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CHAPTER IX THE INDIAN AT HOME IT would require a thousand interviewers to report on “The Indian at Home” in all his phases. From the palace of the rajah to the hut of the ryot; from the furnished mansions of the Europeanised Parsees to the cave dwellings of some of the religious devotees; from the Swiss châlet-like cottages of the Himalayan mountaineers, perched high on craig, to the boats on the sea and river that give residence to an amphibious population; from the tents of the nomadic tribes in the deserts and the tree that shelters some of the pastoral races, to the crowded ant-nests of humanity in some of the city caravanserais, — from all these specimens of town and country life, city and jungle life, river and desert life, it is impossible to make a typical selection. “There is
safety in
mediocrity,” I was once informed by a Bengali baboo, who inclined to a
middle
course. And perchance a middle-class Hindu’s house in Bengal will give
us a
sufficiently good idea of domestic life. I am beholden for my details
to two or
three Hindu gentlemen who have written on the subject. The house
is that
of a well-to-do retired tradesman, let us say, who can afford to live
comfortably. He is an elderly man, but his old crone of a mother is
still
alive, his four sons are all married, and have children, whilst two of
his
brothers and a son, deceased, have left widows, who, under the
patriarchal
system, all dwell under the same roof. It is a little commune, where
the money
earners contribute their wages to a common purse, from which the
expenditure is
apportioned by the head of the house, and where the womenfolk undertake
all the
domestic duties, with considerably more than their share foisted on the
widows,
except the old grandmother who rules in the zenana.
Children tumble about promiscuously, and there is a general sensation
of
over-population within the walls. Privacy there is none, saving the
fundamental
privacy which partitions off the women’s from the men’s quarters. The house
stands in
a garden, well cultivated, and containing a well or tank, and several
shady
trees. It is double storied, and the upper floor is reached by a
cramped
corkscrew staircase. The ground plan forms three sides of a square,
with a
courtyard in the centre, and the fourth side contains a dállán, or open reception-hall,
which is a
sort of general room, drawing-room (no ladies admitted), clubroom,
schoolroom,
and chapel. The most distinctive feature of the building are its
verandahs. The
interior is barn-like, owing to the absence of all furniture, and your
first
impression, as a European, is that of entering a disused house. One or
two of
the ground-floor rooms may be paved, but those upstairs are plastered
with a
coating of cow-dung over a layer of earth, as wood is not considered
clean
enough to eat off of. The walls are distempered, such a thing as
wall-paper
being unknown in India, where the damp of the rainy season would soon
peel off
that which the white ants spared. If you are permitted to peep into the
zenana, in the
absence of the inmates, you
will see a little more decoration than in the men’s quarters; but even
here the
most noticeable article is a commodious bed, and a few rude pictures
painted on
the walls are the only relief to the general suggestion of bareness. In
lieu of
chairs, there are small rugs or mats for the women to sit on, and the
narrow
windows are grated, not glazed. The whole interior is singularly dark
and
gloomy. There is no glass- or china-ware, brass taking their place, and
you
particularly observe the brass spittoons placed conspicuously about. The karta, or head of the family,
is a fat and
elderly gentleman, whose costume consists of a single sheet wrapped
round his
waist, much as Englishmen adjust a bathing-towel on issuing from their
tubs. We
should call him a scandalously indecent old fellow, but you will find
that all
the men in the house adopt this principle of semi-nudity in their
homes. Here,
too, the turban is generally laid aside, and, needless to say, all the
shoes
have been left at the threshold, just as Europeans leave hats on a
hall-stand.
The karta’s head is shaved, except for a tuft on the back centre of the
poll;
he wears a necklace of beads to assist him in his prayers, and a
“sacred
thread” girdles him from shoulder to waist, which is the insignia of
his high
caste. His brown naked skin shines from its polish of mustard oil, a
very
favourite application, and his chief employment is squatting on his
hunkers and
smoking a hookah. The
routine of
household life is singularly simple. At the earliest sign of dawn, for
all
India is awake and stirring long before sunrise, the widows of the
house come
stealing down from the upper rooms to perform their ablutions, which,
in the
chilly morning air of the cold weather, consist of a perfunctory
pouring of
water over hands and face, to be followed by a bath later in the day.
The
sweeping and dusting of the house is a very simple operation, and where
the
floor is the common table, it is necessarily kept scrupulously clean.
Then
follows the milking of the cows and goats, for every one who can, keeps
these
in a country where milk takes the place of tea, coffee, cocoa, ale,
wine, and
spirits. The drawing of water also is no slight task where the
household is a
large one, but it is not necessary for washing purposes, as everybody
goes to
the well or tank for that purpose, and even the women bathe in the
open,
changing their wet garments for dry ones with such quickness and
dexterity as
to deceive the eye like a conjurer’s trick. By this
time, the
men of the house will be beginning to stir, and custom demands that the
women
should retire to their own part of the building. Dressing with the men
is a
simple affair, but their ablutions take a long time, being accompanied
by an
immense amount of teeth-washing and expectoration. Cleansed and
purified, the worship
of the household gods next demands attention. These are rather images
than
idols. In a niche of a room, squatting upon its own little altar, is
the
representation of the deity the family worship, In front of this, puja has to be made, and its
precincts
sprinkled with rice and flowers. There is more punctuality about family
prayers
in Bengal than in Britain, only ladies are not admitted. After this
observance,
hookahs are lighted, and the lords and masters while away the time
until the
womenfolk serve the morning meal, which is the principal one of the
day. In those
houses
where the expense can be afforded, a Brahmin is kept as cook, for any
one can
eat of what he has prepared, whilst if the women of the house do the
cooking,
only those of the same caste can be entertained. It requires no small
amount of
skill to obtain variety and tempt the appetite with the somewhat
limited
resources of a Hindu larder. You may enumerate the contents as ghee (rancid butter), oil,
spices,
vegetables, grain, and fish, which is a permissible diet, and almost a
staple
where a river or the sea is at hand. Allowing for the difference of
taste,
Hindu culinary science leaves crude British methods far behind. The
possibilities of rice have never been suspected in England, where it is
only
imported to be barbarously treated, whereas, properly boiled, spiced,
and
flavoured, it has inherent capabilities not inferior to maccaroni.
Cooking is a
universal accomplishment in the East; amongst those who profess the art
are chefs whose skill
is exquisite, such for
instance as the Mugs of Chittagong; but apart from the professional
cook,
“every schoolboy” can prepare his own dinner, and when in service every
man is
his own cook. The
Bengali’s menu is
varied, and his appetite enormous.
Measure for measure, your Indian will far outstrip the European in
eating
capacity. On the floor, four or five large dishes and as many small
ones
figure, consisting of soup, fish, currie, rice, cakes, puddings,
porridge,
pulse, and fruit, but very different in their component parts from what
the
English are accustomed to under the same names, and in their order of
serving. Every one
eats with
his fingers. The women wait upon the men; withal very carefully, for
each man
has his own platter, and to touch it or him, even though it is his wife
who
does so, contaminates his food and renders it uneatable. Another
peculiarity of
caste is that no individual may leave his seat until all his fellows
have
finished their meal. Any food remaining uneaten has to be thrown away,
or given
to pariahs, human or canine. In some castes, it is essential for a man
to bathe
before partaking of food, and the meal is often required to be eaten in
nudity,
with merely a loin-cloth worn. After the
morning
meal those who have occupation depart, not to eat again till nightfall,
unless
it be a few sweetmeats to stay the pangs of hunger. The master of the
family,
in such a household as I am describing, who has grown-up sons to carry
on his
business, will probably leave it to them, and pass his time till the
heat of
the day in smoking and chewing pán,
which is a sort of “quid” indulged in inordinately by both men and
women. It is
composed of betel nut, spices, and lime, and the spittoons to which I
have
referred are a very necessary adjunct in a house. In the heat of the
day, every
Indian who can manage it indulges in a siesta. With the decline of the
sun at
three o’clock, the social hours begin, and the men wander forth to “eat
the
air.” Pastimes, in the English sense of the word, the Hindu has few or
none. He
does not ride, shoot, or subject himself to any physical exertion;
indeed, such
is held to be derogatory. Fishing is an exception, and he is remarkably
fond of
the piscatorial art. He also plays cards or chess occasionally. But his
chief
pleasure consists in chattering and visiting, disputing and arguing,
and if he
has the chance of dissipation it is freely indulged in. His life is
full of
holidays, which have to be respected on religious grounds, and afford
him much
scope for the exercise of his lazy and dilettante idiosyncrasies. Meanwhile,
the
women remain shut up in the seclusion of the domestic part of the
house, but
far from idle. The superintendence of the cooking is in itself a task
that occupies
a long time, and there are three meals to be served, one for the men,
another
for the children, and a third for the women themselves. They, too, must
have
their midday nap, and bathing and devotions cannot be neglected.
Perhaps in the
afternoon the Hindu lady finds a little spare time for visiting or
receiving a
visit from her women friends, and even playing a game of cards. Later
on, she
makes her toilette, and although compliments or admirers can never come
her
way, she bestows great attention upon her dress and ornaments, and
daily smears
her forehead with the patch of vermilion that denotes her married
state. In the
evening, there may be a story-teller, an old woman eloquent with
ancient
legend, called in to make an hour pass, but you will find no such
things as
books, musical instruments, sketching materials, or the ordinary
diversions and
distractions one is accustomed to associate with womankind in her
boudoir. The
Bengali lady’s costume, it may be noted, consists of one piece of cloth
wound round
her body in a way to cover it, but it hardly serves to conceal the
symmetry,
and the thin muslins in fashion often render it indecorous. In those
parts of
India where the Mahomedan influence has made itself most felt, the
women wear
trousers, which are always fashioned of coloured cloth in
contradistinction to
the men’s, which are seldom anything but white. A more hideous garment
than the
woman’s pyjama
probably does not
exist. But the Bengali lady is very classically draped, and sometimes
presents
a most voluptuous sight. The
evening brings
supper and the preparations for it, and this is the concluding function
of the
day. There is no recreation afterwards, for as it is early to rise, so
it is
early to bed. Indeed, in the ill-lighted Hindu house, any recreation,
except
conversation, after dark is practically impossible. The
home-life of
the peasant presents a more primitive picture. The distinction of a zenana is beyond his means, or,
more
probably, not necessary in his caste. His home is a hut, containing a
single
room, the walls of mud, the roof thatched, and the interior as bare as
a barn.
In the plains country, he lives in a village in which the houses
cluster
together, a survival of the old predatory days of rapine and foray,
when men
had to gather in communities in order to protect themselves, and many a
field
was ploughed and many a harvest gathered under an armed guard. Even now
the
custom has survived of enclosing villages within a wall, making each a
miniature stronghold. Around them stretch the cultivated lands and
fields, not
divided by hedges and ditches, but apportioned off in tiny plots,
intermingling
with one another, their boundaries defined by low earth banks. A man
may
possess half an acre cut up into half a dozen such plots, and
interspersed with
the holdings of others, like the black and white squares on a
chess-board. The
peasant rises
early and performs his ablutions, and in this respect the native of
India might
set an example to his agricultural brother in more civilised lands, for
he
laves himself with water very frequently. He is off early to the
fields, taking
some cold food with him to break his fast. At noon, his wife brings him
his
dinner, which is generally followed by a sleep. From three till sunset,
he is
again at the plough or whatever work is in progress. Ploughing is the
only
operation not shared in by the women, who, in addition to helping their
husbands in the fields, perform all the household work. If the fine zenana lady has cause to
complain of time
hanging heavily on her hands, her humbler sister cannot. Apart from her
domestic duties, there is water to be brought in, often entailing a
long
journey, and fuel to be provided. The working up of cow-dung into what
are
familiarly known as “cakes” for fuel, and plastering them on the side
of the
but to dry in the sun, absorb no inconsiderable portion of her time;
or, maybe,
wood has to be cut and carried from the distant jungle if the house is
in a
timbered district. At the busy seasons, you may see the woman working
whilst
her husband is enjoying his siesta, and it is rarely that any time is
restful
for her. She knows, too, what it is to be hungry whilst her husband is
satisfied, and the pride and satisfaction of “dressing the baby” can
never be
hers, whose children are habitually naked. The
thriftiness of
the peasant is marvellous. I have often seen the women sweeping the
little khéts, or
fields of rice, with a
hand-broom after harvest to collect the fallen grain, and gathering
singly
those ears that happen to have ripened before the bulk of the crop. In
the
mango season, it is not an uncommon thing to suspend one meal because
sustenance can be derived from the wild fruit. And, for waste, the care
with
which grain just sufficient for a meal, no more and no less, is
estimated,
indicates a mind as calculating as it is frugal. And this grain, be it
noted,
except in Bengal and other favoured rice-growing districts, is rarely
rice,
which is far too much of a luxury for the peasant’s fare. His ordinary
food
consists of millet, pulse, and other coarse grain, with salt and
chillies for a
condiment. Cattle
have been
called the peasant’s children, and next only to himself is his heed for
them.
If you wanted to express the ryot’s idea of perfect prosperity, you
have only
to add a yoke of oxen to the three acres and a cow which were once held
out as
a lure to the English agricultural voter. There are
millions
of peasants in India who exist on half an acre, and whose cattle for
eight
months in the year are little removed from walking skeletons. In
Australia,
they allow an acre for each sheep; were it possible to allow the same
in India
for the human being, the standard of comfort would be considerably
increased. The native
of India
has one capacity which more civilised people do not possess. He can
make
himself at home anywhere, and adapt himself to all sorts and conditions
of
places. Away from his own home, he experiences no trouble about
lodging. He
will “fix up” anyhow. His bed is a blanket, which he invariably carries
with
him; his impedimenta a water-vessel and a pan to cook his food in. His
apartment is a circle swept clear and clean on the bare earth, under a
tree for
choice. Except in the colder latitudes, where a tent is necessary,
there is no
need to make any arrangements for servants when travelling or camping
out. They
turn in like dogs; on the floor of a verandah, at the door of your
tent, in the
stable, under a tree, or sheltered by the bullock cart that is carrying
your
equipage. On the highways of India, you will see under almost every
shady tree
the ashes of burnt-out fires, which represent the camping-grounds of
wayfarers.
In towns and cities, there are places called “serais,” where the charge
for
accommodation varies from a halfpenny to fourpence a night, but they
are merely
open sheds, and many a native prefers to save his halfpenny and camp
under the
walls outside. When the crops are ripening, the peasant erects a machán, or elevated squatting
place, in
the middle of his fields, and remains on the watch all night to scare
away the
deer, jackals, wild pig, and other predatory animals that loot his
crops. A man
will make a pilgrimage that takes him many weeks, and never pay a
farthing for
lodging all the time. Many of the pastoral tribes have no roof, except
the
vault of heaven. In city life, the case is very different, and the many-storied human warrens of such places as Calcutta and Bombay can only be likened to ants’ nests. In a native city like Lucknow or Hyderabad, where the Mahomedan element predominates, and the seclusion of all the women is necessary, the overcrowding transcends the Jews’ quarters in Whitechapel. Under such conditions, caste, and even custom, have to give way to convenience, or, at least, what is practicable, and domestic privacy in its rural state becomes impossible except for the wealthy. For rents have to be paid, and that is a very disagreeable form of expenditure in a land where, although the population is as poor as the proverbial church mouse, yet it is a fact that more than four fifths of the people pay no rent, but live in their own houses! To summarise the Indian home, you may say that it affords shelter from the sun and rain, and supplies that amount of privacy which walls can afford. But when you seek for comfort, taste, and decoration, you seek in vain. In its social aspect, it is entirely wanting in that spirit which lends enchantment to our own idea of home life, and leaves us little cause to regret that in his selfishness and suspicion the native of India is practically always “not at home” to callers. |