever.
Sir Henry, accompanied by his staff,
but all in plain clothes, drove down the road in a
barouche, attended by an escort of cavalry, and seemed
to be much affected by the tokens of esteem which he
received on every hand. He left the shore amidst
the waving of handkerchiefs, and a salute of seventeen
guns, and would have been greeted with hearty cheers,
did military discipline allow of such manifestation
of the feelings.
Sights and scenes like these will,
of course, always attract numerous spectators, while
on the evenings in which the band plays, there is
a fair excuse for making the Esplanade the object of
the drive; but Bombay affords so many avenues possessing
much greater beauty, that I am always delighted when
I can diversify the scene by a visit to places not
nearly so much in request, but which are to me infinitely
more interesting, as developing some charm of nature,
or displaying the habits and manners of the people
of the country. With these views and feelings,
I was much pleased at receiving an invitation to accompany
some friends to a fair held in Mahim Wood that
sea of palm-trees, which I had often looked down upon
from Chintapootzlee Hill with so much pleasure.
The fair was held, as is usual in
oriental countries, in honour of a saint, whose canonized
bones rest beneath a tomb apparently of no great antiquity,
but which the people, who are not the best chronologists
in the world, fancy to be of very ancient date.
The name of the celebrated person thus enshrined was
Mugdooree Sahib, a devotee, who added the gift of
prophecy to his other high qualifications, and amongst
other things has predicted that, when the town shall
join the wood, Bombay shall be no more. The accomplishment
of what in his days must have appeared very unlikely
ever to take place namely, the junction
of inhabited dwellings with the trees of Mahim seems
to be in rapid course of fulfilment; the land has been
drained, many portions formerly impassable filled up,
and rendered solid ground, while the houses are extending
so fast, that the Burruh Bazaar will in no very long
period, in all probability, extend to Mahim.
Those who attach some faith to the prophecy, yet are
unwilling to believe that evil and not good will befal
the “rising presidency,” are of opinion
that some change of name will take place when it shall
be made the seat of the Supreme Government: thus
the saint’s credit will be saved, and no misfortune
happen to the good town of Bombay. The superstitious
of all persuasions, the Christians perhaps excepted though
many of the Portuguese Christians have little more
than the name unite in showing reverence
to the shrine of the saint, while Mugdooree Sahib
is held quite as much in estimation by the Hindus
as by the followers of he own corrupted creed, the
Mohammedans of Bombay being by no means orthodox.
Many respectable natives have built
houses for themselves at Mahim, on purpose to have
a place for their families during the time of the
fair, while others hire houses or lodgings, for which
they will pay as much as twenty rupees for the few
days that it lasts. A delightful drive brought
us to the confines of the wood; the whole way along,
we passed one continuous string of bullock-carriages,
filled with people of all tribes and castes, while
others, who could not afford this mode of conveyance,
were seen in groups, trudging on foot, leading their
elder children, and carrying their younger in their
arms. The road wound very prettily through the
wood, which at every turn presented some charming
bits of forest scenery, shown to great advantage in
the crimson light of evening, which, as it faded,
produced those wild, shadowy illusions, which lend
enchantment to every view. Parasitical plants,
climbing up the trunks of many of the trees, and flinging
themselves in rich garlands from bough to bough, relieved
the monotony of the tall, straight palm-trees, and
produced delicious green recesses, the dearest charm
of woodland scenery.
I have frequently felt a strong desire
to dwell under the shade of forest boughs, for there
is something in that sylvan kind of life so redolent
of the hunter’s merry horn, the mating song of
birds, and the gurgling of secret rills, as to possess
indescribable charms to a lover of the picturesque.
Now, however, experience in sober realities having
dispelled the illusions of romance, I should choose
a cottage in some cleared space by the wood-side,
though at this dry season of the year, and mid the
perpetual sunshine of its skies, the heart of Mahim
Wood would form a very agreeable residence.
The first house we came to was very
comfortable, and almost English in its appearance;
a small, neat mansion, with its little court-yard
before it, such as we should not be surprised to see
in some old-fashioned country village at home.
Straggling huts on either side brought us to the principal
street of Mahim, and here we found the houses lighted,
and lamps suspended, in imitation of bunches of grapes,
before all that were ambitious of making a good appearance.
After passing the shops belonging
to the village the grain-sellers, the pan-sellers,
and other venders of articles in common demand we
came to a series of booths, exactly resembling those
used for the same purpose in England, and well supplied
with both native and foreign products. The display
was certainly much greater than any I had expected
to see. Some of the shops were filled with French,
English, and Dutch toys; others with China and glass
ornaments; then came one filled with coloured glass
bangles, and every kind of native ornament in talc
and tinsel, all set off with a profusion of lights.
Instead of gingerbread, there were immense quantities
of metai, or sweetmeats, of different shapes
and forms, and various hues; sugar rock-work, pink,
white, and yellow, with all sorts and descriptions
of cakes. The carriage moved slowly through the
crowd, and at length, finding it inconvenient to proceed
farther in it, we alighted.
Our party had come to Mahim upon the
invitation of a very respectable moonshee, who had
his country-house there, and who was anxious to do
the honours of the fair to the English strangers, my
friends, like myself, being rather new to Bombay.
We met the old gentleman at an opening in the village,
leading to the tomb of the saint, and his offer to
conduct us to the sacred shrine formed a farther inducement
to leave the carriage, and venture through the crowd
on foot.
The tomb, which was strongly illuminated,
proved to be a white-washed building, having a dome
in the centre, and four minarets, one at each angle,
standing in a small enclosure, the walls of which were
also newly white-washed, and approached by a flight
of steps, leading into a portico. Upon either
side of the avenue from the village were seated multitudes
of men and women, who, if not beggars by profession,
made no scruple to beg on this occasion.
I felt at first sorry that I had neglected
to bring any money with me, but when I saw the crowd
of applicants, whom it would have been impossible
to satisfy, and recollected that my liberality would
doubtless have been attributed to faith in the virtues
of the saint, I no longer regretted the omission.
The steps of the tomb were lined with these beggars,
all vociferating at once, while other religious characters
were singing with all the power of their lungs, and
a native band, stationed in the verandah of the tomb,
were at the same time making the most hideous discord
by the help of all kinds of diabolical instruments.
Having a magistrate of our party,
we were well protected by the police, who, without
using any rudeness, kept the people off. So far
from being uncivil, the natives seemed pleased to see
us at the fair, and readily made way, until we came
to the entrance of the chamber in which, under a sarcophagus,
the body of the saint was deposited. Here we
were told that we could proceed no farther, unless
we consented to take off our shoes, a ceremony with
which we did not feel disposed to comply, especially
as we could see all that the chamber contained through
the open door, and had no intention to pay homage to
the saint. The sarcophagus, according to custom,
was covered with a rich pall, and the devout pressed
forward to lay their offerings upon it. These
offerings consisted of money, cloths, grain, fruit,
&c. nothing coming amiss, the priests of the temple
being quite ready to take the gifts which the poorest
could bestow. The beggars in the porch were more
clamorous than ever, the maam sahibs being especially
entreated to bestow their charity.
Having satisfied my curiosity, I was
glad to get away into the fair, where I found many
things more interesting. Convenient spaces in
the wood were filled with merry-go-rounds, swings,
and other locomotive machinery, of precisely the same
description as those exhibited in England, and which
I had seen in Hyde Park at the fair held there, in
honour of Queen Victoria. Mahim Wood boasted no
theatres or wild-beast shows, neither were we treated
with the sight of giants or dwarfs; but there was
no want of booths for the purpose of affording refreshment.
One of these cafes, the front of which was entirely
open, was most brilliantly illuminated, and filled
with numerous tables, covered with a multitude of
good things. That it was expected to be the resort
of English guests was apparent, from an inscription
painted in white letters, rather askew, upon a black
board, to the following effect: “Tea, Coffee,
and Pastry-House.”
We were invited to enter this splendid
establishment by the moonshee, who had evidently ordered
a refection to be prepared for the occasion.
Being unwilling to disappoint the old gentleman, we
took the seats offered to us, and ate the cakes, and
drank the coffee, presented by some respectable-looking
Parsees, the owners of the shop, which they had taken
pains to set off in the European style. Although
the natives of India will not eat with us, as they
know that we do not scruple to partake of food prepared
for their tables, they are mortified and disappointed
at any refusal to taste the good things set before
us; the more we eat, the greater being the compliment.
I was consequently obliged to convey away some of
the cakes in my handkerchief, to avoid the alternatives
of making myself ill or of giving offence.
When we were sufficiently rested and
refreshed, we followed the moonshee to his mansion.
The moon was at the full, and being at this time well
up, lighted us through the less thronged avenues of
the village, these tangled lanes, with the exception
of a few candles, having no other illumination.
Here, seated in corners upon the ground, were the
more humble traders of the fair, venders of fruit,
the larger kind being divided into slices for the
convenience of poor customers. In one spot, a
group of dissipated characters were assembled round
bottles and drinking-vessels (of which the contents
bore neither the colour nor the smell of sherbet),
who were evidently determined to make a night of it
over the fermented juice of the palm. From what
I have seen, I am inclined to believe sobriety to
be as rare a virtue in Bombay as in London; toddy-shops
appear to be greatly upon the increase, and certainly
in every direction there are already ample means of
gratifying a love of spirituous liquors. In other
places, the usual occupation of frying fish was going
on, while a taste for sweet things might be gratified
by confectionary of an ordinary description compared
with that exhibited in the shops.
As we receded from the fair, the bright
illumination in the distance, the twinkling lights
in the fore-ground, dimly revealing dusky figures
cowering round their fires, and the dark depths of
the wood beyond, with now and then a gleam of moonshine
streaming on its tangled paths, made up a landscape
roll of scenic effects. Getting deeper and deeper
into the wood, we came at last to a small modest mansion,
standing in the corner of a garden, and shadowed by
palm-trees, through which the moon-beams chequered
our path. We did not enter the house, contenting
ourselves with seats in the verandah, where the children
of our host, his wife or wives not making their appearance,
were assembled. The elder boys addressed us in
very good English, and were, the moonshee told us,
well acquainted with the Guzerattee and Mahratta languages;
he had also bestowed an education upon his daughters,
who were taught to read in the vernacular.
The old man told us that he was born
in Mahim Wood at the time of the festival, and, though
a Hindu, had had the name of Mugdooree, that of the
saint, bestowed upon him, for a good omen. Having
a great affection for his native place, he had, as
soon as he could command the means, built the house
which we now saw, and in which he always resided during
the fair, which was called oories, or the Mugdooree
Sahib’s oories, at Mahim. After sitting
some time with the old man, and admiring the effect
of the moonlight among the palm-trees, we rose to
depart. In taking leave of the spot, I could not
repress a wish to see it under a different aspect,
although it required very slight aid from fancy to
picture it as it would appear in the rains, with mildew
in the drip of those pendant palm branches, green stagnant
pools in every hollow, toads crawling over the garden
paths, and snakes lurking beneath every stone.
Returning to the place in which we
had left the carriage, we found the fair more crowded
than ever, the numbers of children, if possible, exceeding
those to be seen at English places of resort of the
same nature. The upper rooms of the superior
houses, many of which seemed to be large and handsome,
were well lighted and filled with company, many of
the most respectable amongst the Hindus, Mohammedans,
and Parsees, repairing to Mahim, to recreate themselves
during the festival. The shops had put on even
a gayer appearance, and though there was no rich merchandize
to be seen, the character of the meeting being merely
that of a rustic fair, I was greatly surprised by
the elegance of some of the commodities, and the taste
of their arrangement.
It was evident that all the purchasers
must be native, and consequently I could not help
feeling some astonishment at the large quantities
of expensive European toys with which whole booths
were filled. Dolls, which were to me a novelty
in my late visit to Paris, with real hair dressed
in the newest fashion, were abundant; and so were
those excellent representations of animals from Germany,
known by the name of “Barking toys.”
The price of these things, demanded of our party at
least, was high. I had wished to possess myself
of something as a remembrance of this fair, but as
the old moonshee was the only individual amongst us
who carried any money about him, I did not like him
to become my banker on this occasion, lest he should
not permit me to pay him again, and I should by this
means add to the disbursements already made upon our
account.
Upon leaving the fair, we found some
difficulty in steering our way through the bullock-carriages
which almost blocked up the road, and as we drove
along the grand thoroughfare towards Girgaum, a populous
portion of the native town, the visitants seemed to
increase; cart followed upon cart in quick succession,
all the bullocks in Bombay, numerous as they are,
appearing to have been mustered for the occasion.
In the different drives which I have
taken through the island, I have come upon several
fine tanks, enclosed by solid masonry of dark-coloured
stone; but, with the exception, in some instances,
of one or two insignificant pillars or minarets, they
are destitute of those architectural ornaments which
add so much splendour to the same works in Bengal.
The broad flights of steps, the richly decorated temple,
or the range of small pagodas, so frequently to be
seen by the side of the tanks and bowlies in other
parts of India, are here unknown; the more ancient
native buildings which I have yet examined being,
comparatively speaking, of a mean and paltry description,
while all the handsome modern houses are built after
the European manner. There is one feature, however,
with which I am greatly pleased the perpetual
recurrence of seats and ledges made in the walls which
enclose gentlemen’s gardens and grounds, or run
along the roads, and which seem to be intended as
places of repose for the wayfarer, or as a rest to
his burthen.
It is always agreeable to see needful
accommodation afforded to the poor and to the stranger;
public benefits, however trifling, displaying liberality
of mind in those who can give consideration to the
wants and feelings of multitudes from whom they can
hope for no return. These seats frequently occur
close to the gate of some spacious dwelling, and may
be supposed to be intended for the servants and dependants
of the great man, or those who wait humbly on the
outside of his mansion; but they as frequently are
found upon the high roads, or by the side of wells
and tanks.
The festival of the Duwallee
has taken place since my arrival in Bombay, and though
I have seen it celebrated before, and more splendidly
in one particular namely, the illuminations I
never had the same opportunity of witnessing other
circumstances connected with ceremonies performed
at the opening of the new year of the Hindus.
When I speak of the superiority of the illuminations,
I allude to their taste and effect; there were plenty
of lights in Bombay, but they were differently disposed,
and did not mark the outline of the buildings in the
beautiful manner which prevails upon the other side
of India, every person lighting up his own house according
to his fancy. Upon the eve of the new year, while
driving through the bazaar, we saw preparations for
the approaching festival; many of the houses were
well garnished with lamps, the shops were swept and
put into order, and the horns of the bullocks were
garlanded with flowers, while fire-works, and squibs
and crackers, were going off in all directions.
On the following evening, I went with
a party of friends, by invitation, to the house of
a native gentleman, a Parsee merchant of old family
and great respectability, and as we reached the steps
of his door, a party of men came up with sticks in
their hands, answering to our old English morice-dancers.
These men were well clad in white dresses, with flowers
stuck in their turbans; they formed a circle somewhat
resembling the figure of moulinet, but without
joining hands, the inner party striking their sticks
as they danced round against those on the outer ring,
and all joining in a rude but not unmusical chorus.
The gestures of these men, though wild, were neither
awkward nor uncouth, the sticks keeping excellent time
with the song and with the action of their feet.
After performing sundry evolutions, and becoming nearly
out of breath, they desisted, and called upon the
spectators to reward their exertions. Having received
a present, they went into the court-yard of the next
mansion, which belonged to one of the richest native
merchants in Bombay, and there renewed their dance.
We found in the drawing-room of our
host’s house a large company assembled.
The upper end was covered with a white cloth, and all
round, seated on the floor against the walls, were
grave-looking Parsees, many being of advanced years.
They had their books and ledgers open before them,
the ceremony about to be commenced consisting of the
blessing or consecration of the account-books, in
order to secure prosperity for the ensuing year.
The officiating priests were brahmíns, the custom
and the festival of which Lacshmee, the
goddess of wealth, is the patroness being
purely Hindu.
The Parsees of India, sole remnant
of the ancient fire-worshippers, have sadly degenerated
from that pure faith held by their forefathers, and
for which they became fugitives and exiles. What
persecution failed to accomplish, kindness has effected,
and their religion has been corrupted by the taint
of Hinduism, in consequence of their long and friendly
intercourse with the people, who permitted them to
dwell in their land, and to take their daughters in
marriage. Incense was burning on a tripod placed
upon the floor, and the priests muttering prayers,
which sounded very like incantations, ever and anon
threw some new perfume upon the charcoal, which produced
what our friend Dousterswivel would call a “suffumigation.”
These preliminaries over, they caused each person
to write a few words in the open book before him,
and then threw upon the leaves a portion of grain.
After this had been distributed, they made the circle
again, and threw gold leaf upon the volumes; then
came spices and betel-nut, cut in small pieces, and
lastly flowers, and a profusion of the red powder (abeer)
so lavishly employed in Hindu festivals. More
incense was burned, and the ceremony concluded, the
merchants rising and congratulating each other.
Formerly, when our host was a more wealthy man than,
in consequence of sundry misfortunes, he is at present,
he was in the habit of disbursing R,000 in gifts
upon this day: everybody that came to the house
receiving something.
The custom of blessing the books,
after the Hindu manner, will in all probability shortly
decline among the Parsees, the younger portion being
already of opinion that it is a vain and foolish ceremony,
borrowed from strangers; and, indeed, the elders of
the party were at some pains to convince me that they
merely complied with it in consequence of a stipulation
entered into with the Hindus, when they granted them
an asylum, to observe certain forms and ceremonies
connected with their customs, assuring me that they
did not place any reliance upon the favour of the
goddess, looking only for the blessing of God to prosper
their undertakings.
This declaration, however, was somewhat
in contradiction to one circumstance, which I omitted
to mention, namely, that before the assembled Parsees
rose from the floor, they permitted the officiating
brahmíns to mark their foreheads with the symbol
of the goddess, thus virtually admitting her supremacy.
The lamps were then lighted, and we were presented
with the usual offering of bouquets of roses, plentifully
bedewed with goolabee panee, or the distilled
tears of the flower, to speak poetically; and having
admired the children of the family, who were brought
out in their best dresses and jewels, took our leave.
The ladies, the married daughters and daughters-in-law
of our host, did not make their appearance upon this
occasion; for, though not objecting to be seen in
public, they are not fond of presenting themselves
in their own houses before strangers.
It is the women of India who are at
this moment impeding the advance of improvement; they
have hitherto been so ill-educated, their minds left
so entirely uncultivated, that they have had nothing
to amuse or interest them excepting the ceremonies
of their religion, and the customs with which it is
encumbered. These, notwithstanding that many
are inconvenient, and others entail much suffering,
they are unwilling to relinquish. Every departure
from established rule, which their male relatives
deem expedient, they resolutely oppose, employing the
influence which women, however contemned as the weaker
vessel, always do possess, and always will exert,
in perpetuating all the evils resulting from ignorance.
The sex will ever be found active either in advancing
or retarding great changes, and whether this activity
be employed for good or for evil, depends upon the
manner in which their intellectual faculties have
been trained and cultivated.
It appears to me that, although education
is making great progress in Bombay, all it has yet
accomplished of good appears upon the surface, it
not having yet wrought any radical change in the feelings
and opinions of the people, or, excepting in few instances,
directing their pursuits to new objects. I give
this opinion, however, with great diffidence merely
as an impression which a longer residence in Bombay
may remove; meanwhile, I lose no opportunity of acquainting
myself with the native community, and I hope to gather
some interesting information relative to the probable
effects of the system now adopting at the different
national schools.
As far as I can judge, a little of
Uncle Jonathan’s fervour in progressing is wanting
here; neither the Anglo-Indian or native residents
seem to manifest the slightest inclination to “go
ahead;” and while they complain loudly of the
apathy evinced at home to all that concerns their
advantage and prosperity, are quite content to drowze
over their old dustoors (customs), and make
no attempt to direct the public attention in England
to subjects of real importance.
Though unwilling to indulge in premature
remarks, these are pressed upon me by the general
complaints which I hear upon all sides; but though
everybody seems to lament the evil, no one exerts himself
to effect a remedy, and while much is talked of individually,
little is done by common consent. One great bar
to improvement consists, I am told, of the voluminous
nature of the reports upon all subjects, which are
heaped together until they become so hopelessly bulky,
that nobody can be prevailed upon to wade through
them. In England, at all public meetings, a great
deal of time and breath are wasted in superfluous
harangues; but these can only effect the remote mischief
threatened by Mr. Babbage, and produce earthquakes
and other convulsions in distant lands, in distant
centuries; whereas the foolscap is a present and a
weighty evil, and has probably swamped more systems
of improvement, and more promising institutions, than
any other enemy, however active.
The intellectual community of India
seems yet to have to learn the advantage of placing
all that relates to it in a clear, succinct, and popular
form, and of bringing works before the British public
which will entertain as well as instruct, and lead
those who are employed in legislating for our Eastern
territories to inquire more deeply into those subjects
which so materially affect its political, moral, and
commercial prosperity.