Part 10 (2/2)
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”Very soon each of the men had a bundle of snipe and we had to return; but we had not many cartridges left, which consoled us. We went back pretty wet all over, for it was piping hot and airless under the palms, but on the fields outside the air was delicious and dry. We crossed the line to a beautiful lake with level gra.s.sy banks and found it alive with thousands of duck. They were very wary though, and kept far out of range and wouldn't rise. We had not time for rafting or boating, so got on to the trolly again, and back to our home on the siding; and some snipe were plucked before I'd found my pencil. You should see how neat these servants are with their fingers. Here is a jotting of the operation--I think I've got the movement of their rather weak-looking hands. They are sitting on the track beside the kitchen part of the carriage.
”I wish very much both R. and I could spare a little more time for this pastime, ”but one canna dae a' thing,” as they say at St.
Abbs, and R. has to attend to Royal preparations south--thus has the honour and glory of serving his country and his King--I am trying to see where my Ego scores, but don't--I miss a half-day's shooting. But the little we had, was astonis.h.i.+ngly interesting though it wasn't very long. Now we have a day and a night home again--a hundred miles to a snipe shoot, my longest journey in proportion to the size of the shoot; but no distance at all compared with its novelty and interest.
... Drew most of the way home, cows, aloes, trees, women's figures, men's ditto, dogs, goats, palms, etc., etc. It pa.s.ses the time and does no harm that I wot of.
All pleasures but the Artist's bring ”I' th' tail repentance like a sting.”
”Home to Bangalore and the rehearsal of our adventures to our better halves, and talk--well into the night, which means here about 11.30! Then to bed at once, for R. has to start early with his Chief in the morning, he is coming from the Central Office at Dharwar; to test bridges and things in Mysore, to see they are strong enough, for they say there are twenty English valets coming in the Royal train!”
It rained heavily all night, and this morning the sky was overcast, and already we, who have been in India only a few weeks, feel almost vexed that it is not sunny. In the morning we went to the Residency to call--a strange hour to call at, one of the things in India n.o.body can understand--as reasonable as top hats and frock coats in Calcutta. It is a very fine Emba.s.sy indeed--palace, perhaps, you might almost call it, with a nice air of official dignity that comes from the Lion and the Unicorn in the front of the house above the entrance, and the little khaki clad native soldiers, mounted orderlies, and Red Chupra.s.sis in groups about the grounds.
Mrs Fraser, wife of the Resident, was at home, and wore a very pretty dress of soft grey and black muslin(?) with touches of dull rose bows--but how can you describe a dress of the present period, they are such subtle things; a Romney or a Reynolds dress would be easy enough--something white hitched up here or there would be near enough, but nowadays the colours of various materials tell through each other so delicately and the shapes suggest faintly so many periods that I question if it is in the power of words to describe a modern frock.
Our hostess, I gathered, is deeply engrossed in making the bundabast[15]
for the entertainment of the Prince and his retainers--If twenty valets require so many napkins, for so many days, how many cups and saucers will be needed for a Royal Procession for a week, and so on?
[15] I think the context explains the meaning of Bundabast--an invaluable word. I take it, it is used correctly as above. You can make ”bundabast” for a campaign, I believe, or for a picnic; _i.e._, order the carriages, food, and things, and the right people, and generally take all responsibilities therefor.
15th. Dec.--This ought to be a date to remember in our lives. My neice and I went to jail to-day, both for the first time, and I am not anxious to go again. It is immediately across the road from Locksley Hall. We pa.s.sed through a double archway, guarded inside by native soldiers.
Facing us as we entered, the walls were decorated with trophies of chains and fetters, which the man in the street might see as he pa.s.sed.
The Governor very kindly went round with us, and we saw a distinctly stronger type of man than those outside; here and there a trifle too much cheek bone and queer eyes, mostly murderers, many with faces one would pick for choice as manly men. Famine times account for some of the murders, and overstocking I should say; it's done everywhere, in trout ponds, deer forests, and sheep runs. India, I expect, is over preserved; a bad season comes, and famine, and one starving fellow chips in with another, and knocks a third party on the head because he has a meal on him, and the first parties' children are crying for food--and by the prophets, we'd each try to do the same under similar circ.u.mstances, and the result would be the survival of the fittest. Government now catches the would-be ”fittest” and sets him hanging to a piece of rope, or makes him wear beautiful bright chains and weave beautiful carpets, as they do here, in all the colours of Joseph's coat, in silk or cotton; with everything he wants except liberty and the sun on the road outside--and the children and wife. The carpets are exquisitely made in hand-looms.
The men sit in a sort of rifle pit and weave on an upright hand-loom, and the patterns on great carpets or the finest of silk rugs grow out of their wicked brains only; there's no pattern in front of them to copy from; they do it by heart. You know a ”Lifer” from a ”Timer” by the colour of their skull caps; one is white, the other brown--I think the brown is the ”Lifer.” All is beautifully kept, and the men look at you when ordered to do so, also when they are not ordered and your back is turned. They give their names too when ordered, and crimes, and terms of imprisonment, so gently. Oh! how I'd love to kick the blessed wall all down and let the lot out! then I'd have to sit up all night, I suppose, with a gun, looking after our silver-plated spoons.
The princ.i.p.al individual who caused most trouble in the prison was a ”Lifer,” I think, a most remarkably long, thin man, actually eel-like.
He had escaped three times. The last hole he escaped by he made with a nail, and it had just been bricked up and plastered over. He was not allowed to work, merely stood bolt upright, a head and shoulder higher than his two, armed jailers, who were chained to him. He was motionless as a statue, but I never saw such unrest as there was in his eyes; there was the look of the eye of a bird in the hand, one simple concentrated expression of watchfulness for a chance to escape. He is a bit of a wag, I am told. Once when he escaped he borrowed a carriage and livery and engaged himself to the services of a lady in Bangalore, and actually drove the lady to prison to call on the Governor. But when he gathered the Governor was coming to return the call, he thought it time to go; I don't know how he was captured again, and I wonder very much if he will escape once more. His four companions who stood beside him in the blaze of joyous sun were just going to be released in half an hour from all their joys and troubles. Two of them looked very murderous specimens, two looked good, I don't know why, but one felt curiously shy about looking at them. One or two of the murderers' faces wore a quiet half-smiling expression, barely human, and that seemed to me to spell ”killing” quite distinctly and without any evil intent, like the expression on a Greek head I have only once seen, a youthful combatant--a cheery unintrospective look, a tough round neck, raised chin, oblique eyes, and the least smile on lips just parted. One young woman had that kind of face too; the rest were just as good in expression as outsiders. They were employed grinding millets in hand quirns, hard work, I'd think; the top stone they turn round, weighs two stone and they put it round fairly quickly. I'd so much have liked to have drawn this particular woman's face. I think it is the only handsomely shaped face I've seen in India so far, and yet that queer inhuman look ought to have prevented a child closing its eyes near her.
She had killed a child for its bangle and dropped it into a well, and in prison nearly killed another for another bangle. She was fourteen and had a look of complete ignorance of good or evil. This good-looking girl they tell me is to go into a nunnery--by my Hostie! I'd like to hear the end of the story.
We came back from the jail and found a tableau arranged on our verandah.
It was well done, whether by accident or design. The two princ.i.p.al actors sat in the middle of the verandah with neat bundles arranged round them, and behind them sat their two slaves or henchmen in garments of complimentary tints. The Memsahibs came and were salaamed, and sat in front of the traders. Then the bundles were opened and blossomed into colours and fabrics. Within ten minutes the verandah was covered with silks of every hue, gorgeous colours and the delicate colours of moonlight, so that the matting was completely covered with a veritable riot of colours and textures--a much more wonderful effect than any tricks with baskets or mangoes grown under sheets. I tried to put this down in colour, and here is a pen and ink jotting of the subject.
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Sunday.--Walked round the outside of the prison grounds amongst little patches of highly-cultivated market gardens and clumps of palms, and these long pumps like the ancient catapult with bronze men sweating at them pulling down the long arm of the balanced yard to let the bucket down the well, then tipping the water out into gutters of mud to irrigate. They do it pretty much the same way up the Nile. The cottages have low mud walls, and are thatched with dried palm leaves and sc.r.a.ps of corrugated iron, and the naked children, with their coal-black mops of hair, play about in the dust with the hens, and seem to have a good time. They are chubby and jolly, and don't quarrel so much, or speak so harshly as school board children in our Bonnie Lowlands. Here and there are quaint little temples, stone built, under the palms between the patches of cultivated ground. There are p.r.i.c.kly pears, and hedges of different th.o.r.n.y creepers with flowers of pink, cinnamon, deep orange, and violet. I pa.s.s a group of goats feeding on one of these hedges, black, white, and brown--a pleasant motley of moving colour. The piece of hedge near me has pink flowers, and behind it you see a little lapis-lazuli sky. The black goat's coat is almost blue with reflected sky. Near me a boy stands in the shadow of a tree herding a cow. The leaves throw deep shadows on the rusty red path and a tracery of leaf shadows, on the cow's back and sides--deeper in colour than the velvety black of the hide itself.
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[Ill.u.s.tration: A Street Corner, Bangalore]
In the evening my hostess drives me to another part of the bazaar, and we scribble, and try hard to remember a street corner and prevent other scenes obliterating our impressions and come straight home to get it down.
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