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CHAPTER XI THE GOLDEN EAST WE call
the East
golden and India the brightest jewel in the British Crown. Let us
examine
physical and practical facts a little more closely, and see whether
figurative
fancies are founded on them. The East
is so far
golden that it is certainly a land of sunshine. You can predict a fine
day six
months, or, for the matter of that, six years ahead. Theoretically, you
can
also predict a rainy one, but the clouds are not so consistent as the
sunshine.
The rainy season sometimes belies its name, and then comes famine. In
England
people grumble at meteorological conditions; curse the unwelcome rain,
protest
against a three weeks’ drought, and have fault to find with fogs and
east
winds. But, with the exception of a few bronchial folk, these climatic
freaks do
not kill; one is not dependent on the skies for life and fortune. The
Indian
is. Two inches of rain withheld in its due season will destroy more
human life
than a quarter of a century of European warfare, and cause as much
human
suffering as Bonaparte did in his career. A very
worthy
Kentish farmer was grumbling to me one day because the rainy summer had
ruined
his hops, half ruined his corn, and damaged his hay. “Are your wife and
children alive?” I asked him. He replied, with some surprise, in the
affirmative.
“Your horses seem pretty sleek?” I observed. He admitted they were in
capital
condition. “And your cows?” Ah, they had done well, the pasturage was
good.
“Poultry?” The wife looked after them, and she had not complained. “You
have
not been compelled to shut up your house, and leave it to look after
itself
whilst you emigrated?” He thought I was a lunatic. “But you say this is
the
very worst season that any man ever suffered?” Of that he was perfectly
sure;
he had not paid his rent, and some of the wages still would have to
come out of
his pocket. “Well,” I said, “if you had been an Indian farmer, and this
had
been the worst season that any man ever suffered from, your wife,
children,
horses, stock, and poultry would all be dead, and, presuming you had
been so
lucky as to escape with your life, you would be handling a shovel on
relief
works on the west coast of Ireland.” “Gor! Get out,” he said. But the
analogy is
absolutely correct, and the possibility of such an experience threatens
millions of homes every year in India in that acute and critical time
when the
rainy season is due. For India
may be
golden in legend, but is not a fruitful garden land in fact. Take it,
square
mile for square mile, and it is infinitely more barren than fertile.
Outside
the favoured zones, it is, in places populously inhabited, less
fruitful than
Scotland, whilst vast areas are waterless desert and sandy waste. You
may pass
in a railway-carriage for hour after hour through long tracts of
country, where
the spiritless vegetation and the bare rocky hills appal, and see
“crops” you
would think only fit to plough into the ground. British
ideas of
India are often gathered from those rich coastal districts which they
first
settled, narrow zones for the most part, or fertile river basins like
Bengal.
But India away from its rivers and its cloud-catching mountains is a
dry, drear
land, and the popular conception of its tropic prodigality is
completely
erroneous. It is so barren of timber, for instance, that the soil is
deprived of
the fertilising elements it requires by the universal use of cattle
manure for
fuel, and so dry that the fields have to be irrigated by the primitive
process
of the Persian wheel, where a man on a treadmill doles the water out of
a well
in quarts to dribble it over his fields in cupfuls. Nor are
the
elements man’s only enemy. Pestilence and plague scourge him, and
fever,
insidiously but surely, kills more every year than famine. A great
cholera-wave
or a plague visitation startles people, and arrests the attention by
the
suddenness or magnitude of its holocaust. But of fever, infinitely the
greatest
death-dealer in India, comparatively nothing is heard. With its
alternate
shivering and burning fits, that rack the system, it is as common in
many
places as influenza in England. You see a man huddled up on the ground,
shaking
and groaning, and hardly trouble to ask “What ‘s the matter?” “Oh, it’s
only
fever,” conies the stereotyped reply. The disease is too common to
cause the
slightest surprise or evoke the crudest compassion. The victim must go
through
his bout. He is left on the ground, and, when the fit is over, gets up
and goes
about his work, and continues to do so until the system is worn out or
a cold
contracted, and he “snuffs out.” No inconsiderable portion of the
mortality in
India is “snuffing out.” Sickness is bad enough in England, where there
is a
doctor in every community, but in India, where at least two hundred
million
persons cannot get one unless they are prepared to walk or be carried
to the
dispensary, which may be twenty or fifty miles away, sickness is the
half-way
house to death. I have
mentioned
the word plague, and the reader has probably associated it with the
bubonic
plague; but there are other plagues in Indian life similar to those
which the
Egyptians suffered. Wild beasts and venomous reptiles enter into the
economy of
daily life with a shocking freedom. Of savage wild beasts, such as the
tiger
and wolf. I will not
pause to
write; they are too well known by repute. But many a peasant s life is
rendered
a burden to him by wild pig, deer, jackals, and monkeys. Where a man is
dependent on the produce of an acre for his sustenance for a year, any
of the
above can dock his commissariat considerably. The mere driving of them
away
constitutes a serious tax on his time. When crops are ripening, it
means a
month of wakeful nights, perched upon a platform on poles stuck in his
field,
and I have often been aroused in camp in a wooded country by the voice
of the
sleepy watcher hooting at four-footed depredators through the night.
And this
brings me to another reflection. How happy would the British
agricultural
labourer be if deer and game were common in their fields and open to
any one to
slay and eat! Most parts of India swarm with game; hare, partridge, and
quail
abound round every village; many cultivated areas are devastated by
deer,
antelope, and wild pig; there are few jungles which do not harbour
pea-fowl and
jungle-fowl, and scarce a sheet of water but holds teal and wild-duck.
But the Indian
peasant, unless he is a hunter by caste, seldom disturbs them, and the
men who
starve on a diet of pulse and millet take no advantage of the sumptuous
feast
of venison and game which can be had for the snaring. In some cases, of
course,
it may be against their caste to eat flesh, but in numerous instances
it is
not, and I can only ascribe to the native’s listless apathy this
rejection of
plenty thrown in his path. He sadly wants a few lessons in the finer
phases of
the art of poaching. Here, at least, Nature is bountiful to him, and he
takes
no advantage of her bounty! Snakes,
scorpions,
and centipedes are amongst the inconveniences of native life, and where
the
population goes about with naked feet, the risk is much greater than
with the
booted European. Few Hindus will, however, kill a snake, and the foul
reptile
lives and deals death unscathed. I have seen a man guide one out of his
path
with a stick to the accompaniment of apologetic salaams and prayers, and I have
been besought on bended knee
not to discharge my gun at one at which it was levelled! To the lesser
pests of
life, flies, sand-flies, mosquitoes, et hoc
genus, the native seems impervious, but he endures much
tribulation
from vermin of an unpleasant nature. In a
country where
vegetarianism is adopted by most of the people, you would think the art
of
fruit and vegetable growing would be brought to a high pitch. But such
is not
the case. The native palate in this respect is terribly coarse — I am
talking
of the commonalty — and assimilates unripe fruit and indigestible roots
with
content, not to say gusto. Strong-flavoured turnips and radishes are
the
varieties chiefly vended, and leaf products which are equivalent to
spinach,
but lacking its delicacy of flavour. Two or three of the indigenous
vegetables
commend themselves to English taste, but the majority are such as we
would toss
to our cattle and sheep. Few countries in the world can grow more
delicious
fruit than India, and those varieties you purchase in the markets of
Calcutta
or Bombay, where the European and wealthy native demand has made their
cultivation and development profitable, are things to dream about. But
they are
Covent Garden luxuries to what is obtainable in the country at large.
The
peasant’s mango bears the same relation to the luscious fruit of Bombay
as the
crab-apple to the Ribstone pippin, and the plantain of the up-country
bazaar is
appropriately named the “horse-plantain.” Meat in India is as bad as it can scarcely fail to be in a parched land were you have to kill it and eat it the same day. The favourite flesh of the native is goat, which is like a very rank, sapless, sinewy mutton. The Mahomedans eat beef, but in the Hindu centres, the killing of kine is prohibited by law. Butter and milk are poor in quality, but goat’s milk may be accounted an exception. The water is universally bad, and, in those localities where “tank” or pond water has to be used, too vile and contaminated to be described. The contents of a London third-class swimming-bath would be as distilled in comparison. Food
grains, except
some of the better classes of wheat and rice, are inferior. The sowing
of mixed
crops in the same field, and the crude methods of reaping, threshing
with
cattle treading out the straw, and winnowing — every operation
conducted on the
surface of the bare earth — make the bulk dirty and full of foreign
substances.
The quality, too, of some of the commoner sorts of rice renders it
unfit for
European consumption. Probably not more than a third of the natives of
India
eat rice as a regular diet; the majority exist on unleavened cakes,
called chuppattis,
made from flour of inferior
grains. These cakes are circular in shape, leathery in consistency, and
flavourless. They require a relish, and have given rise to the chutnies
and
condiments associated with Indian dietary, which are the apotheosis of
the
crude relishes peculiar to the different countries of the Empire. Sweetmeats
hold a
high place, and the sweetmeat shops in the bazaar present a pleasing
variety
and ingenuity, but the ghee,
or
rancid butter, which enters into their composition renders an
appreciation of
them by the English palate impossible. Of the intoxicating drinks, the
use of
which has increased under British rule, there is not one, with the
exception of
newly drawn “toddy,” that does not merit the usual epithet of “rank
poison.”
They are chiefly consumed by the lower classes, opium being the
aristocratic
intoxicant of the East. In India, it is swallowed, not smoked, as in
China, and
is the daily vice of countless slaves to the habit. The smoking of bhang, or Indian hemp, is very
common
amongst some orders; it is the most deleterious of drugs, producing a
state
akin to delirium tremens, and as a factor in
crime takes
the place of drink in England. Amongst the wealthier classes, European
wines
and spirits are commonly consumed, though it may be on the sly, and
champagne
backed with brandy is the tipple of many rajahs. Crime and
litigation give plenty of work in the law courts, where three million
civil
suits and two million criminal cases are disposed of annually, or,
respectively, one in a hundred and one in a hundred and fifty of the
population
— a very high average. But the native character finds a positive charm
in
litigation. If lawyers do not grow fat in India, it is only because
there are
so many of them. They are as wolfish as the usurers, and, after them,
the
principal cause of the impoverishment of the people. A vast revenue is
raised
by stamps, every approach to the bench of justice having to be made on
stamped
paper, and court fees are one of the heaviest items of litigation.
Although it
is unprofessional, a great number of native lawyers tout for clients,
and as a
body they are a grabbing lot. You do not
require
gold to pay wages in the Golden East, where silver is the currency, and
bank or
“currency” notes the convenient monetary medium in common use. These
notes vary
from seven and eightpence in value to very large amounts, and become,
in
process of circulation, almost as “microbic” as the coppers of the
country.
Sixteen is the principal numerical factor; sixteen annas make a rupee,
sixteen
rupees a gold mohur, and it enters into some of the weights and
measures. The
sixteen-times multiplication table is one of the stumbling-blocks that
have to
be surmounted. The
mention of
wages suggests that a list of those I paid in a prosperous tea-planting
district of India may not be without its information. The able-bodied
men
received six and eightpence a month, common coolies five and fourpence,
women
four and eightpence, and useful boys four shillings, in all cases with
huts to
live in, but no other perquisites, and, of course, without food. Men in
superior
positions, such as gangers and overseers, drew from eight to sixteen
shillings,
and the head-carpenter was a comparative Croesus on twelve pounds a
year. When
I first started, in the ‘seventies, the “English writer,” or clerk, was
paid
two pounds a month, but twenty-five years later, I could get the work
done by
better educated “Baboos” for little more than half that salary. For
less than
three pounds a month I engaged a “Doctor Baboo,” who had passed through
the
medical schools at one of the universities, and was a qualified medical
practitioner — ”qualified to kill,” some one unkindly suggested! The
native
engineer who had charge, and drove a tolerable amount of machinery, was
paid
two pounds a month. All these figures take the rupee at its present
exchange
value. These may
seem
small wages, but “they can live on half their pay, and save the other
half,”
said my head overseer to me one day when we were discussing matters.
And then
he explained how a man on five and fourpence a month expended
sixteen-pence on
thirty-two pounds of rice, which served him for a supper for as many
days,
eightpence on thirty pounds of Indian corn, which provided a good
midday meal,
and eightpence on such luxuries as salt, ghee,
condiments, and lamp-oil; total, two shillings and eightpence, on which
expenditure those men kept themselves in hard-working condition, able
to do ten
hours’ hoeing in a stiff clay soil, a task from which most English
labourers
would have shied off; and for carrying burdens no English porter could
have
competed with them. I have frequently despatched a man with a load of
sixty or
seventy pounds weight on a twenty-four mile journey, and he did it,
both
literally and, in English slang, “on his head” — carrying the burden I
allude
to. It may be
said that
the Indians as a nation are as much boggled in debt as the Government
of Turkey
or some of the South American Republics, and with as little chance of
paying
off their liabilities. The rate of interest in India is usually
twenty-four per
cent., sometimes twelve, very rarely nine, and frequently thirty and
thirty-six. The banks habitually charge the up-country European ten per
cent.
It is a curious thing that the native, perhaps the most thrifty,
prudent, and
economical man in the world after the Chinese, should be utterly
reckless in
borrowing and litigation. A portion of his neediness arises no doubt
from want,
owing to bad seasons; but in that case he goes to the shopkeeper, who,
although
a grasping individual, is moderation compared to the extortion of the
usurer.
It is for his ceremonial expenses, his marryings and his funerals, that
the
native runs into debt headlong and blindly. The curse of custom compels
him to
this, for it insists he shall be lavish. The debt, too, is regarded as
one of
honour, and although he may willingly seek to repudiate or wriggle ont
of a
commercial obligation, his code demands that he shall not deny the
liability
incurred for the execution of a religious duty. Moreover, for a man who
thinks
in shell coinage, it is difficult to attempt to shuffle out of a
situation
which requires him to expend in one week a sum equal to many years’
income; his
very character is bound up in the glory of that reckless week; it would
never
do to say it had cost him only five or six pounds when all the world
had
assessed the expenditure necessary on such festivities at ten or
twenty. If he has land, the peasant can always raise a loan, but seldom if ever comes the season when the land can repay it. And the usurer who holds the mortgage-deed has the law court to go to, that fount of British justice which will place him in possession of his own, as it has done. “Under the British Government the land in India has, to a large extent, passed away from the cultivator,” writes Sir George Wingate, with the weight of authority. “In Assam, sixty-eight, and in the North-west Provinces, nearly forty-eight per cent. of the landlords are of the money-lending class. In the Punjab, the change is fraught with grave political danger.” The
despotism of
usury is weighing heavily on the Golden East. Under native rule, these
things
adjusted themselves in the throes of periodical change, and the absence
of
smooth-working legal machinery. But under the Pax
Britannica, too many scoundrels, who prey upon the ignorant
and poor,
come by other people’s property which they claim as their own on the
strength
of a liability much more than half of which is accrued compound
interest. The
place of the predatory Pindaris of the past, who lived by foray and
rapine, has
been taken by the money-lender and the lawyer, and these latter are the
blood-sucking vampires who have battened on the want and witlessness of
a
population sunk in ignorance and apathy, and, under the shadow of
British
justice, live and thrive on the gains of injustice. The Golden
East!
You have but to scratch the plating with the nail of your forefinger to
find
that it is a mere tinsel thing which disguises about as much real
prosperity as
the phrase “the good old days when George the Third was King!” |