On the railway. The unpunctual neighbour. Indians' opinions concerning punctuality. Christianity only a partial cure.

Servants and punctuality. Indians' unpunctuality at meals.

Parable of the Marriage Feast. Patient waiting.

The inveterate unpunctuality of almost all Indians is a serious obstacle to the progress of the country. Hours and days are wasted through their failure to keep appointments, or to do work at the proper time. The Indian takes long to understand, and never appreciates, the Englishman's craze for punctuality. Because the Englishman grumbles when the Indian is two hours late in keeping his appointment, the latter thinks that it is only part of the former's natural unreasonableness.

This Indian habit of unpunctuality would soon produce confusion and disaster on the railway. For this reason English station-masters at the princ.i.p.al stations, and English drivers and guards on most pa.s.senger trains are, at present, a necessity. Subordinates, working under English supervision, are obliged to hurry up. Pa.r.s.ees, who in many ways display great business capacity, make reliable engine-drivers. But they are themselves only settlers in India.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "KINDLY HINDU" NEIGHBOUR, HIS SONS AND GRANDCHILDREN.]

It is difficult to get subordinate Indian railway officials to realise that minutes are of importance. Express trains, especially on some of the lines where the number of European officials is not great, are frequently held up through the carelessness of native station-masters at roadside stations. I remember an express having to wait more than ten minutes near a wretched little country station in the early morning, the driver whistling frantically before the slumbering master, who was the only station official, could be roused to lower the signal. When at last the train moved slowly past the station I saw this Indian official in process of being withered up by the scorching language of the English driver. But in spite of that, the probability is that he soon repeated the offence. Such carelessness involves the additional risk that it tempts drivers to run past signals, on the a.s.sumption that the signalman is asleep or inattentive to his duty.

A kindly Hindu offered to drive me in his carriage to the cantonment on some business matter. He suggested that we should start at seven the next morning, and he was a little disappointed because I said that I should not be free to start till 7.30. As the carriage had not appeared at that hour the next morning, I sent over to my neighbour to ask how soon he would be ready. He replied, "In a quarter of an hour." He came over himself at 8.15 to say that there was a slight delay, but that we should very soon be off. He sat talking till 8.45, and then said he would go and expedite matters. He returned in about half an hour, and asked whether after all it might not be better if we went in the Mission _tonga_. But as that was not available, he said that it was of no consequence, because his own carriage would be ready almost directly. At about a quarter to ten I went over to see what our prospects were, and he then said that he thought we had better put off the expedition for that day, and make a really early start the next morning. He gave strict orders to his servant that the carriage should be ready without fail, and soon after 6 A.M. it actually appeared. But even then we did not get off till nearly nine. And this is only one instance of the delay and uncertainty and waste of time which occurs daily, and many times a day, in some phase or other, and is a necessary feature of all Indian affairs.

Talking to an intelligent young Hindu about this defect, I suggested that it might be partly due to the scarcity of clocks, and that when these became more numerous and better understood there might be some improvement. The young man replied: "Clocks and watches will make no difference; the defect is in the Indian nature."

"Then will this never be cured?" I asked.

"Probably never," he said.

"Never," I answered, "until Christianity teaches you the value of time."

Another Indian, quite independently, expressed the same idea in almost the same words. "Some of us have learnt to be punctual," he said, "in our engagements with English people because we find that they expect it of us. But we shall never be any different in this respect amongst ourselves. We do not think it any drawback to be two or three hours late."

Another Hindu, referring with approval to the punctuality and regularity of the services in the church, said, "We also have our fixed times for our observances. But the difference between us is that you keep them, and we don't."

It must be confessed that Christianity is only partially successful in curing the defect of unpunctuality. Both amongst priests and people, unless there happens to be some Englishman at hand with precise ideas about time, there is an extraordinary vagueness as to the hour for service, especially in country districts. Service begins when a sufficient number of people have arrived. The bell is very little guide, because when it has been rung and n.o.body comes, it is rung again. A few people turn up much too early. A few more arrive just as service is over. The rest have straggled in at intervals. Neither priest nor people are in any way troubled, or disturbed, or surprised at each other's want of punctuality. Because, it should be added, that even if the congregation has gathered at the proper time, it does not follow as a matter of course that the Indian priest will be punctual.

Servants learn to serve meals at the appointed time when they have once grasped the idea that this is required of them, and they do not hesitate to politely rebuke an habitually punctual master if by chance he is late. If the bell for Office at the Mission-house does not ring precisely at the moment, one of the house-boys is sure quickly to appear before whoever is responsible, and will say reproachfully, "Time is finished." Or, if the response to the bell for meals is not immediate, he will come and say sternly, "The bell has rung." But this does not mean that they see the value of punctuality. They look upon it as an English peculiarity which it is expedient to humour, and which the Englishman ought to uphold, but it does not make them punctual in their own social or business arrangements.

Even although most Indians look forward to meal-time with a good deal of relish, they cause their womenkind much inconvenience by the irregular way in which they come home to meals. Not only has the wife the trouble of trying to keep the dinner hot and ready for an indefinite time, but as she never eats until her husband has been fed, she has to fast until he returns.

In the parable of the Marriage Feast and the Great Supper, we read of servants going to tell the guests, who (it should be noticed) had already been invited, that they were to come, "for all things are now ready." This is what actually takes place in connection with most Indian feasts. The invitation is for a certain hour. But the chance of the meal being ready at that time is very remote. Hence it is usual to tell the more distinguished guests, living within reach, that someone will come and call them when everything is really ready. And the summons is expressed almost in the exact words of the parable.

The few people who happen to arrive at the hour mentioned in their invitation are not disturbed at having to wait for their meal for a period which may extend even to hours. It is to be feared that English guests invited to a dinner-party at seven, and having to wait till nine-thirty before the dinner-bell rang, would not be in a very agreeable frame of mind by the time they sat down to table.

CHAPTER VIII

INDIAN POVERTY

Indian squalor. The Indian's house; how he takes his meals; no home life; physical results. Contrast of the Brahmin doctor's home; his little sons. But without a religion. The Hindu contractor; his visit to the Church; his pathetic position.

Whether the sometimes so-called "simplicity" of Indian native life is really a thing to be desired, is a question which it may be well to ask. It is, undoubtedly, a right general principle that each person's life should be kept as homely and simple as circ.u.mstances will allow.

There is, however, a distinction between simplicity and the squalor of sordid poverty.

A poor Indian lives as he does chiefly because he cannot help himself, and partly, perhaps, because he has no other ideal. But it is at best an unlovely and cramping form of existence. Though he can sustain life on a remarkably small wage, he is nearly always hungry, and has so little stamina that he easily succ.u.mbs under serious sickness. He wears but little clothing, and his young children none at all. But he suffers much in the rains because he has no change of garments, and in the cold weather because his flimsy dress is no protection; and if he gets a little money he gladly buys a blanket, or a warm coat. He has no lamp in his dwelling because he cannot afford it, and after the early nightfall he has to pa.s.s his evening hours sitting in the dark, when there is no moon. In almost all the houses of a country village in western India, and in many of the houses in towns, there is no furniture at all. Sometimes there is a small cot for the baby, hung from one of the rafters; and now and then a somewhat larger wooden frame, suspended in the same fashion, is used by the grown-up members of the family to sit or sleep upon. But, as a rule, everybody sits and sleeps on the ground. The floors of the houses are invariably made of earth, beaten down hard, and smeared periodically with a decoction of cow-dung.

Even a well-to-do Indian takes his food sitting on the ground in the place where the food was cooked, which is often a dark lean-to building, attached to the main dwelling. He takes off all his clothing except his _dhota_, and eats with his fingers in silence. Sociality at such a time is out of place; it diverts the mind from the business in hand, which is that of "filling the belly," as the Indian himself commonly expresses it. The women of the household never sit down to dinner with the rest of the family. They wait on the men, and then take their own meal afterwards by themselves. There is nothing elevating in the process.

The meal of an average Indian Christian family is a complete contrast.

Poverty probably compels simplicity and frugality; but father and mother and children sit down together, and there is much sociality.

The desire to sit on chairs merely as a mark of distinction is a foolish aspiration. Nevertheless, as an Indian Christian once expressed it to me, "The wish to come off the floor means that we are growing in refinement and politeness."

There are usually no windows in most of the older houses of the poorer people. Modern houses have sometimes several windows, but they are barred and shuttered, and from long habit are usually kept closed by preference. The only movable articles in the houses of the bulk of the Indian population are the bra.s.s and copper, or earthenware, cooking pots and pans, and the prosperity of the household can be pretty accurately gauged by the quality, number, and condition of these utensils. A few people own besides an old box or two, generally containing an acc.u.mulation of old rags, which nearly all Indians seem to take an interest in collecting. Extra clothes, when they have any, are hung on large wooden pegs, which are fixed into the walls of most rooms in Indian dwellings.

One result of the comfortless and dreary aspect of the interior of an Indian's house is that very few of them have any home life, as we understand it. The Indian does not sit indoors, unless compelled to do so by sickness, or stress of weather. And though the majority are satisfied so to live, because no other manner of life is known to them, there is nothing beautiful about it. Even from a purely physical point of view, it is an unwholesome state of things. The airless, lightless houses are most unsavoury, and in times of sickness and childbirth this is intensified. It cannot be wondered at that plague, or cholera, or malignant fevers, often make frightful ravages in families. Nor does it tend to elevate the character to sit on a mud floor dozing in the dark, or telling scandalous stories with the children drinking in every word.

By way of contrast, I recall the country home of a Brahmin doctor, who has built himself a house at Yerandawana as a haven of refuge in time of plague. It is surrounded by a little garden, radiant with flowers.

It lacks the neatness of an English garden, nevertheless it is something far away ahead of anything which any of his neighbours have attempted. His name means "seven sons." He has already got six, and is hoping for the seventh. These six little sons are dressed in ordinary English boys' dress. They are frequent visitors at the Mission bungalow. It may, of course, be only English prejudice which makes this dress appear to me better for the boys themselves than the scant garments of the Indian. Instead of the usual shorn head and small pigtail, their glossy hair, very neat in the case of the elder boys, tumbled about in the case of the younger ones, is a delightful contrast.

But to look in at the open door in the evening at their home life, as I have often done, is entirely convincing. A table is in the middle of the room covered with a red cloth; there is a bright lamp, a few pictures are on the walls, and the party of cheerful boys are sitting round the table. Some are playing games, others are drawing, some are looking at books. Though in such a different clime, the sight brought back the memory of winter evenings in boyish days at home.

This Hindu doctor has practically parted with his religion. There are probably no objects of worship in his country home, except a Tulsi plant on a pedestal in the back compound. This plant is a good deal venerated by women, and no doubt was provided for the benefit of the ladies of his household. But although it is some gain to have given up idolatrous customs, and to have adopted some of the refinements of civilised life, he and his little family are in the unhappy condition at present of being without a religion.

A Hindu contractor, who was visiting the church one day, surprised me by saying, as he turned towards one of the pictures hanging on the walls: "This is the baptism of Christ--the river is the Jordan. He was baptized by John." I asked him how he knew all these facts. He replied that he had been educated at a Jesuit school, and that he had learnt them there. I said that, having been brought up under such circ.u.mstances, and having learnt so much and being now well advanced in years, how was it that he was still a Hindu. He answered: "I cannot tell. All I know is that now I do not know what I am."

He asked many intelligent questions. Amongst the rest, did we hear confessions? He was a type of a constantly increasing number of educated men, who, although outwardly appearing as Hindus, only practise the minimum of religious observances, and have no belief at all. Amongst these are men, like the Brahmin doctor, who have imbibed something of the spirit of Christianity from what they have heard and seen, and are distinctly the better for having dropped so much of their Hinduism. But their position is a pathetic one, because so few of them have the courage to act upon the considerable measure of truth which has come home to them.

CHAPTER IX

INDIAN ART

Intrusion of Western ideas; unfortunate result. Royal palaces. Carving and bal.u.s.trades; graceful domestic utensils; their high polish. Native jewellery; beautiful examples in villages. Incongruous pictures from Europe.

Indian oil paintings; effect of Christianity on Indian art; wall decorations. Women's taste in colour.

Indian art is sadly degenerating through the intrusion of inferior Western designs. Modern houses in most Indian cities lack the artistic grace which distinguishes many of the old houses of wealthy people.

Part of the beauty of many ancient dwellings in Poona City is to be found in their admirable proportions. Modern houses in India are often built in a pseudo-Gothic style, with barbarous innovations in the shape of base metal-work and glaring coloured gla.s.s, and in which all sense of proportion has been hopelessly lost.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MODERN HOUSE IN POONA CITY, BUILT BY ONE OF THE INDIAN CLERGY.]

Some of the modern palaces of Indian Rajahs are built and furnished in this style, at an immense cost, and with most incongruous results.

Whereas many of the old palaces, and those of northern India in particular, afford beautiful examples of royal residences, well adapted to the needs of Indians, and yet capable of being modified for the use of modern-minded rulers who have adopted some of the household arrangements of the West. Sir Swinton Jacob has shown in the fairy-like palace which he built at Jeypore, but which internally you find exactly suited to the requirements of a modern museum, how possible it is to adapt Indian architecture to present-day needs.

There is a good deal of carving, effectively placed and graceful in design and skilfully executed, both on the outside and inside of old houses in the City of Poona; and the bal.u.s.trades that form the front of the narrow verandahs, which run along so many of the houses with happy effect, afford charming specimens of what the turner's craft can accomplish. But nowadays ironwork, such as adorns a cheap bedstead, more often than not is subst.i.tuted for the graceful bal.u.s.trade, and some tawdry decoration, or coa.r.s.ely-cut stone corbel, takes the place of the picturesque carved woodwork.

The graceful outline of pots and pans used in Indian households has often been remarked upon, and happily at present there are no signs of degeneration in this department of domestic life. The traditional shapes still hold their ground; and even quite common utensils, made of coa.r.s.e earthenware, are pleasing to look at. The more costly bra.s.s and copper vessels in ordinary daily use are delightful examples of how much beauty can be got out of an artistic outline, even when there is an entire absence of ornamentation. In the midst of a vast amount of apparent disregard for cleanliness, there are certain matters about which a Hindu is excessively particular. The metal cups and pans must be polished up to the highest pitch of perfection, and though the Hindu woman will take the dust or mud of the street for her polishing powder, the result of her labours is that the vessels shine brilliantly. They are the more beautiful because, in order that cleanliness may be a.s.sured by the smooth, unbroken surface, they are quite unadorned.

It has sometimes been discussed whether the specimens of old Indian bra.s.s in museums should be polished or not, and some collectors carefully preserve the old tarnish. It would be impossible in the English climate to keep the objects continually bright, without infinite labour; but it is well to remember, in considering the artistic merits of any brazen article, that its original normal condition was one of high polish.

Native jewellery is also being influenced for the worse by the infusion of Western ideas. The Indian workers in gold and silver are apt now to imitate the design of the cheap jewellery imported from Europe, and they are not aware that their own traditional designs are really much the most beautiful. Many of the chains and necklaces and bracelets worn by villagers, both male and female, are the best examples of unadulterated Indian art, because modern ideas and shapes have not yet reached them; or, if they see some of these new devices when they come to give their order to the goldsmith in the city, they are still conservative enough to prefer the designs of their forefathers. There are quaint and ingenious devices for fastening the necklaces, and part of the charm of the primitive handiwork is its individual character, shown in a certain roughness and want of rigid symmetry.

In the houses of the more old-fashioned wealthy Hindus, in their big reception-room, only rarely used, may be seen curious examples of the mistakes which may be made so easily when introducing objects of art from another country without adequate knowledge. Pictures from England, interspersed with mirrors, form the chief decoration on the walls of many of these saloons. They are hung almost touching each other, very high up, like the "sky-ed" line of the Royal Academy, but with nothing on the walls below, and they often present a most curious jumble: a few good engravings; gaudy pictures, first issued as advertis.e.m.e.nts; portraits of persons, known and unknown; worthless prints in gorgeous frames; and a picture with some merit, stuck all awry in a frame which does not belong to it.