A PROCESSIONAL HORSEA PROCESSIONAL HORSE
The passion for bright colour is strikingly evident in these parades, where silk and gold are lavishly spread, and the manes and tails and sometimes the bodies of the animals are dyed magenta, scarlet, or orange. Gold or silver bangles are clasped round the fetlocks or abovethe knee, where they are hung with silk cloths or streamers. No matter how long thetamáshamay last, the animal's head is always pulled tightly back and down with bridle and silken martingale, and one longs with such an exceeding great longing to cut them and set the head free that it is hard to be respectful to the bravery of the show. You feel that as a relic of the externals of the brave days of old (which must have been mainly bad old days) it deserves some respect. Yet no writer who has seen the display from near, and writes honestly, can refrain from noting its seamy side. The late Mr. Aberigh Mackay (Ali Baba ofVanity Fair), one of the brightest and most original, as well as one of the most generous spirits who ever handled Indian subjects, has drawn a picture in hisTwenty-one Days in India, of a Raja and his Sowāri which could not be bettered by a hair's breadth.
A RAJA'S CHARGER (MARWAR BREED)A RAJA'S CHARGER (MARWAR BREED)
"In the cool of the evening our king emerges from his palace, and, riding on a prodigiously fat white horse with pink points, proceeds to the place of carousal. A long train of horsemen follow him, and footmen run before with guns in red flannel covers and silver maces, shouting 'Raja Maharaja Salaamat,' etc. The horsemen immediately around him are mounted on well-fed and richly caparisoned steeds, with all the bravery of cloth of gold, yaktails, silver chains, and strings of shells; behind are troopers in a burlesque of English uniform; and altogether in the rear is a mob of caitiffs on skeleton chargers, masquerading in every degree of shabbiness and rags, down to nakedness and a sword. The cavalcade passes through the city. The inhabitants pour out of every door and bend to the ground. Red cloths and white veils flutter at the casements overhead. You would hardly think that the spectacle was one daily enjoyed by the city. There is all the hurrying and eagerness of novelty and curiosity. Here and there a little shy crowd of women gather at a door and salute the Chief with a loud, shrill verse of discordant song. It is some national song of the Chief's ancestors and of the old heroic days. The place of carousal is a bare spot near a large and ancient well outof which grows a vast pipal tree. Hard by is a little temple surmounted by a red flag on a drooping bamboo. It is here that theGangorandDasehraSolemnities are celebrated. Arrived on the ground, the Raja slowly circles his horse; then, jerking the thorn-bit, causes him to advance plunging and rearing, but dropping first on the near foot and then on the off foot with admirable precision; and finally, making the white monster, now in a lather of sweat, rise up and walk a few steps on his hind legs, the Raja'sperformance concludes amid many shouts of wonder and delight from the smooth-tongued courtiers. The thakores (barons) and sardars (squires) now exhibit their skill in themanègeuntil the shades of night fall, when torches are brought, amid much salaaming, and the cavalcade defiles through the city, back to the palace."
"In the cool of the evening our king emerges from his palace, and, riding on a prodigiously fat white horse with pink points, proceeds to the place of carousal. A long train of horsemen follow him, and footmen run before with guns in red flannel covers and silver maces, shouting 'Raja Maharaja Salaamat,' etc. The horsemen immediately around him are mounted on well-fed and richly caparisoned steeds, with all the bravery of cloth of gold, yaktails, silver chains, and strings of shells; behind are troopers in a burlesque of English uniform; and altogether in the rear is a mob of caitiffs on skeleton chargers, masquerading in every degree of shabbiness and rags, down to nakedness and a sword. The cavalcade passes through the city. The inhabitants pour out of every door and bend to the ground. Red cloths and white veils flutter at the casements overhead. You would hardly think that the spectacle was one daily enjoyed by the city. There is all the hurrying and eagerness of novelty and curiosity. Here and there a little shy crowd of women gather at a door and salute the Chief with a loud, shrill verse of discordant song. It is some national song of the Chief's ancestors and of the old heroic days. The place of carousal is a bare spot near a large and ancient well outof which grows a vast pipal tree. Hard by is a little temple surmounted by a red flag on a drooping bamboo. It is here that theGangorandDasehraSolemnities are celebrated. Arrived on the ground, the Raja slowly circles his horse; then, jerking the thorn-bit, causes him to advance plunging and rearing, but dropping first on the near foot and then on the off foot with admirable precision; and finally, making the white monster, now in a lather of sweat, rise up and walk a few steps on his hind legs, the Raja'sperformance concludes amid many shouts of wonder and delight from the smooth-tongued courtiers. The thakores (barons) and sardars (squires) now exhibit their skill in themanègeuntil the shades of night fall, when torches are brought, amid much salaaming, and the cavalcade defiles through the city, back to the palace."
Is it any wonder that Sir John Malcolm, who had seen so much of this kind of life and could describe it with humour and spirit, was a congenial companion to the good Sir Walter? For it belongs to another world, and another time. Yet, when one knows all about the poor horse and the cruel bit it seems but a dull parody of ancient chivalry.
The ideas current on the qualities, form, and vices of the animal are as antiquated as its treatment. Many are tied up in aphoristic bundles for better preservation. So many parts of the horse should be round, so many square, so many short, and so many long, and everybody speaks of the five vices and of the eight lucky white points of Mangal—Mars. There is an elaborate science of stray hairs with an obstinate twist, of the colour of the markings and the planting of the hair in the skin. The last is a curious, and nowadays but little known subject in England. If you paint a well-groomed, well-conditioned horse in a strong light, you find that the shimmer and reflections of his coat take forms like those in moire antique silk or the "figure" in polished satin-wood and tell in your picture more than the actual form. It is conceivable, indeed, that a sculptor, studying shape only, might find it convenient to dredge his model over with gray powder to kill these reflections. We know that the rich and pictorial effects are partly due to a relatively trivial cause,—the direction in which the hairs are set in the skin, which varies slightly in different individuals. But in Indian horse lore the set of thesefeatherings (they are analogous to the radiating arrangements of birds' feathers), ending sometimes in circles or whorls, are all mapped out like currents on a mariner's chart, and each is named and interpreted for luck, temper, constitution, or quality; but mainly for luck. The "Zinnat ul Khail" or "Beauties of the horse" is an elaborately illustrated text-book of this absurd science. Absurd enough, but those who have rummaged in old books will feel that in the American phrase, they "have been here before." Three hundred years ago, precisely similar notions were current in Europe and learnedly discoursed upon. Mr. Alfred E. T. Watson, in theRiding and Polovolume of the "Badminton Library" quotes from an Elizabethan writer, Maister Thomas Blundevill: "The horse that hath an ostrich feather either on his forehead, or both sides of his maine, or on the one side, or els behind on his buttocks, or in any place where he himself cannot see it, can never be an euill horse."
With reference to colour, we probably have preserved more preferences than we care to admit, though we say "a good horse is never of a bad colour." Such a saying is wildly irreverent from the Oriental point of view, whence colour and colour markings are the first things taken into account. Relics of the old ideas, however, still linger among us in such sayings as the doggerel about white feet,—
"One, you may buy him;Two, you may try him;Three, you should doubt him;Four, do without him,"—
"One, you may buy him;Two, you may try him;Three, you should doubt him;Four, do without him,"—
but there are many similar rules in the East, complicated by moral and fatalistic fancies. Thus, Mūnshi Muhammad, Mehindi writes: "If the two hind and the near fore legsare equally blazed with white, the owner of such a horse will be happy as long as he lives." In another place: "The owner of a horse, which, in the centre of a white blaze on its forehead, has curling dark hairs resembling a scorpion, will be miserly and unreasonable, will lose his intelligence, will be without influence and will lose his senses." Again: "When the near fore-foot of a horse is white it is called nosegay and its owner should never know fear." "When the off fore of a horse is white, he is to be avoided." Similar ideas are expressed in European books of the old time.
Among horse folk, unfamiliar with books, spoken lore takes such fantastic forms that you would think some fabulous creature was being talked of. A writer is forced to be simple in spite of himself, for the mere process of setting down a fancy reduces it to orderly shape, whereas in long rigmaroles of talk round the dreamy hūqqa, old fancies expand and are distorted. And there is a purpose in elaboration. All craftsmen find it profitable to shroud their art in mystery. Even in the West the esoteric science of the horse expert could give points to the newest mystery of "esoteric Buddhism" and beat it easily. In India it is still more to the interest of horse people to keep up the mystery; for the Raja, the Nawāb, and persons of condition must never be allowed to judge for themselves. "Commission" is one of the High Gods of the country, and always in paying one you pay many. The most eligible animal can be condemned for a curling hair or an inauspicious touch of colour by a master of horse whose palm has not been properly greased. In the West also you hear of commission; but, though few horse buyers exercise as much independent judgment as they think, common-sense and reason have some slight share in their transactions.
A RAJA'S HORSE (WAZIRI BREED)A RAJA'S HORSE (WAZIRI BREED)
There are several varieties of indigenous horses recognisable at once, and you hear of more than you can discriminate. Many grains of salt must be taken with horse talk generally and especially with Oriental brag of purity of breed. The Kathiawar horse is interesting on account of his markings, which include the asinine stripe along the back, and occasionally zebra-like stripes on the legs. Marwári horses are prized especially by native chiefs for their size and form. Among the Biloch, who have strong Arab characteristics, racing is thenational pastime, but only mares are ridden, colts being killed as soon as they are born—a practice which may be expected to die out. The Biloch preference for mares is expressed in a saying: "A man with his saddle on a mare has his saddle on a horse; a man with his saddle on a horse has his saddle on his head." Their races are a little wild and irregular if judged by a European standard, but there is no doubt as to their popularity, nor as to certain good qualities of the animals. If a Biloch cannot afford a whole mare, he will own as many legs of one as he can manage; and, as the animal has four legs, will keep her a quarter of a year for each leg of which he is master, after which she passes to the owners of the remaining legs. Akin to the Biloch is the Waziri horse; both remarkable for a lyre-like incurving of the ears, which is a beauty or a defect as the amateur may choose, and both have good qualities of their own. In the Himálaya there is a variety of ponies, sturdy gūnths, and yabus that could carry a church and climb up its steeple, Bhutia ponies, and many other hill sorts from Peshawar to Pegu. The Manipur ponies used for polo orchaugánare mostly dun, and are excellent beasts in their way, playing the game with very little help from either knee or bridle.
A MONEY-LENDER ON A DECCAN PONYA MONEY-LENDER ON A DECCAN PONY
The characteristic all-pervading horse of the hot plains is thetattooor country pony, a cat-hammed, shadowy animal seldom more than thirteen and a half hands high. In the south they speak of the Deccantattoo, which is a better beast than others, but there seems to be no real difference of breed. Among them you often come across distinctly Arab characteristics, and most are dashed with the noble Arab blood. Though seldom good to look at, lean and unkempt,vicious and ill to handle, he is a beast of immense pluck and endurance. The half-soldier, half-brigand bands of Pindāris who made a desert of the India to which the English power succeeded, used him as their sumpter horse; and indeed few but the leaders rode anything else. The Duke of Wellington made the acquaintance of the Deccantattooserving in this capacity, and briefly described him, mentioning twenty-five rupees as the average price. Nowadays he is seldom so cheap; he carries the cultivator, his wife and children, to fair or market, and takes the village banker and money-lender abroad to view the crops and collect debts.Among Hindus he is often saddled and bridled without a morsel of leather in the whole equipment.
In Bengal and Madras, non-equestrian provinces, the animal often shrinks to a framework caricature of a pony; a heavy head hung on a long weak neck, no chest to speak of, inconceivably slender in girth, with weak hind legs working over each other like the blades of a pair of scissors. A little boy of my acquaintance truthfully described this kind of pony as "a real horse, but very like a bicycle." In the North-West Provinces and the Punjab the creature improves, is useful as a pack pony, and draws the ekka and thepalki gāri. Cruel over-driving and a heartless disregard of the creature's thirst are the worst features of the immense ekka traffic of Northern India. Probably the pedantic rules about drinking cause more suffering than anything else. The native is always drinking water, for in a land where to live is to sweat, you frequently want drink. But what is good for him is thought bad for the pony, foaming and frothing in thirsty misery.
BOMBAY TRAM-HORSE WEARING HORSE-CAP
It is easy to see where the Deccantattooand the country pony generally get their quality from. Marco Polo wrote of a regular importation of Arab horses from the Persian Gulf ports at the end of the thirteenth century. In those days the vessels went up the Tanna Creek to the King of Callian. The town of Callian is now a high and dry railway junction and ships cannot reach it, but the importation has been going on ever since in vessels of probably identical build with those of the old time. You may see them in Bombay harbour, the horses standing a-row on the bags of dates that form part of the cargo, looking exactly like a Noah's Ark with the lid off. From the countries north of Kábul a constant immigration of the animals we call Northernhorses, or sometimes Kábulis, has been going on for nearly as long a period, and still continues at the rate of about two thousand annually, according to the calculation of one of the importers most largely concerned. Balkh and the adjacent regions are said to be the main source of the supply of Turkoman horses. The Kafilas or caravans are mostly manned by natives of Ghazni and arrive in the Punjab from Kábul in the cold weather. The Amir of Kábul, through whose country they pass, exacts tolls to the amount of Rs.32 per horse, mares pay seven rupees less, and His Highness is said to claim the pick of the droves at his own price. Many go to Bombay and Calcutta for the use of the tram companies, and, with the Walers in the same stables, are among the few horses in the world that wear hats as a protection from the sun. Mr. Griffiths of Bombay has been good enough to sketch for me the horse-cap in use, an eminently sensible contrivance, which has been found to protect the animals from sunstroke and headache, to which an animal from a comparatively cold country is liable. The country pony is seldom affected by the sun, but he has not the shoulders and substance of the Northern horse.
Many horses are annually imported from Australia, but they are mainly for the army and wealthy people on the Bengal side of India, and are somewhat outside my present scope. The British Government has for many years been trying to improve the horses of the country by importing English thoroughbreds, Arabs, and Norfolk trotters who stand as sires at the service of farmers under certain conditions, which include the branding of approved mares. So it will be seen that the stock of the country is of a varied nature. The magnificent Shire horse of England is unknown and probably impossible in India.
PUNJAB FARMER ON A BRANDED MAREPUNJAB FARMER ON A BRANDED MARE
A controversy has been going on intermittently for many years as to the merits of the country-bred horse and the question of Indian horse-breeding generally, which it would be impossible to summarise within reasonable limits. But while the dispute has been raging, and Government has been trying experiments and doing as much for horse-rearing as the diverse counsel of experts seemed to justify (and no experts are quite so positive in assertion or so cock-sure in contradiction as horse authorities), a remarkable change has been brought about, and the principle of breeding in India, declared by some to be unworkable, seems to have vindicated itself. At all events, within the last quarter of a century a noticeable improvement has taken place in all sorts and conditions of Indian horseflesh. It is true that the horse-dealer, the Raja, the turf, and the public at large have reaped much of the crop sown by Government for its own army, but, as the Scottish saying has it, "What a neighbour gets is not lost." It is scarcely in the nature of things for a Government to make money in a difficult business like horse-breeding; we can only hope that losing means learning. Nor is it only by the importation of thoroughbred English and Arab sires, or by the establishment of horse-breeding farms, that the influence of Government has been felt. Horse-fairs and horse-shows have been encouraged in the equestrian regions with good effect. Among the prizes given on these occasions are good English saddlery, including bridles with merciful bits, which will one day supersede the cruel thorn bit. But that day is still a long way off.
The Indian turf has played a great part in the improved treatment of horses. One does not look for the nimbus of a saint over the head of the average racingman, but in India he also is a missionary, spreading no ignoble Gospel. For it is impossible to get high speed and quality under the old conditions of starveling upbringing and crippling bondage. The demand for ponies suitable for polo has resulted in an immense improvement in pony breeding. A fair chance for development, good food, and good training are, after all, the most urgent needs of the country pony. Some animals of distinction on the polo ground have been taken from the shafts of the ekka. The high prices given have had their effect, and polo ponies are now to be had which it would be hard to beat for speed, endurance, and handiness, though they may not always be equal to the weight of some players. The prices, in fact, are too high, for the popularity of the game, its increasing fastness, and the importance given to it by inter-regimental tournaments, give the Indian dealer, who is as smart as any other horse-dealer, a great opportunity. Formerly a subaltern of moderate means could afford to buy and keep a string of tolerable animals, but now he must pay fancy prices and often has to abandon the game. Combinations against dealers are frequently discussed, but are scarcely likely to succeed. Though smaller in size and inferior in substance, some of the best modern Indian animals of this sort are not unlike the "cocktail" of England in the early days of English racing, before the final triumph of the thoroughbred; but they have a more elegant contour than the cocktail pictures show, and are probably intrinsically better horses.
That the roads built by the English are a most important factor in Indian progress is one of the notable discoveries of the obvious that I find myself compelledto announce from time to time. In ancient days sculptures and paintings show that horse chariots, recalling the ancient racing chariots of Rome, were largely used, but in more recent times the Prince and his Queens, as well as the peasant and his produce, were drawn by oxen through the deep ruts and mires. There is no evidence of springs until the early Englishman in Calcutta or Madras put apalkion springs and four wheels, where it has remained ever since, as thedāk gārior posting carriage. Theekka, a single-horse, springless gig, seems to be an indigenous carriage, and has the half-organic air that suggests antiquity. Unknown in the Deccan, Western India, and Sind as far north as Mooltan, it is the people's own "trap" from Peshawar through the Punjab, Hindustan, and parts of Bengal nearly to Calcutta. Nothing could be more characteristic than the primitive, useful, and cheaply-built machine here sketched.
The tea-tray is the top of an inverted three-sided prism resting on the axle, so that every jolt is transmitted straight to the spines of the occupants, who sit doubled up in the "two-foot-rule" fold which the Indian frame seems to take by nature. A longekkadrive is sharp discomfort to a European, even when he has the tea-tray to himself; but natives to the manner born pack themselves up like compressed capital N's, occupying but little more floor space when sitting than when standing, and for hours tranquilly maintain a position that would make a European die in an agony of "pins and needles."
It is easy to sketch anekka, but the appearance of the machine is only part of the impression it makes. Noise is a necessity of the Oriental nature; loud, continuous, strident din. So the horse is hung with bells,and the cart has rows of loose plates that clash like cymbals. The maddening din is supposed to cheer the horse as the sheep-bell "keeps a stout heart in the ram with its tinkle." In the dark the jingle may be useful, for lamps do not enter into theekkascheme, as many an Englishman has found to his cost.
The ekka, a tea-tray on wheels, dear,Flies past as its occupants sit,—For a pony you know never feels, dear—All five pulling hard at one bit.
The ekka, a tea-tray on wheels, dear,Flies past as its occupants sit,—For a pony you know never feels, dear—All five pulling hard at one bit.
Thetongais supposed by some to be an indigenousnative of Western India. It is a low, hooded, two-wheeled dog-cart on strong springs, with a centre pole to which a pair of ponies are harnessed by an iron yoke bar, curricle fashion. It is much used in the Deccan, and is now the Himálayan post-cart running to Simla, Murree, and along the new Kashmir road. The vehicle has good points of its own, but its springs proclaim it a modern invention; according to some an importation from the Cape of Good Hope. Travellers bytongaoften sit behind animals that are simply first-rate of their kind, and perfectly suited to their work.
On the lines under Government control the horses are fairly dealt by, but on routes where the native contractor has his own way sickening examples of barbarity are often seen. A large proportion ofdāk gāri, or post horses, cannot be started without torture. Some have ears permanently broken and torn by a savage trick of wringing them with the hands and a piece of cord, the twitch is mercilessly applied to the noses of others, the inside of the legs is chafed with a rough rope vigorously pulled with a sawing motion; sometimes fire is applied, while whips and sticks ring like flails on a threshing floor, and all the stable men of the stage yell and swear like demons. The bad temper produced by stupid upbringing is partly to blame, the mysterious nervous affection resulting in jibbing has something to do with it; but dread of the pain of a collar chafing a sore is the usual cause of the trouble.
Many of thepalki gārisused as hack cabs in Calcutta and other large towns, owned by speculators who know nothing of their business, including liquor-sellers, table-servants, and even priestesses of Venus retired from business, are drawn by scare-crows that recall in a reduced and shadowy form the outlines ofBewick's grim woodcut,—"Waiting for death." But the mercy of death is denied to them.
Though the North-Westekka, the Deccantonga, the Madrasbandy, the Bombay and Bengalshigram, and other variants of thepalki gārimay be considered characteristically Indian, they by no means exhaust the number of vehicles in use; for, since the days when the craftsmen of Delhi copied the English carriages sent as presents to the Great Mogul, there has been a continuous importation of the best and the worst coach work that Long Acre can produce.
One of the first steps taken in technical progress was the carriage-building trade, now gradually spreading over the country. Oil painting and varnishing, carpentry, smith's work and leather dressing, owe much to this craft. Dog-carts and numerous varieties of one-horse spring carts seem to be supplanting the once universal buggy or hooded gig. Thebrum gāri, brougham; thefitton gāri, phaeton or barouche; thevāgnit, waggonette, are now built in most large towns by native craftsmen, springs and axle-boxes being of European make. It is of no use to protest against these barbarous words, for, likebōtelfor bottle, andkitlifor kettle, with other travesties of our tongue, they are fixed in popular speech. Thevāgnitseems likely to be the carriage of the future, because of its capacity. The Oriental, like the ant, goes forth in bands, and is capable of piling more people in, on, or about a carriage than would be believed in Europe.
Not only does an improvement in the vehicles in use testify to increased prosperity, but it ought to mean an amelioration in the condition of the horse. One would like to write confidently of the future, but considering all that has been done by our veterinary colleges andhospitals (missionary efforts of the highest value), and all the influence of the British power, it must be confessed that though there is enough for an official triumph, much remains to be done before the horse of the Indian people can be reckoned to have a fair chance. Nor can one who knows the country escape from the reflection that we underrate the apathy and indifference of its various races; alike in this, that they are and must be constitutionally disinclined to take the trouble that merciful and just treatment of animals in servitude involves.
The Indian farrier has some sound notions and is acquainted with a few valuable remedies for disease, but he has a passion for long prescriptions, esteemed according to the number and nastiness of their ingredients. Mixtures of lucky numbers of substances (always odd) must include inert or noxious matter. But the mere number is part of the charm. Like the farriers of Britain, he is given to an abuse of the firing-iron, but cherishes a faith in the pattern of the brand unknown to the Western world. He does his best to make a mystery of his lore and practice, but everybody about an Indian stable seems to have a taste for medicine. Even in England many grooms dabble in quackery and "know of a rare fine thing for a 'oss," which, as a rule, were better let alone. The education of the farrier and of the shoeing-smith is a duty which the Government has undertaken with some success. But the Oriental has a faculty of learning with seeming eagerness and then of laying his lesson aside as one folds a garment and puts it away.
In the West the horse goes to the smith to be shod, in the East the smith comes to the horse; bringing with him a wallet full of tools, a bellows made to workin a hole in the ground, and an apprentice to help him. And the animal's feet are held for him in turn as shown in the accompanying sketch.
AN INDIAN FARRIERAN INDIAN FARRIER
Reference has been made at some length to the typical method of dealing with the horses of persons of quality. It is only fair to say that in this field better notions are spreading. H.H. The Maharaja of Ulwar, the Maharaja (late Thakore) of Bhaonagar, the Maharaja of Jodhpur, and doubtless other princes, could be cited whose stables and studs, sometimes managed by English experts, show a very different picture from that usually presented. From a series of letters written to thePioneerby my son, describing a tour in Rajputana, I extract a description of a visit he paid to the establishment of a native prince well known on the Indian turf, premising that Colonel Parrott mentioned therein is one of the most successful breeders of horses in India.
"The Maharaja led on from horse-box to horse-box, pointing out each horse of note, and Jodhpur has many. 'There's Raja, twice winner of the Civil Service Cup.' Close to him stood Autocrat, the gray with nutmeg marks on the off shoulder,—a picture of a horse. Next to him was a chestnut Arab, a hopeless cripple, for one of his knees had been smashed and the leg was doubled up under him. It was Turquoise, who six or eight years ago rewarded good feeding by getting away from his groom, falling down, and ruining himself, but who, none the less, has lived an honoured pensioner on the Maharaja's bounty ever since. No horses are shot in Jodhpur stables, and when one dies his funeral is an event. He is wrapped in a white sheet, which is strewn with flowers, and amid the weeping of the grooms is borne away to the burial ground. After doing the honours for half an hour the Maharaja left me, and as I had not seen more than forty horses I felt justified in demanding more. And I got them. Eclipse and Young Revenge were out, down country, but Sherwood, Shere Ali, Conqueror, Tynedale, Sherwood II., a maiden of Abdul Rahman's, and many others of note were in and were brought out. Among the veterans, a wrathful, rampant, red horse still, came Brian Boru, whose name has been written large in the chronicles of the Indian turf, jerking his groom across the road. His near fore is altogether gone, but as a pensioner he condescends to go in harness and is said to be a handful. He certainly looks it. At the two hundred and fifty-seventh horse and perhaps the twentieth block of stables, my brain began to reel, and I demanded rest and information on a certain point. I had gone into some fifty stalls and looked into all the rest, and in the looking had searchingly sniffed. But, as truly as I was then standing far below Brian Boru's bony withers, never the ghost of a stench had polluted the keen morning air. This city of the Houyhnhnms was specklessly clean, cleaner than any stable, racing or private, that I had been into. How was it done? The pure white sand accounted for a good deal, and the rest was explained by one of the Masters of Horse. 'Each horse has one groom at least; Old Ringwood he had four, and we make 'em work. If we didn't we'd be mucked up to the horses' bellies in no time. Everything is cleaned off at once; and whenever the sand's tainted it's renewed. There's quite enough sand, you see, hereabouts. Of course we can't keep their coats so bright as in other stables, by reason of the rolling; but we can keep 'em pretty clean.' This immaculate purity was very striking, and quite as impressive was the condition of the horses,which was English, quite English. Naturally, none of them were in any training beyond daily exercise, but they were fit and in good fettle. Many of them were out on the various tracks, and many were coming in. Roughly, two hundred go out of a morning."It was pleasant to sit and watch the rush of the horses through the great opening—gates are not affected—going on to the countryside where they take the air. Here a boisterous unschooled Arab, his flag spun silk in the sunlight, shot out across the road and cried ha! ha! in the scriptural manner, before trying to rid himself of the grinning black imp on his back. Behind him a Kábuli—(surely all Kábulis must have been born with Pelhams in their mouths)—bored sulkily across the road or threw himself across the path of a tall, mild-eyed Kurnál-bred youngster, whose cocked ears and swinging head showed that though he was so sedate, he was thoroughly taking in his surroundings, and would very much like to know if there were anybody better than himself on the course that morning. Impetuous as a schoolboy and irresponsible as a monkey, one of the Prince's polo ponies, not above racing in his own set, would answer the query by rioting past the sedate pupil of Colonel Parrott, his body cloth flapping free in the wind and his head and banged tail in the air. The youngster would swing himself round and polka-mazurka for a few paces, till his attention would be caught by some dainty Child of the Desert, an Arab fresh from the Bombay stables, sweating at every sound, backing and filling like a rudderless ship. Then, thanking his stars that he was wiser than some people, No. 177 would lob on to the track and settle down to his spin like the gentleman he was."Elsewhere, the eye fell upon a cloud of nameless ones, whose worth will be proved next hot weather when they are seriously taken in hand—skirmishing over the face of the land and enjoying themselves immensely. High above everything else, like a collier among barges, screaming shrilly, a black, flamboyant Marwári stallion, with a crest like the crest of a barb, barrel-bellied, goose-rumped, and river-maned, pranced through the press, while the slow pacing Waler carriage horses eyed him with deep disfavour, and the young prince's tiny mount capered under his pink Roman nose, kicking up as much dust as the Foxhall colt, dancing a saraband on a lovely patch of sand. In and out of the tangle, going to or coming back from the courses, ran, shuffled, rocketed, plunged, sulked, or stampeded countless horses of all kinds, shapes, and descriptions—so that the eye at last failed to see what they were, and retained only a general impression of a whirl of bays, grays,iron-grays, and chestnuts with white stockings, some as good as could be desired, others average, but not one distinctly bad."'We have no downright bad 'uns in this stable. What's the use?' said the English Master of Horse calmly. 'They are all good beasts, and one with another must cost more than a thousand each. This year's new ones brought from Bombay, and the pick of our own studs, are a hundred strong, about. Maybe more. Yes, they look all right enough; but you can never know what they are going to turn out. Live stock is very uncertain.'"'And how are the stables managed; how do you make room for the fresh stock?'"'Something this way. Here are all the new ones and Colonel Parrott's lot and the English colts that Maharaja Pertáb Singh brought out with him from home. Winterlake, out o' Queen Consort, that chestnut with the two white stockings you're looking at now. Well, next hot weather we shall see what they are made of, and which is who. There's so many that the trainer hardly knows 'em one from another till they begin to be a good deal forward. Those that haven't got the pace, or that the Maharaja don't fancy, they're taken out and sold for what they'll bring. The man who takes the horses out has a good job of it. He comes back and says: "I sold such and such for so much and here's the money." That's all. Well, our rejections are worth having. They have taken prizes at the Poona horse show. See for yourself. Is there one of those there you wouldn't be glad to take for a hack, and look well after, too? Only, they're no use to us, and so out they go by the score. We've got sixty riding boys, perhaps more, and they've got their work cut out to keep 'em all going. What you've seen are only the stables. We've got one stud at Bellara, eighty miles out, and they come in sometimes in droves of three or four hundred from the stud. They raise Marwáris there too, but that's entirely under native management. We've got nothing to do with that. The natives reckon a Marwári the best country-bred you can lay your hands on, and some of them are beauties! Crests on 'em like the top of a wave. Well, there's that stud and another stud, and, reckoning one with another, I should say the Maharaja has nearer twelve hundred than a thousand horses of his own. For this place here two waggon loads of grass come in every day from Marwar Junction. Lord knows how many saddles and bridles we've got! I never counted. I suppose we've about forty carriages, not counting the ones that get shabby and are stacked in places in the city, as I supposeyou've seen. We take 'em out in the morning, a regular string all together, brakes and all; but the prettiest turn-out we ever turned out was Lady Dufferin's pony four-in-hand. Walers, thirteen two the wheelers and thirteen one the leaders. They took prizes at Poona. Thatwasa pretty turn-out. The prettiest in India. Lady Dufferin, she drove it when the Viceroy was down here last year. There are bicycles and tricycles in the carriage department too. I don't know how many, but when the Viceroy's camp was held, there was about one a-piece for the gentlemen with remounts. How do we manage to keep the horses so quiet? You'll find some of the youngsters play the goat a good deal when they come out o' stable, but, as you say, there's no vice generally. It's this way. We don't allow any curry-combs. If we did the men would be wearing out their brushes on the combs. It's all elbow-grease here. They've got to go over the horses with their hands. They must handle 'em, and a native, he's afraid of a horse. Now an English groom, when the horse is playing the fool, clips him over the head with a curry-comb, or punches him in the belly; and that hurts the horse's feelings. A native, he just stands back till the trouble is over. Hemusthandle the horse, or he'd get into trouble for not dressing him, so it comes to all handling and no licking, and that's why you won't get hold of a really vicious brute in these stables. Old Ringwood, he had four grooms, and he wanted 'em, every one, but the other horses haven't more than one man a-piece. The Maharaja, he keeps fourteen or fifteen horses for his own riding. Not that he cares to ride now, but he likes to have his horses and no one else can touch 'em. Then, there's the horses he mounts his visitors on when they go out pig-sticking (boar-hunting) and such like, and there's a lot of horses that go to Maharaja Pertáb Singh's new cavalry regiment. So you see a horse can go through all three degrees sometimes before he is sold and be a good horse at the end of it. And I think that's about all.'"
"The Maharaja led on from horse-box to horse-box, pointing out each horse of note, and Jodhpur has many. 'There's Raja, twice winner of the Civil Service Cup.' Close to him stood Autocrat, the gray with nutmeg marks on the off shoulder,—a picture of a horse. Next to him was a chestnut Arab, a hopeless cripple, for one of his knees had been smashed and the leg was doubled up under him. It was Turquoise, who six or eight years ago rewarded good feeding by getting away from his groom, falling down, and ruining himself, but who, none the less, has lived an honoured pensioner on the Maharaja's bounty ever since. No horses are shot in Jodhpur stables, and when one dies his funeral is an event. He is wrapped in a white sheet, which is strewn with flowers, and amid the weeping of the grooms is borne away to the burial ground. After doing the honours for half an hour the Maharaja left me, and as I had not seen more than forty horses I felt justified in demanding more. And I got them. Eclipse and Young Revenge were out, down country, but Sherwood, Shere Ali, Conqueror, Tynedale, Sherwood II., a maiden of Abdul Rahman's, and many others of note were in and were brought out. Among the veterans, a wrathful, rampant, red horse still, came Brian Boru, whose name has been written large in the chronicles of the Indian turf, jerking his groom across the road. His near fore is altogether gone, but as a pensioner he condescends to go in harness and is said to be a handful. He certainly looks it. At the two hundred and fifty-seventh horse and perhaps the twentieth block of stables, my brain began to reel, and I demanded rest and information on a certain point. I had gone into some fifty stalls and looked into all the rest, and in the looking had searchingly sniffed. But, as truly as I was then standing far below Brian Boru's bony withers, never the ghost of a stench had polluted the keen morning air. This city of the Houyhnhnms was specklessly clean, cleaner than any stable, racing or private, that I had been into. How was it done? The pure white sand accounted for a good deal, and the rest was explained by one of the Masters of Horse. 'Each horse has one groom at least; Old Ringwood he had four, and we make 'em work. If we didn't we'd be mucked up to the horses' bellies in no time. Everything is cleaned off at once; and whenever the sand's tainted it's renewed. There's quite enough sand, you see, hereabouts. Of course we can't keep their coats so bright as in other stables, by reason of the rolling; but we can keep 'em pretty clean.' This immaculate purity was very striking, and quite as impressive was the condition of the horses,which was English, quite English. Naturally, none of them were in any training beyond daily exercise, but they were fit and in good fettle. Many of them were out on the various tracks, and many were coming in. Roughly, two hundred go out of a morning.
"It was pleasant to sit and watch the rush of the horses through the great opening—gates are not affected—going on to the countryside where they take the air. Here a boisterous unschooled Arab, his flag spun silk in the sunlight, shot out across the road and cried ha! ha! in the scriptural manner, before trying to rid himself of the grinning black imp on his back. Behind him a Kábuli—(surely all Kábulis must have been born with Pelhams in their mouths)—bored sulkily across the road or threw himself across the path of a tall, mild-eyed Kurnál-bred youngster, whose cocked ears and swinging head showed that though he was so sedate, he was thoroughly taking in his surroundings, and would very much like to know if there were anybody better than himself on the course that morning. Impetuous as a schoolboy and irresponsible as a monkey, one of the Prince's polo ponies, not above racing in his own set, would answer the query by rioting past the sedate pupil of Colonel Parrott, his body cloth flapping free in the wind and his head and banged tail in the air. The youngster would swing himself round and polka-mazurka for a few paces, till his attention would be caught by some dainty Child of the Desert, an Arab fresh from the Bombay stables, sweating at every sound, backing and filling like a rudderless ship. Then, thanking his stars that he was wiser than some people, No. 177 would lob on to the track and settle down to his spin like the gentleman he was.
"Elsewhere, the eye fell upon a cloud of nameless ones, whose worth will be proved next hot weather when they are seriously taken in hand—skirmishing over the face of the land and enjoying themselves immensely. High above everything else, like a collier among barges, screaming shrilly, a black, flamboyant Marwári stallion, with a crest like the crest of a barb, barrel-bellied, goose-rumped, and river-maned, pranced through the press, while the slow pacing Waler carriage horses eyed him with deep disfavour, and the young prince's tiny mount capered under his pink Roman nose, kicking up as much dust as the Foxhall colt, dancing a saraband on a lovely patch of sand. In and out of the tangle, going to or coming back from the courses, ran, shuffled, rocketed, plunged, sulked, or stampeded countless horses of all kinds, shapes, and descriptions—so that the eye at last failed to see what they were, and retained only a general impression of a whirl of bays, grays,iron-grays, and chestnuts with white stockings, some as good as could be desired, others average, but not one distinctly bad.
"'We have no downright bad 'uns in this stable. What's the use?' said the English Master of Horse calmly. 'They are all good beasts, and one with another must cost more than a thousand each. This year's new ones brought from Bombay, and the pick of our own studs, are a hundred strong, about. Maybe more. Yes, they look all right enough; but you can never know what they are going to turn out. Live stock is very uncertain.'
"'And how are the stables managed; how do you make room for the fresh stock?'
"'Something this way. Here are all the new ones and Colonel Parrott's lot and the English colts that Maharaja Pertáb Singh brought out with him from home. Winterlake, out o' Queen Consort, that chestnut with the two white stockings you're looking at now. Well, next hot weather we shall see what they are made of, and which is who. There's so many that the trainer hardly knows 'em one from another till they begin to be a good deal forward. Those that haven't got the pace, or that the Maharaja don't fancy, they're taken out and sold for what they'll bring. The man who takes the horses out has a good job of it. He comes back and says: "I sold such and such for so much and here's the money." That's all. Well, our rejections are worth having. They have taken prizes at the Poona horse show. See for yourself. Is there one of those there you wouldn't be glad to take for a hack, and look well after, too? Only, they're no use to us, and so out they go by the score. We've got sixty riding boys, perhaps more, and they've got their work cut out to keep 'em all going. What you've seen are only the stables. We've got one stud at Bellara, eighty miles out, and they come in sometimes in droves of three or four hundred from the stud. They raise Marwáris there too, but that's entirely under native management. We've got nothing to do with that. The natives reckon a Marwári the best country-bred you can lay your hands on, and some of them are beauties! Crests on 'em like the top of a wave. Well, there's that stud and another stud, and, reckoning one with another, I should say the Maharaja has nearer twelve hundred than a thousand horses of his own. For this place here two waggon loads of grass come in every day from Marwar Junction. Lord knows how many saddles and bridles we've got! I never counted. I suppose we've about forty carriages, not counting the ones that get shabby and are stacked in places in the city, as I supposeyou've seen. We take 'em out in the morning, a regular string all together, brakes and all; but the prettiest turn-out we ever turned out was Lady Dufferin's pony four-in-hand. Walers, thirteen two the wheelers and thirteen one the leaders. They took prizes at Poona. Thatwasa pretty turn-out. The prettiest in India. Lady Dufferin, she drove it when the Viceroy was down here last year. There are bicycles and tricycles in the carriage department too. I don't know how many, but when the Viceroy's camp was held, there was about one a-piece for the gentlemen with remounts. How do we manage to keep the horses so quiet? You'll find some of the youngsters play the goat a good deal when they come out o' stable, but, as you say, there's no vice generally. It's this way. We don't allow any curry-combs. If we did the men would be wearing out their brushes on the combs. It's all elbow-grease here. They've got to go over the horses with their hands. They must handle 'em, and a native, he's afraid of a horse. Now an English groom, when the horse is playing the fool, clips him over the head with a curry-comb, or punches him in the belly; and that hurts the horse's feelings. A native, he just stands back till the trouble is over. Hemusthandle the horse, or he'd get into trouble for not dressing him, so it comes to all handling and no licking, and that's why you won't get hold of a really vicious brute in these stables. Old Ringwood, he had four grooms, and he wanted 'em, every one, but the other horses haven't more than one man a-piece. The Maharaja, he keeps fourteen or fifteen horses for his own riding. Not that he cares to ride now, but he likes to have his horses and no one else can touch 'em. Then, there's the horses he mounts his visitors on when they go out pig-sticking (boar-hunting) and such like, and there's a lot of horses that go to Maharaja Pertáb Singh's new cavalry regiment. So you see a horse can go through all three degrees sometimes before he is sold and be a good horse at the end of it. And I think that's about all.'"
While speaking of the horse as he is, we are forgetting the popular estimate of him. In spite of ill-usage, he stands for honour and state both among Hindus and Muhammadans. Centuries have passed since the Aswamheda or great Hindu horse-sacrifice was celebrated, but the tradition lingers even among unlettered folk. As associated withSūrya, the Sun God, he isheld in esteem. Our analytical way of explaining the inner meaning of such associations is not congenial to the blandly receptive Oriental mind, which does not take its stories to pieces as if they were clocks. There may be astronomical facts hidden in the horses harnessed to the chariot of the sun, but so far as the Hindu at large is concerned, they are inventions of European Scholars.
Muhammadans unite to praise him, for the Prophet himself, who at one critical time had but two horses in his whole army, and knew his value, has left a formal benediction: "Thou shalt be to man a source of happiness and wealth, thy back shall be a seat of honour and thy belly of riches, every grain of barley given to thee shall purchase indulgence for the sinner." Also, from the winged horses of Persian invention, akin to Pegasus, and Borak the mystic steed of Muhammad, he stands for fancy and imagination. A dreamer or a poetical person "rides the horse of the winds." Swiftness and despatch have for long been associated with the horse. The rapid transmission of news by the horse post of the first Darius was one of the wonders of the ancient world, so the Persians said that the great King's post-riders flew faster than the cranes. Eastern proverbs and stories never die, but are handed down from age to age, from hero to hero, and in recent times the Emperor Akbar's similar post still further helped to connect the diffusion of news,—literature and intelligence,—with horses in the popular mind. Written words are still said to "gallop on a paper horse," the order of Government goes forth "on a steed of air." The postcards of the Nepal State have a little black horse stamped upon them.
Then, in addition to many esoteric sayings of stable lore, there are homely words in everybody's mouth."You can't find out the jokes of a horse, nor the ailments of a baby" hints that spirited horses have more to set them capering and kicking than the human knows of. Of an old woman in gay attire they say, "An old mare in a red rein." Our brutal saw says, "Old ewe, lamb fashion." The Bengalis say, "You tell a horse by his ears and a generous man by his gifts," an inconclusive saying.Doyou tell a horse by his ears, except perhaps in Bengal? "When the horse's tail grows longer he'll brush his own flies off," is a saying with a reference to the access of influence consequent on official promotion. The Persians say, and the saying is current in India, "It is too late to give barley when you are at the foot of the hill." "The Governor's (or Government officer's) mare eats sixty pounds of corn," is a common and warrantable complaint of the exactions of official underlings in the name of their masters.
Horses take a great part in most Indian weddings, Both Hindu and Muhammadan bridegrooms ride in procession, while the bride is borne in a canopied litter. In Bengal, however, all go on wheels, caparisoned horses being led to swell the show. In some hill regions both bride and bridegroom are carried in litters. The equestrian marriage parade is probably an ancient custom based, it may be, on the marriage by capture of which we hear so much. In Western India the bridegroom rides, covered with tinsel and gay clothing, in the midst of a moving square of artificial flowers and bushes, counterfeiting a garden, borne on long platforms on the heads of coolies. In the case of the trading Hindus of the cities this ride is often the first and last occasion of crossing a horse. The child bridegroom begins his progress with a light heart, but the weight of his finery, the smoke of the torches, the din of thethrobbing, screaming music, and the ceaseless clamour soon tell, and you may see the poor little man crying as he is held in the saddle, or lifted off, half dead with sleep, and put into a litter. When the bridegroom is of mature age the effect is often absurdly quaint. Part of the wedding finery is a veil, which has come to be a dropping-well arrangement of tinsel or cut paper fringes through which the most sensible face alive looks foolish. But one of the peculiarities of India is that nothing there is absurd. Disguises that would be grotesque and laughable in the West are accepted in the East without comment.
Some religious mendicants habitually ride, especially on the Punjab frontier. You may also see strings of them entering the towns of the plains in picturesque procession. Mendicancy is an honourable profession, practised by many men of admirable character, and by a host of ruffians who lead vagabond lives, diversified by drunkenness, thieving, and debauchery. SomeBairágis, as distinguished from other ascetics, are gathered into monasteries, nor would it be easy for a purist in morals to find fault with their lives and conduct. Other sects that wander and beg have houses and lands; but there is no escape from the conclusion that the country, notwithstanding its hidden wealth, is too poor to keep vast armies of able-bodied priests and beggars. The wonder is that though the respectable classes complain bitterly of sanctified loaferdom, there is scarcely a house that does not periodically receive and entertain more or less godly loafers.
A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK (HINDU DEVOTEE)A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK (HINDU DEVOTEE)
Concerning the mule there is not much that can be said with propriety, for his mixed descent points salt and perpetual gibes at ill-assorted marriages andbastards, whereon native opinion is very severe. As in Æsop, when the mule boasts of his mother's high family, he is asked for news of his father, whereupon the poor wretch is silent and ashamed. There is a strong prejudice in the minds of many Hindus against mule breeding as unnatural and improper. The degradation of the ass, the offscouring of all things, is probably at the root of this. It is wicked to couple a noble creature of good caste with the ignoble, impure, small-pox-defiled donkey. As to mere differences of kind, itis not likely that the Hindu would trouble his incurious mind; for stranger unions than this are recorded with approval. Thus, in a countryside saying current in the Deccan, the beauty of a breed of cows is popularly attributed to the interference of an antelope sire. So one might class the mule as a European introduction (he really is a Government institution); while the Hindu smiles complacently, seeing in the creature a type of the irregularity and inferiority of the mixed lineages of the West.
The mule, however, is bred in increasing numbers, for he is an ideal pack animal, born and made to carry the burdens of armies over difficult countries, and good at draught. Sure of foot, hard of hide, strong in constitution, frugal in diet, a first-rate weight carrier, indifferent to heat and cold, he combines the best, if the most homely characteristics of both the noble houses from which he is descended. He fails in beauty, and his infertility is a reproach, but even ugliness has its advantages. The heavy head of the mule is a mercy to him, for both in practice and the written orders of Government it is ordained that he is not to be bothered with bearing-reins. So that bigchefserves its natural purposes and is an index, unerring as a steam engine's dial, to how much is left in him. When tired the ears droop back, losing the alert forward tilt of the morning, and the head drops lower and lower. This freedom of the head gives additional play to his heels, for he is a superb kicker. A spirited mule in full fling radiates a rainbow of kicks, an aurora made splendid by the flash and flicker of his iron hoofs. With his fore-feet as a centre he clears for himself a sacred inviolable circle. And there are mules as handy with a swift fore-foot as ever was Tom Sayers with his left. So it is written inMajor Burn's official manual: "Examining a mule's mouth with the view of ascertaining his age is at times a risky operation, and the following method is recommended: Put a halter on the mule's head and blind-fold him; stand well in against the near fore-shoulder, pass the hand gently up the neck, patting the animal as it goes, and take a firm grip of the root of the ear with the right hand. Seize the upper lip and nose quickly and lightly with the left hand. This must be done quickly and resolutely, guarding against a blow from the fore-foot. In this way a glance at the incisors will be obtained, and it will be seen whether the corner tooth is temporary or permanent." It is to no common animal that a careful Government inscribes so respectful a tribute.