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CHAPTER III MANNERS AND CUSTOMS MANY hundreds of volumes have been written descriptive of the idiosyncrasies of the peoples of India, whose civilisation is a compound of unpleasant manners and incomprehensible customs, as judged by Western standards, and presents to the English mind a source of perpetual bewilderment. Open-mouthed wonder is the permanent attitude for many months of the new arrival in that strange country. To attempt any regular and ordered survey of the subject within the limits of a chapter would be like trying to enumerate the streets of London on the back of a visiting card. In default, I propose to jog the kaleidoscope of my recollection and present the result in the hope that chance may flash a more graphic suggestion here and there than I could accomplish by any attempt at a nutshell catalogue of the subject. India is a country where the climate takes the place of the costumier, and the population goes unclad. This is the first thing that arrests the Western eye, with its suggestion of indescribable indelicacy, where the ordinary dress of a man approximates a pair of bathing-drawers, and the women veil their faces and display their legs. It is a
country
where politeness requires the feet to be naked, but the head covered on
entering a room, a bare poll being a sign of self-abasement, and his
turban as
necessary to the native’s sense of respect as a pair of breeches to an
Englishman. Take a native unawares with his puggarie
off, and the first thing he does is to adjust it hurriedly. Catch a
native
woman en déshabillé,
and she cares
for nothing except to veil her face. It is a
country
where everybody habitually sits on the ground and eats off the floor,
and
throws away the food that cannot be eaten at a meal, and often the
crockery
ware after once using it; where it is forbidden to eat with the shoes
on, and
customary, in not a few castes, to strip naked for dinner; where three
men out
of four consider beef-eating worse than cannibalism; and the fourth is
morally
convinced that a ham-sandwich could send him to hell; where
vegetarianism is
the rule, and never an egg is used in cooking; where there are a
hundred
sweetmeat shops to one public-house, and a native restaurant is an
absolutely
unknown thing; where every one smokes, but the same pipe travels from
mouth to
mouth; where every one washes, but no one uses soap; where not one man
in ten,
and not one woman in a hundred and fifty, can read. A country
where
boys are husbands before they have shed their baby teeth, and brides
are
married in their cradles occasionally; where there are no unmarried
girls under
fourteen, and many widows of half that age; where there is no courting
before
marriage, and a husband may not notice his wife in public, nor a wife
so much
as pronounce her husband’s name; where husbands and wives cannot travel
in the
same railway carriage third-class; where you never see a “lady” in the
streets,
and to address one would be considered a gross insult. A country
where
more men shave their heads than their chins, and widows are compelled
to go
bald (though in this conjunction we may recall to mind that less than a
hundred
years ago widowed ladies in England customarily had their heads shaved,
and
wore wigs in order to supply the deficiency); where wives wear a
nose-ring in
token of being in a state of subjection to their husbands; where there
is
sorrow over a daughter’s birth, and rejoicing, or at least
satisfaction, over a
widow’s death; where a man may have four legal wives, and, in some
castes, a
woman four legal husbands, if they are brothers. A country
where
venomous snakes kill thousands of human beings annually, and yet are
venerated;
where the powdered liver of a tiger is a specific to instil courage;
where the
tails and manes of white horses are painted pink to improve their
appearance,
and a wall-eyed brute is considered peculiarly beautiful; where most
wheeled
vehicles are drawn by bullocks, and no other animals used for
ploughing; where
many people keep goats, and very few poultry, and no one keeps a dog. A country
which has
no Sunday observance; no poor-houses, poor-rates, or poor-law; no
places of
entertainment or national pastimes; no public institutions except
temples and
mosques; no public opinion; no political privileges; no representation,
and no
Members of Parliament. A country
where
beggars are accounted holy, and “ballet girls” of loose morals held in
high
esteem; where the priests countenance prostitution, and often live on
its
proceeds; where incontinence is not held to be a vice in married men,
and
religion teaches its votaries to hate, despise, and grind down their
less
fortunate neighbours; where equality in the eyes of the law is unknown,
and the
killing of some human beings is accounted a far less serious crime than
the
slaughter of a cow; where women are treated as creatures born for the
gratification of man, and “a man’s a man for a’ that.” This
sample is like
a handful drawn at chance from a sack of wheat, but each grain is a
solid fact,
and there are thousands more like them. Wherefore I say that the
attitude of
the new arrival in making himself acquainted with India is one of
open-mouthed
wonder, not unfrequently stiffened with a strong dash of disgust. And now a
few words
of general description of the people who adopt these manners and
customs. The
Hindu first. Patience and thrift are his pre- dominant virtues,
instilled into
him in the hard school of subjection, long-suffering, and poverty. He
is docile
to servility, especially when anything is to be gained by it. Except in
the
lower castes, he is sobriety typified, and, indeed, by far the major
part of
the population of India is qualified to wear the blue ribbon of
temperance. He
has industry of a sort that is not very energetic, for he distinctly
dislikes
physical exertion, and none of his few recreations comprehend bodily
exercise.
Sleeping, smoking, and eating sweetmeats would enable him to get
through an
ideal bank holiday, He cannot be commended as a husband, for custom
makes him
barbarous and discourteous from a Western point of view, but he is an
affectionate father. On the other hand, he is narrow-minded,
parsimonious, and
avaricious; cheats and lies by the light of nature; and the word
“money” is
assuredly more often on his lips than any other in his vocabulary. He
is
cunning and contentious in argument, and his intellectual powers, when
educated, are capable of considerable development. In this respect he
puts the
Englishman to shame, and were all posts in the Indian Government thrown
open to
examination in India, we should probably see the administration filled
with
Bengali Baboos and Mahratta Brahmins. The gratitude of the Hindu is in
inverse
ratio to his greed, and his proverbial mildness prevents any manliness.
Although he worships a variety of animals, the meaning of cruelty to
them is
outside his comprehension. The Indian ox, which is sacred in theory, is
perhaps
the most ill-used and overworked beast of servitude in the world. The
Hindu is
callous of suffering, to the point of wanting to make you kick him. He
will not
take life, but he will watch it, unmoved, dying by inches in agony. The
Mahomedan is a
far more virile personality than the Hindu. He is free from the
cramping
influence of caste, but his bigotry makes up for it. He has been termed
“devout,” but I think he gets his religion by gusts, which often lead
to
fanaticism. The self-imposed Lenten penances of the Catholic faith fade
into
triviality compared with the way in which the majority of Mahomedans
mortify
the flesh during the month of fasting, when not a particle of food,
drink, or
smoke passes their lips between sunrise and sunset. The Mahomedan is
manly and
proud on the one hand, and indolent and dissipated on the other. He is
a
spendthrift when he has money to squander, and in this respect compares
with a
Hindu as an Irishman with a Scotchman. The descendant of a conquering
race, and
the inheritor of a great history, he has something of the Spaniard in
him, and
lives more in the traditions of the past than in the achievements of
the
present. At times, when he sees his opportunity, he is turbulent and
disorderly. His fortunes have fallen low under British rule, and he is
impatient of the fact. The British eye him with suspicion, and they,
“Káfirs”
in his esteem, keep him down on the same low level as the Hindu
unbelievers,
whom, in his secret soul, he despises only one degree more than he does
them.
Here and there, where he takes to trade, the Mahomedan thrives, but he
lacks
the patience and thrift of the Hindu, and commerce is foreign to his
genius.
Intellectually he is on a lower scale than the Aryan, but his unbounded
self-esteem enables him to carry his head higher, and gain some
advantage from
his competitor. He is a tyrannical husband, a doting father, and can be
socially a very good fellow if he likes, displaying courtesy and
frankness of
character. But he is a decaying influence in the land, and nothing
short of a
miracle can restore him to his former pedestal. In the economy of
government,
he supplies a useful counterbalance to the aspiring Hindu races, who,
having
once experienced his yoke, are not likely to invite it again. Between
Mahomedan
and Hindu there lurks an antipathy too deep-rooted ever to be
eradicated, and,
in their mutual hatred and distrust, we honest men continue to hold by
our own
with tolerable ease. The Sikhs
are a
provincial folk, yet free from provincialism in the sense of being
small-minded. Amongst all the native races they stand out as
liberal-minded and
capital citizens. There is a nobility about their national character
which you
seek for in vain amongst Mahomedan and Hindu, and as soldiers they are
drawn
more closely towards their British officers than any other of the
fighting
races. Their physical development is superb, and they are a sober and
industrious folk. Two of their peculiarities may be mentioned; the men
never
cut their hair, and, when uncoiled, you may see it stretching almost to
their
knees, and in a country where tobacco smoking is universal, they abjure
the
habit. There is a quiet and independent dignity about them which seems
to place
them on a higher level than other brown races; but in their practical
treatment
of their women they fall behind the high standard of their general
creed. Of the Burmese, it may be reckoned to his especial credit that he allows his women liberty, both in the ordering of their lives and in the selection of their husbands. In the all-important point of the equality of sex, the Buddhist religion is the only one that approaches Christianity in its liberalism. The subjection of woman in Mahomedanism and her degradation in Hinduism reveal the true characters of the races which, in denying the spiritual equality of the weaker sex, display their baser manhood. Of the aboriginal tribes of India, it need only be said that they are true children of the forests, mountains, and deserts, and you find in them some of those virtues, notably truthfulness and candour, in which the higher civilised Hindu is sadly deficient. They are a primitive people, and some of them in the remoter parts decidedly deserve the appellation of “savages.” Passing
now from
manners and customs in the concrete, and the people to whom they are
peculiar,
we come to the consideration of “custom” in its abstract sense, and its
distinct characteristic as the guide of life in India. “Custom,” an
advanced
Hindu reformer has declared, “is a god whom our race devoutly worship;
it is
our religion.” You may go further, and say it is the religion of all
India,
where the lex non scripta
can
overrule the lex scripta.
The
British Government, apt to be a little brusque and overbearing in its
financial
legislation, cries canny and is most considerate of custom. There are
customs
in India the law dare not touch which would be considered criminal in
England.
The word is one to conjure and defy with. When, recently it was sought
to
diminish plague infection by house to house inspection, custom got its
back up
and the Government was obliged to cave in. In the statute book are laws
quite
inoperative because they are opposed to custom. Dustoor
hai (“It is
the custom”)! — The inquiring soul who sets about asking questions in
India
will save himself much time if he stereotypes that reply in his mind at
the
start. For it is the one he will have to content himself with in the
majority
of his investigations. Custom is
the child
of caste; in many cases, it is begotten of it, and inherits its
narrowing
influence on the national character. It is easy to perceive that the
general
life will run in a groove when the limit of a man’s aspirations is
determined
by the obligation to follow his father’s calling, and his ambition to
improve
his social status is rendered impossible by the accident of his birth.
The
caste system is a very jealous and obstinate one, and as iron when you
attempt
to bend it. It will admit no infusion of new blood, and when the same
exclusive
spirit is imported into the ordinary dealings of life, you arrive at
that
stagnant conservatism which is called Custom in the East. Caste is
restricted
to the Hindus, but custom is universal. In many cases, it has almost
constructed itself into caste amongst non-Hindu races. There is a
tendency to
follow hereditary callings. In parts of the Punjab, the work of
expressing oil
is practically a monopoly of the Mahomedans; it has almost come to be
regarded
as their caste, and they are put down in the census-returns as
“oil-pressers.”
To tell you a man is an oil-presser is equivalent to informing you he
is a
Mahomedan. The same with silk-weavers. There are some forms of
employment a
Hindu may not follow because it infringes some law of his caste, and
these are
in consequence undertaken by other races, and custom soon makes them
prescriptive. Moreover, there is a certain unavoidable contagion in
caste when
you live in a country where three fourths of the inhabitants profess
it. You do
not ask a Mahomedan what his race or profession of faith is, but what
is his
caste? In the census returns you fill in your own caste as “Christian.”
It is
the custom. You talk of a high-caste Arab horse, a dog with no caste at
all, a
tea-plant of very decent caste. Custom in
India
frequently overrules commonsense in material matters, and imposes an
insuperable impediment on improvement. Look at the Indian peasant’s
plough. The
overwhelming majority of the inhabitants of India are dependent on the
land,
and their crops would be much increased by better methods of
cultivation. The
plough in use is an implement which merely scratches the surface of the
earth;
an heirloom from remotest antiquity. A new plough was introduced by an
enterprising firm of manufacturers, and lent free for trial broadcast
over a
province. It admittedly did the work more thoroughly, and was offered
at a
price within the peasant’s means. But it did not “catch on.” Why?
Simply
because the ploughman could not get at his bullocks’ tails to twist
them. The
superior tillage, the increase of crop, could not compensate for the
relinquishment of this time-honoured custom. The antediluvian plough
still
holds the field, and the system of cultivation is the same as it was in
the
time of Alexander the Great. There is a
story,
well enough known in India, of a contractor engaged in a railway
excavation,
who recognised that the soil could be far more expeditiously removed in
wheelbarrows than carried away in baskets on the heads of coolies. So
he
invested in some, and showed how they were to be trundled, and
flattered
himself upon having introduced a useful reform. But that sanguine
reformer did
not know his India. The next time he visited his works, he found his
men
filling the wheelbarrows with pinches of dust, and carrying them away
on their
heads. The
paraphernalia
of Indian daily life all belongs to the barbarous ages. Observe any
article of
familiar use and you will find it primitive to a degree that strikes
the
Western eye as ludicrous. The pen is fashioned out of a reed, native
paper a
veritable papyrus, such as the ancient Egyptians might have used, the
inkpot a
piece of absorbent rag or sponge saturated with a liquid more or less
black,
and sand still takes the place of blotting-paper. The scribe, who may
by reason
of his superior attainments be accounted in the van of civilisation, is
an
individual who squats on the ground and writes on his knees even if you
offer
him a table and chair. Note the cumbersome native saddle for a horse,
the heavy
solid wheels of a country cart, the cart itself, constructed with a
circular
floor for things to slide off from, the artisan’s clumsy and
insufficient
tools, the weaver’s prehistoric loom, the shape of the domestic
utensils, the
machinery for drawing water from a well, the style of dress — ay, of
women’s
dress. Novelty or reform never enters into any of these or kindred
things. They
retain the fashions of Before Christ in this twentieth century. Attempt
to
introduce any other and you are rebuffed with the reply, “It is not the
custom.” For many of these things there is not the excuse of ignorance.
The
native has the superior model before him, and deliberately rejects it.
It is
the crass prejudice of a conservatism more crusted than the laws of
cricket,
and not to be beguiled by any demonstration. “My father used this
article, and
therefore it is my duty to use it; would you have me set myself up for
a wiser
man than my revered parent?” is the reply which stifles all attempt at
reform. But stay.
There is
one notable exception to this rule which I should be guilty of a gross
injustice to omit. The Indian tailor has thrown away his needle and
taken to
the sewing-machine. It comes upon you with something of a shock when,
as you
chance to pass through a bazaar, you suddenly become aware of the whir
of
mechanical action, and, lo! there is a grave bearded man, squatting,
near by
and driving his Singer, which (to add appropriateness to the picture)
he has
purchased on the hire system. I cannot explain this departure from
custom,
unless it be that the Hindu derzie,
like the English cobbler, is a Radical from the force of a calling
which lends
itself to contemplation. When you
come to
abstract custom, you cannot stir the Hindu off his line of rail. This
man will
not do this, nor that man that, for no earthly reason except that it is
against
his custom. This is at the bottom of those enormous domestic
establishments
which enter into the prodigality of Anglo-Indian life. The combined
work of the
army of servants is capable of achievement by a general servant in
England. But
when a European attempts to shift things out of their eternal groove,
he is at
once confronted with that one reply which admits of no argument in the
native
mind. And I must candidly admit that the plea of dustoor nahin hai is often a
conscientious objection,
although this does not prevent it from becoming a comfortable excuse on
occasions. In social
and
religious matters, the despotism of custom is perhaps most pronounced.
It leads
to preposterous and extravagant expenditure on marriage and funeral
ceremonies;
it entails long and expensive pilgrimages; it established Suttee, or the self-immolation
of the
widow on her husband’s funeral pyre; it permitted, nay, even now
permits,
infanticide; and the sale of female children for immoral purposes and
the
institution of the Temple prostitute are crimes created by custom and
not
religion. The
Brahmins are,
in the main, the supporters and guardians of custom; they themselves,
whose
privilege it is to prey upon the people, are bolstered up by it. Their
hoary
despotism is the oldest and cruelest custom of all. Truly has
it been
said that custom is the greatest obstacle to civilisation. It stands in
the
path like a lion. It dulls the moral sense and cramps material effort.
It has
left tile natives of India without originality, independence, or powers
of
initiation. India is a country incapable of in. digenous reform. Two
thousand
years ago its social life reached a certain standard of civilisation,
and it
has stayed there ever since. The limitations imposed by custom have
been the
cause of this national paralysis. |