Part 8 (1/2)
Nor can I overlook our countrywomen in Allahabad. There is here a ”Zenana Mission,” supported by the society of the good Mrs. Doremus, and also two ladies connected with the Presbyterian Board, one of whom, Miss Wilson, devotes herself to visiting in the Zenanas, while the other, Miss Seward, is a physician, practising with great success in many of the best native families, thus rendering a physical as well as a spiritual service. She is a niece of the late Secretary of State, William H. Seward, who when in India paid her a visit, and was so impressed with what she was doing so quietly and yet so effectively; with the access which her medical skill and her feminine tact gave her to the interior life of the people; that on his return to America he summed up the result of all his observations of missions in this brief counsel: ”Make all your missionaries women, and give them all a medical education.”
Allahabad has a proud name--the City of G.o.d; but one sees not much to render it worthy of that exalted t.i.tle. It is however, in the estimation of the Hindoos a sacred city, as it stands at the junction of the Jumna and the Ganges, the two sacred rivers of India, which issuing out of the glaciers of the Himalayas, hundreds of miles to the north, here unite, and flow on in a broader stream, and with an increased volume of sanct.i.ty. The point of junction is of course a very holy place--one of the most sacred in India--and draws to it more pilgrims than Mecca. Every year hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, come from all parts of India to bathe in these holy waters. This is the Mela--or great religious festival--which was now in progress. The missionaries congratulated us that we had arrived at such an opportune moment, as we had thus an opportunity of witnessing a spectacle which would show more of Hindooism than any other that we could see in India, unless it might be in the holy city of Benares.
On a Sat.u.r.day evening we rode down to the place of the encampment, which we found covering a wide sandy plain at the junction of two rivers. It was a camp-meeting of magnificent dimensions. The tents or booths were laid out in streets, and sometimes grouped in a hollow square, which for the time being was a compact and populous city. As the evening was not the hour for bathing, we did not go down to the river bank, but strolled among the camps to see the people. At every tent fires were burning, and they were cooking their food.
Our friends led the way to the camp of the Sikhs, the famous warrior race of the Punjaub, who form a sect by themselves, and, strange to say, are not idolators. They follow the teachings of a prophet of their own, and like the Mohammedans, make it a special virtue, that they do not wors.h.i.+p idols. But the old instinct is too strong for them, and while they do not bow to images, they pay a reverence to their sacred book--the writings of their teacher--which is little short of idolatry. At several places in their camp was something like an altar, a raised platform which was too holy for us to ascend, where sat a priest reading from this volume, before which all knelt as at the shrine of a saint, while they scattered flowers around it as a kind of incense or adoration.
In other parts of the camp men were blowing horns and making all sorts of hideous noise, as an intense way of offering devotions. This mockery of religion moved the indignation of our friends, who opened their mouths boldly in exposure of such folly and superst.i.tion, but they found that those whom they addressed did not shrink from the encounter.
Some of them were very keen in argument. They have a subtle philosophy at the bottom of their wors.h.i.+p, which they explained with a good deal of ingenuity, and tried to illumine by apt a.n.a.logies and ill.u.s.trations.
Like all Hindoos, they were most liberal in their tolerance of other religions--much more so than the Mohammedans--generously conceding that our religion was best _for us_, while claiming that theirs was best _for them_. They did not try to convert us, and saw no reason why we should try to convert them. This was the Broad Church indeed, large enough for ”all sorts and conditions of men.” They even went further, and paid us not only the respect due to men, but to G.o.ds. One of the fakirs said to us in so many words: ”You are G.o.d and I am G.o.d!” This tells the whole story in a sentence. Their creed is the baldest Pantheism: that G.o.d is in everything, and therefore everything is G.o.d.
As all life comes from Him, He is in everything that lives--not only in man, but in beasts, and birds, and reptiles. All alike are incarnations of a Divine life, and hence all alike are fit objects of adoration. Man can adore himself. He need not carry any burden of sorrow or guilt; he need not know repentance or shame; for how can he mourn for impulses which are but the inspirations of the G.o.d in him, or for acts which are but the manifestations of the Universal Soul?
This was our first close contest with Hindooism, but still we had not seen the Mela till we had seen the bathing of the pilgrims in the Ganges, which was still in reserve. The Festival lasts a month--like the Ramadan of the Mohammedans--and is regulated by the changes of the moon. The day of the new moon, which was last Wednesday, was the great day of the feast. On that day there was a grand procession to the river, in which there were twenty-five elephants, mounted by their _mahants_ (a sort of chief priests), with hundreds of fakirs on foot, and a vast crowd in all the frenzy of devotion. On Monday, as the moon was approaching her first quarter, there was likely to be a large concourse, though not equal to the first, and we made arrangements to be on hand to witness a spectacle such as we had never seen before, and should probably never see again. Rev. Mr. Holcomb came very early in the morning with his carriage, to take us to the riverside. As we drove along the roads, we pa.s.sed thousands who were flocking to the place of bathing. Some rode in ox-carts, which carried whole families; now and then a mounted horseman dashed by; while a long row of camels told of a caravan that had toiled wearily over a great distance, perhaps from the foot of the Himalayas or the Vale of Cashmere, to reach the sacred spot. But the greater part of those who came were on foot, and looked like pilgrims indeed. Most of them carried on their shoulders a couple of baskets, in one of which was their food, and in the other the ashes of their dead, which they had brought from their homes, sometimes hundreds of miles, to cast into the sacred waters of the Ganges.
The carriage brought us only to the Bund, near the Fort--a huge embankment of earth raised to keep out the waters at the time of the annual risings, and which during the past year had saved the city from inundation. Here our friends had provided an elephant to take us through the crowd. The huge creature was waiting for us. The mahout who stood at his head now mounted in an extraordinary manner. He merely stepped in front of the elephant, and took hold of the flaps of his ears, and put up a foot on his trunk, which the beast raised as lightly as if the man had been a feather, and thus tossed his rider upon his head. A word of command then brought him to his knees, when a ladder was placed against his side, and we climbed to the top, and as he rose up, were lifted into the air. An elephant's back is a capital lookout for observation. It raises one on high, from which he can look down upon what is pa.s.sing below; and the mighty creature has not much difficulty in making his way through even the densest crowd. He moved down the embankment a little slowly at first, but once on level ground, he strode along with rapid strides; while we, sitting aloft, regarded with amazement the scene before us.
Indeed it was a marvellous spectacle. Here was a vast camp, extending from river to river. Far as the eye could reach, the plain was covered with tents and booths. We had no means of estimating the number of people present. Mr. Kellogg made a rough calculation, as he stood in his preaching tent, and saw the crowd pouring by. Fixing his eye on the tent-pole, with watch in hand, he counted the number that pa.s.sed in a minute, and found it to be a hundred and fifty, which would make nine thousand in an hour. If this steady flow were kept up for four hours (as it began at daylight, and was continued, though with varying volume, through the forenoon), it would make thirty-six thousand; and reckoning those encamped on the ground at twenty thousand, the whole number would be over fifty thousand.
This is a very small number, compared with that present at some times.
Last Wednesday it was twice as great, and some years the mult.i.tude--which overflows the country for miles, like an inundation of the Ganges--has been estimated at hundreds of thousands, and even millions. Every twelve years there is a greater Mela than at other times, and the concourse a.s.sumes extraordinary proportions. This came six years ago, in 1870. That year it was said that there were present 75,000 fakirs alone, and on the great day of the feast it was estimated that a million of people bathed in the Ganges. So fearful was the crush that they had to be marshalled by the police, and marched down to the river by ten or twenty thousand at a time, and then across a bridge of boats to the other side, returning by another way, so as to prevent a collision of the entering and returning ma.s.s, that might have occasioned a fearful loss of life. That year it was estimated that not less than two millions of pilgrims visited the Mela. Allowing for the common exaggeration in estimating mult.i.tudes, there is no doubt whatever that the host of pilgrims here has often been ”an exceeding great army.”
I could not but look with pity at the ignorant creatures flocking by, but the feeling of pity changed to disgust at the sight of the priests by whom they were misled. Everywhere were fakirs sitting on the ground, receiving the reverence of the people. More disgusting objects I never looked upon, not even in an asylum for the insane. They were almost naked; their hair, which they suffer to grow long, had become tangled and knotted, and was matted like swamp gra.s.s, and often bound round with thick ropes; and their faces smeared with filth. The meagerness of their clothing is one of the tokens of their sanct.i.ty.
They are so holy that they do not need to observe the ordinary rules of decency. Yet these filthy creatures are regarded not only with reverence, but almost wors.h.i.+pped. Men--and women also--stoop down and kiss their feet. On Wednesday some three hundred of these fakirs marched in procession _absolutely naked_, while crowds of women prostrated themselves before them, and kissed the very ground over which they had pa.s.sed. One is amazed that such a disgusting exhibition was not prevented by the police. Yet it took place under the guns of an English fort, and--greatest shame of all--instead of being suppressed, was accompanied and protected by the police, which, though composed of natives, wore the uniform, and obeyed the orders, of Christian England! There are not many sights which make one ashamed of the English government in India, but surely this is one of them.[1]
How such ”brute beasts” can have any respect or influence, is one of the mysteries of Hindooism. But the common people, ignorant and superst.i.tious, think these men have a power that is more than human, and fear to incur their displeasure. They dread their curses: for these holy men have a fearful power of imprecation. Wherever they stroll through the country, no man dares to refuse them food or shelter, lest one of their awful curses should light upon his head, and immediately his child should die, or disaster should overtake his house.
But let us pa.s.s on to the banks of the river, where the crowd is already becoming very great. To go among them, we get down from our elephant and walk about. Was there ever such a scene--men, women, and children, by tens of thousands, in all stages of nakedness, pressing towards the sacred river? The men are closely shaved, as for every hair of their heads they gain a million of years in Paradise! Some had come in boats, and were out in the middle of the stream, from which they could bathe. But the greater part were along the sh.o.r.e. The water was shallow, so that they could wade in without danger; but to afford greater security, lines of boats were drawn around the places of bathing, to keep them from drowning and from suicide.
It would not have been easy to make our way through such a crowd, had not the native police, with that respect for Englishmen which is seen everywhere in India, cleared the way for us. Thus we came down to the water's edge, pa.s.sing through hundreds that were coming up dripping from the water, and other hundreds that were pressing in. They were of all ages and s.e.xes. It was hard to repress our disgust at the voluntary debas.e.m.e.nt of men who might know better, but with these there were some wretched objects, who could only excite our pity--poor, haggard old women, who had dragged themselves to this spot, and children borne on their mothers' shoulders! In former times many infants were thrown into the Ganges. This was the most common form of infanticide. But this practice has been stopped by the strong hand of the government. And now they are brought here only to ”wash and be cleansed.” Even the sick were carried in palanquins, to be dipped in the healing waters; and here and there one who seemed ready to die was brought, that he might breathe his last in sight of the sacred river.
I observed a great number of flags flying from tall poles in different parts of the ground, which made the place look like a military encampment. These marked the headquarters of the men who get up these Melas, and in so doing contrive to unite business with religion.
During the year they perambulate the country, drumming up pilgrims. A reputation for sanct.i.ty is a stock in trade, and they are not too modest to set forth their own peculiar gifts, and invite those who come to the holy water to repair to their shop, where they can be ”put through” in the shortest time, and for the least money. This money-making feature is apparent in all the arrangements of these pious pilgrimages.
In keeping with these coa.r.s.er features of the scene, was the presence of dancing girls, who gathered a group around them close to the bathing places, and displayed their indecent gestures on the banks of the holy river, to those who had just engaged in what they considered an act of moral purification.
In other parts of the camp, retired from the river, was carried on the business of ”religious instruction.” Here and there pundits, or learned Brahmins, surrounded by large companies, chiefly of women, were reading from the Shasters, which, considering that they got over the ground with great velocity, could hardly be very edifying to their hearers. This mattered little, however, as these sacred books are in Sanscrit, which to the people is an unknown tongue.
I was glad to see that these blind leaders of the blind did not have it all their own way. Near by were the preaching-tents of several missionaries, who also drew crowds, to whom they spoke of a better religion. Among them was Rev. Mr. Macombie, who is a famous preacher.
He is a native of India, and is not only master of their language, but familiar with their ideas. He knows all their arguments and their objections, and if a hearer interrupts him, whether a Hindoo, or a Mohammedan, he is very apt to get a shot which makes him sink back in the crowd, glad to escape without further notice. Whether this preaching converts many to Christianity, there can be no doubt that it diffuses a widespread sense of the folly of these Melas, and to this as one cause may be ascribed the falling-off in the concourse of pilgrims, who were formerly counted by millions and are now only by hundreds of thousands.
While ”religion” thus went on vigorously, business was not forgotten.
In the remoter parts of the camp it was turned into a market-place. A festival which brings together hundreds of thousands of people, is an occasion not to be lost for traffic and barter. So the camp becomes a huge bazaar (a vast fair, such as one may see in America at a cattle show or a militia muster), with streets of shops, so that, after one has performed his religious duties, as he comes up from the holy waters and returns to ”the world,” he can gratify his pride and vanity by purchasing any quant.i.ty of cheap jewelry.
There are shops for the sale of idols. We could have bought a lovely little beast for a few pence. They are as ”cheap as dirt;” in fact, they are often made of dirt. As we stood in front of one of the shops, we saw a group rolling up a little ball of mud, as children make mud pies; who requested a lady of our party to step one side, as her shadow, falling on this holy object, polluted it!
It is hard to believe that even the most ignorant and degraded of men can connect such objects with any idea of sacredness or religion. And yet the wretched-looking creatures seemed infatuated with their idolatries. To bathe in the Ganges washes away their sins. It opens to them the gates of paradise. Such value do they attach to it that even death in its sacred waters is a privilege. Formerly suicides were very frequent here, till they were stopped by the Government. Fanaticism seems to destroy the common sympathies of life. Last Wednesday, while the great procession was in progress, a fire broke out in one of the booths. As they are made of the lightest material it caught like tinder, and spread so rapidly that in a few minutes a whole camp was in a blaze. But for the presence of mind and energy of a few English soldiers from the Fort who were on the ground, and who seized an engine, and played upon the burning wood and thatch, the entire encampment might have been destroyed, involving an appalling loss of life. As it was, some thirty perished, almost all women. Mr. Kellogg came up in time to see their charred and blackened remains. Yet this terrible disaster awakened no feeling of compa.s.sion for its victims.