FOOTNOTES:

Banyan Tree

Banyan Tree.

Among the places worth attention in the neighborhood of Bombay are Byculla and Mazagaum. The former has a fine English school-house for all classes of children. Itis placed under the supervision of a number of English ladies of high rank, who take turns in visiting it.

Mazagaum is a very old part of the island of Bombay, formerly a fishing village, which its name indicates, but now a densely-populated town, inhabited chiefly by the descendants of the early Portuguese settlers. The Roman Catholic church here is a most venerable and picturesque building, standing under the shadow of great forest trees. Their foliage is certainly magnificent beyond description. The mango, the tamarind, the graceful peepul, and the banyan attain great height and breadth, and are covered with marvellous specimens of huge parasitic creepers and plants forming miles of sheltered walks. The fruit-bearing trees come to great perfection here. But with all its beauty the spot is considered so unhealthy that it is often called the "white man's grave."

I have seldom seen a pleasanter sight than that which is presented at Mazagaum on every Sunday morning in the year, when the whole native Christian population turns out to church almost simultaneously. The streets are filled with handsome women and children. The women in their long flowing mantles and costumes, half Hindoo and half European, are very picturesque. But the men and boys present an appearance at once both grotesque and ludicrous. Most of them are dressed as Europeans, and not a few as English and Portuguese generals; gold lace, plumed hats, helmets, and striped pantaloons are the prevailing fashion. They seem to have no idea of the fitness of things. Their passion for European dress is carried to such an extreme that I have seen a native[4]Portuguese sailing down the lane withoutany shoes on his feet, but sporting the military dress, with the cocked hat and feathers, of some English general. This love of dress is exceedingly queer, but it is quite as much a characteristic of the Portuguese men of education and culture in India as of the more ignorant and illiterate.

FOOTNOTES:[1]The name Mahratta is applied to all the Indo-European races who dwell in that portion of India extending from the Arabian Sea on the west to the Satpura Mountains in the north, to which in ancient times was given the Sanskrit name of Maharashtra, or "the good country." The Mahrattas are Hindoos, divided like them into four castes—the Brahmans, priests and professors; the Kumbis, cultivators of the soil; the Rajpoots, or warriors; and the Sudras, or menials. The Mahratta Brahmans are remarkable for the high physical, intellectual, and moral qualities of that caste. Their language, a fine sonorous and flexible tongue, is a dialect of the Sanskrit, called Mahratti.[2]Pieces of money each of the value of one-fourth of a penny.[3]The Jains, a very curious sect found in India proper to-day, and known only to the learned in Europe as the sole representatives in Hindostan of the once-numerous adherents to the tenets of Buddhism in that region, hold an intermediate place between Buddhists and Brahmans, but approach more closely to the Buddhists. They hold that Mahavira the hero, their greatest teacher, and the last of a number of deified spiritual legislators called by them Tirthankaras, was the preceptor of the great Gautama, the Buddha, whose followers embrace nearly three-fourths of the human race even to-day. They have, like the Brahmans, castes, and abstain most rigorously from flesh of all kinds. But, on the other hand, like the Buddhists of Siam, Burmah, Japan, etc., they disavow the sacredness of the Vèdas and the Hindoo gods, but in their place worship twenty-four sanctified legislators or Tirthankaras.[4]The descendants of the early Portuguese settlers who have intermarried with the Hindoos and other castes of India, and now form a very large portion of the population of Bombay and Goa.

[1]The name Mahratta is applied to all the Indo-European races who dwell in that portion of India extending from the Arabian Sea on the west to the Satpura Mountains in the north, to which in ancient times was given the Sanskrit name of Maharashtra, or "the good country." The Mahrattas are Hindoos, divided like them into four castes—the Brahmans, priests and professors; the Kumbis, cultivators of the soil; the Rajpoots, or warriors; and the Sudras, or menials. The Mahratta Brahmans are remarkable for the high physical, intellectual, and moral qualities of that caste. Their language, a fine sonorous and flexible tongue, is a dialect of the Sanskrit, called Mahratti.

[2]Pieces of money each of the value of one-fourth of a penny.

[3]The Jains, a very curious sect found in India proper to-day, and known only to the learned in Europe as the sole representatives in Hindostan of the once-numerous adherents to the tenets of Buddhism in that region, hold an intermediate place between Buddhists and Brahmans, but approach more closely to the Buddhists. They hold that Mahavira the hero, their greatest teacher, and the last of a number of deified spiritual legislators called by them Tirthankaras, was the preceptor of the great Gautama, the Buddha, whose followers embrace nearly three-fourths of the human race even to-day. They have, like the Brahmans, castes, and abstain most rigorously from flesh of all kinds. But, on the other hand, like the Buddhists of Siam, Burmah, Japan, etc., they disavow the sacredness of the Vèdas and the Hindoo gods, but in their place worship twenty-four sanctified legislators or Tirthankaras.

[4]The descendants of the early Portuguese settlers who have intermarried with the Hindoos and other castes of India, and now form a very large portion of the population of Bombay and Goa.

Malabar Hill, and Domestic Life of the English in Bombay.

My first stay in Bombay was a comparatively short one, and was spent partly with friends at Colabah and partly in tents on the great green in front of Fort George.

My stepfather being connected with the engineer or public works department at the military station of Poonah, my life for a year or two was passed at that strange city. Upon the occasion of my marriage, however, I returned to Bombay for a settled residence, from which time I began my real experience of life in India.

We established ourselves at Malabar Hill, in a house completely isolated from the rest of the world, where my husband and I took up the study of the Sanskrit and Hindostanee languages. Malabar Hill is a rocky promontory on the south of the island of Bombay, and covered with beautiful houses, many of which are almost palaces. At its highest point, detached and alone, stands a lofty tower, the largest "dohkma," or "tower of silence," of the Parsees. Here the followers of Zoroaster deposit their dead. It is rendered not the less sombre by the birds of prey that hover around it in great numbers.

There are two other and smaller towers of silence on the island, all erected in the most isolated positions. No one is ever allowed to approach them save the Fire-priests and those who carry their dead. These strange towers or tombs are mysterious, grand, and barbaric in their veryforms—at their base screened by huge branching trees from all human observation, open only to the blue sky, the free air, and the gloomy birds of prey hovering always near.

On the other side of this much-dreaded spot, and not far from a forest of palms which descends in graceful undulations to the very base of the hill, stood a solitary house, called by every one "Morgan's Folly." For full ten years it had found no occupant. Its owner and builder, having returned to England with broken fortunes and failing health, had entrusted the renting of it to a Parsee agent. By a happy accident this lonely house was discovered by my husband, who had it at once repaired, furnished, and fitted up for our use, and here we took up our abode after a few weeks' residence at Parel.

I wish I could do justice to this singular abode, on the portals of which the monosyllable "Whim" might fully be inscribed. It was the caprice of a rich English cotton-merchant, whose love for the feathered tribe amounted to an absorbing passion. The house was therefore designed and built at great cost to serve the double purpose of human and bird habitation. Foolish, capricious, extravagant, and incorrigible as he was called by every one, I for my part conceived an affection for this strange Englishman who built this fanciful place in which were passed the first few years of my married life.

Two fine roads led to the "Aviary," as we named the house, one of which was cut into the hillside and descended to the base of the hill, whence at low tide you might step from rock to rock away out into the bay. The other was connected with a beautiful road which winds along Malabar Hill, affording a favorite carriage-drive for the residents of the island.

As for the house, it was the most curious bit of architecture one had ever seen—so fanciful, it seemed more likesomething that belonged rather to the mysterious land we visit in our dreams than to an actual house made of solid stone and wood standing fast, bound to the hard, dull, practical earth.

The building consisted only of two stories, of great length, and a high chamber, called the "Teak Tower," which rose above the east corner of the house and commanded the most extensive and beautiful views to be found anywhere on the island. The upper story was the part designed for human habitation. The wood of which it was built was a fine-grained teak and very durable. The balcony, running all around the upper story, was elaborately carved. The lower part was chiefly of stone pillars, enclosing a spacious ground-floor united by screens of fine open wire wrought in Oriental patterns of the Persian rose and the Buddhistic lily. The pillars rested firmly on broad stone foundations, and the open wire walls let in all the wind, rain, and sunshine that the feathered inhabitants for whom the enclosure was intended could possibly desire.

But this was not all: on the ground-floor of the hall flourished some beautiful fruit-bearing trees. Right under our bedroom chamber stood that most exquisite of Indian trees, "the gold-mohur acacia," with its rich clusters of golden flowers; the slender, graceful pâpiya, with its heavy drooping leaves and round fruit of a rich yellow when ripe, so much sought after by birds. One gigantic baobâb, which had stood here, no doubt, for centuries, for whose growth and preservation the builder had made ample provision by leaving a well or circular opening through the lower and upper stories and in the roof, gave the house the singular appearance of growing around a great tree. Forcing themselves through this opening to the sky, the branches of the baobâb shot straight up on oneside and overshadowed the tower chamber, covering it, after each rainy season, with masses of fragrant blossoms and fine fruit. It was very evident that in the course of time there would be, possibly, a prolonged but mighty struggle between the house and the tree, which should go first, and it was not hard to tell, for already the tree had found its way to the open sky, and its branches were seen pushing here and there and penetrating the woodwork of the chambers adjoining. There were one or two more trees that deserve mention. These were a beautiful Chinese pine and a heart-shaped peepul. The ground-floor of this hall was covered with weeds and a perfect jungle of brushwood. The gardener told me that it abounded in all kinds of reptiles, but I never saw any signs of them until some large snakes were called out one morning by a party of samp-wallahs, or snake-charmers. The fruit trees had long ceased to bear, and were gradually crowding out and killing each other.

All the more rare and beautiful birds with which Mr. Morgan had stocked this place had died or taken flight to homes less confined; only a few still remained. Among them were the sooruk, or scarlet breast, an exquisite singer; the mâina, the Java sparrow, the bulbul or Indian nightingale, and the zeenah, a little quarrelsome brown and red-spotted bird,—all hardy birds. They lingered here, partly from association and partly because of the grain still thrown in and around the "Aviary" morning and evening by the pious Hindoo employed by the Parsee agent to look after the garden.

The tower chamber was our favorite sitting-room because of its splendid views and being removed from the noise and vicinity of our servants. It was simply furnished—a table, a few chairs, mostly of cane, a couple of sofas and a Persian carpet, with gauze nettings to everydoor and window to keep out our worst foes, the gnats, flies, and mosquitoes. The rest of the house was furnished with the same severe simplicity; there were no curtains, no blinds, no carpets; the floors as well as the walls were painted in subdued half-tints, which gave them the air of being very handsomely fitted up.

In this place I began my first attempt at housekeeping in the East, and I can truly say, without the least exaggeration, that for months the house kept itself and my numerous servants kept me. To begin with, there were too many servants for so quiet and unpretending a household, but I soon found it would be still more difficult to do with fewer: "dustoor," custom, was flung into my face morning, noon, and night. I implored my husband to send half of them away, but if he sent one off, either the whole gang disappeared like a flash or else the work of the banished servant was scrupulously avoided by every one in the establishment. There was, in short, a servant for every distinct thing to be done in the house. There was akhansamah, or native butler, a high-caste Hindoo, who was supposed to keep all the servants in order, but who invariably incited a revolution in the camp if I wished anything to be done my way and not his. Then there was a cook, akling(a name for a certain race natives of Madras), who got drunk whenever we happened to have friends to dinner; there was a cook's mate, who was inclined to be musical just as we were going to sleep; there was abuttee-wallah, or lamplighter, a stripling, some near relation of the butler's, whose friends and relatives were always dying, and who asked permission three times in the course of a few months to be allowed to go and bury his mother. When I very gently, because of his flowing tears and doleful expression of face, reminded him that he had already buried or burned her twice, he burst into apassionate sob and said, "Oh! that one was my aunt's mother, and the last one my father's mother, but this is my own, own mother." Of course I had to let him go off for two or three days, and the butler too, who was also a mourner. Then there were besides these anayah, or lady's-maid; adhoby, or washerman, who came to the house once a week for the clothes, and stayed away sometimes for three weeks, owing to that chronic epidemic, death, in the family; abheestie, who filled the tubs in the bathroom with water, and did nothing else; ajarroo-wallah, who only came each morning and swept the house and grounds, and then disappeared till the next time; a coachman, a groom, apundit, or professor of Oriental languages; and lastly, a tailor, whose name was Tom. He, Tom, was a Portuguese Christian, and attended to the mending of the household linen and the making of our clothes. He was the least manageable of the whole lot. He would not answer to the name "boy," a generic name for servants in India and a corruption of the Hindostanee wordbhai, brother, but insisted on being called "Tom." This put me very often into an awkward position, as this was the familiar name by which I had learned to call my husband, not knowing that there was another "Tom" attached to him from his bachelor establishment. Once or twice, forgetting this fact, I happened to call "Tom! Tom!" after my husband, who was hurrying off to town, when who should pop into my chamber but the grinning tailor-boy, balancing a pair of huge scissors on his right ear and with a number of needles full of long threads stuck into his woolly head, which served him as a needle-case? There was nothing left me but to change my husband's name.

But this was by no means the beginning and end of my troubles of housekeeping in Bombay. I happened toawake very early one Sunday morning. It was a lovely sunrise: the first blush of dawn was mounting the horizon; the trees in the garden were unfolding their leaves; birds of all colors were perched upon their branches opening their "ruby eyes" on a newly-born day. But as I stood there, entranced with the beauty of a tropical sunrise, my eyes fell on the figure of Tom the tailor going off to early mass attired in my husband's best dress-coat and an embroidered vest which had been a chief object of my girlish admiration. In addition to these he sported pointed shoes, worked stockings—one of the finest pair in my possession—and a frill six inches deep projecting from his shirt-front, with a huge cocked hat, over which he held one of my smallest parasols to protect him from the mildest of morning suns, which had only just mounted the hillside. When I remonstrated with him on his return from chapel, he burst into a passion of tears and sobs and flooded me with such replies as these: "Your godship, you are my father and mother; an unkind, unjust word from your divine voice will break your poor slave's heart and consign him in the prime of his youth to a lonely and desolate grave," etc. I absolutely began to feel that he was the injured party, and that I was anything but a kind, generous mistress and a Christian. It ended in my presenting him with the clothes he had worn, but nevertheless he went about the house for days in a state of sorrowful dejection at my unkindness, which he persisted in saying had caused his heart to bleed to death.

Not long after this in a rash moment we resolved to give a dinner-party to some of our friends in Bombay, and to invite the rich East Indian widow, Mrs. C——, who had shown us many kindnesses. Never in my life did I pass through a more perplexing and fiery ordeal.

The viands were all ordered and sent from town, andhad arrived in good season. But no sooner had they been deposited in the kitchen than the butler reported, in his quiet and unconcerned manner, that the cook had gone off to town to get help, and would probably not return in time to prepare the dinner. The butler and the lamplighter were Hindoos, and could not touch beef or ham, or, in fact, any kind of flesh. The butler had no objection to putting these articles on the table when cooked, but as for cooking them, he would lose caste. There was nothing left to be done but for Tom the tailor-boy and I—who, being Christians, had no such scruples—to set about and cook the dinner.

About four o'clock everything was in a fair way toward being cooked, the capons, ham, soup, and vegetables were all in their places on the fire, when suddenly the cook returned, looking very strange; I thought he was only tired and sleepy. He insisted on taking possession of the kitchen, declaring that it almost broke his heart to see me spoiling my nice dress and ruining my complexion over the fire. "What am I good for," said he, striking an attitude and looking queerer than ever, "but to cook you a grand dinner and be your slave for ever?" Thus assured, I quitted the kitchen with all the dinner cooking away at great speed, and betook myself to making various other preparations. It was almost the dinner-hour before I was fairly through with the glasses and dessert and a thousand and one of the many requirements of a European dinner-party. No sooner had I put the last touches to my toilette than my husband returned with two unexpected guests, which called my attention at once, so that I had no opportunity to revisit the kitchen to see that all was as it should be.

The last of the guests had no sooner arrived than the butler threw open the dining-room door and announced ina solemn tone, "Kannah teyar hai Sahibloke" ("Dinner waits, ladies and gentlemen").

We marched gayly in, eager, happy, and very hungry. But, alas! no sooner was the soup-tureen uncovered than I divined from my husband's expression that something was wrong. The soup was sent away with some playful apology, but when dish after dish was set on the table, uncovered, and removed without my husband's even making a pretence of offering the guests anything to eat, it was too much for me.

At this juncture kind-hearted Mrs. C—— came to my rescue by saying, "Let us all go off to the kitchen and find out what is the matter with the cook," and coming to my side, gave me an opportunity to recover myself, which I did under her gentle smile and oft-repeated adage, "My dear, accidents will happen in the best regulated families."

The gentlemen returned from their survey of the kitchen and reported that the cook was "drunk and sound asleep in the middle of the floor," and that the remainder of the dinner was burnt to cinders, but still in the pots on the range. If it had not been for the kind-hearted Mrs. C——, I do not know what we should have done. She insisted on our all driving out to her house and taking tea with her.

I must not omit to mention another incident which is characteristic of life in India. My husband was in the commissariat department of the army, and had a great deal to do with native dealers. The Parsees, however, because of their honesty, had the monopoly of the contracts for supplying the British troops in Bombay. One morning a number ofBorahs[5]were ushered into the"Aviary," and laid before me on the table what seemed to be a tray filled with sugar candy, raisins, and almonds. Not understanding the meaning of this gift, and not having quite outgrown my love for sweets, I took up a handful of the good things, when, to my surprise, I found lying below the candy a number of gold coins called "mohurs." I hastened to inform my husband of the magnificent present waiting for him, but he no sooner heard of it then he turned the Borahs out, tray and all. It was simply an attempt to obtain contracts by bribery. The Borahs seemed in no way discomfited; they bowed most politely on my husband's prompt dismissal, and departed as if it were with them no unusual occurrence to be turned out of doors.

Such are some few of the most prominent features of housekeeping and life in India.

The native servants have some good points, however. They will rarely quit your service, even to better their fortunes, unless driven away. They contrive, too, to have their own way without ever being disrespectful to you. They bow or salââm at all times, move so softly about the house with bare feet that you hardly ever know that they are there, and, on the whole, they attend pretty well to their own peculiar province in the household; but as for helping in what isnot their province, it is not to be expected.

They are never away a day except for sudden deaths,which take place in the various branches of their friends or relatives once a week, on an average. They are always clean, arrayed in their long flowing white robes and handsome turbans, and they never address you without some flattering or grandiloquent phrase, which helps not a little to smooth over your wounded pride.

Our pundit,[6]Govind, was not a servant, but a high-bred gentleman. He came to the "Aviary" morning and evening to give us lessons in Hindostanee and Sanskrit. He was a learned high-caste Brahman and a remarkably interesting specimen of a Hindoo gentleman.

Almost directly to the right of the "Aviary" was the government summer-house already mentioned; just opposite, situated on the summit of a steep acclivity overlooking the sea, was a grand stone house, the home of our Parsee friend and commissariat contractor. On the west, embowered in a thick grove of mango and tamarind trees, was the prettiest of little Hindoo villages, the village of Walkeshwar, sacred to the god of the strand or beach.

We spent a day here on a certain festal occasion accompanied by Govind, our pundit. We lunched under the porch of the Hindoo temple by permission obtained through our pundit. Perfectly nude dusky children were clambering about the stones watching us with eager curiosity. Our visit here was to witness the feast of Rama, the hero of one of the Hindoo epic poems, Ramayána, and his wife, Seeta, which did not begin until the afternoon. Hindoo women, black-eyed and singularly graceful in their movements, adorned with gayly-colored robes and most antique-looking bracelets and armlets, went to and from the pool, still called "Rama Talai," or Rama's Pool, bearing water in jars piled in tiers on their heads, others bathing and frolicking in the pool. There were at thesame time some dozen Brahman priests at prayer, seemingly abstracted from the scenes around them, going through with all kinds of motions with their bodies while their lips moved incessantly, but inaudibly, in prayer and praise. Our pundit told us that this was the traditional spot where the hero Rama rested when on his way to Lanka (Ceylon) to recover from the tyrant Rawana his beautiful wife, Seeta.

The Rama Talai stands in a group of small temples—some of which are very pretty—surrounded by gardens. About two in the afternoon the officiating priests began to arrive, followed by thousands of Hindoos. The doors of the temple were thrown open to all comers. The priests placed themselves at the foot of the shrines, on each of which were several idols—Siva, the chief god, above, and Rama and Seeta below. The people poured forth their offerings to the priests. Those who could not get into the temples pressed around the sacred pool, throwing themselves into its holy waters and coming out free from all impurities. A great many young women with peculiarly interesting faces were kneeling outside of the temples and praying, with their eyes closed and their hands folded, for some especial blessing. It was an interesting sight, but for the fakeers and gossains, who make a disgusting spectacle of themselves, and, strange to say, are encouraged by the pure, mild, and modest Brahman priests to do so. As it was, we returned home shocked with the nudity and filth of these sacred beggars, but very much impressed with the perfectly pure and religious nature of the Hindoos, who have very beautiful forms and faces, and even those that are not absolutely beautiful have so much grace and gentleness about them that they attract the eye and remain impressed on the memory with something of the charm of a beautiful painting.

FOOTNOTES:[5]The Borahs are natives of Guzerat, converted to Islamism about five and a half centuries ago. They are remarkable for their extraordinary intelligence in trade. The name "Borah" signifies merchant in the Guzerati dialect. These Borahs are a distinct sect, followers of one Moolah Allih, who is buried in the old city of Cambay. They pay reverence to Mohammed Hussain, called in the records of the Crusaders "The Prince of the Assassins" and also "the Old Man of the Mountains." They transmit a fifth of their gains to the Saiyads of Medinah, and pay eleemosynary contributions to the chief of their learned men, who distribute alms among the poor. (SeeAsiatic Researches, paper by H. T. Colebrook.)[6]A professor of Sanskrit or other branches of Indian literature.

[5]The Borahs are natives of Guzerat, converted to Islamism about five and a half centuries ago. They are remarkable for their extraordinary intelligence in trade. The name "Borah" signifies merchant in the Guzerati dialect. These Borahs are a distinct sect, followers of one Moolah Allih, who is buried in the old city of Cambay. They pay reverence to Mohammed Hussain, called in the records of the Crusaders "The Prince of the Assassins" and also "the Old Man of the Mountains." They transmit a fifth of their gains to the Saiyads of Medinah, and pay eleemosynary contributions to the chief of their learned men, who distribute alms among the poor. (SeeAsiatic Researches, paper by H. T. Colebrook.)

[6]A professor of Sanskrit or other branches of Indian literature.

The Island of Shashtee, commonly called Salsette.—Gharipoore, "the Town of Purification," or the Island and Caves of Elephanta.

Early one morning, after almost a week's preparation for the trip, we found ourselves in a large roomy bunder-boat flying before the wind straight for the beautiful island of Salsette, which lies to the north and is united to the smaller island of Bombay by a causeway erected during the administration of Governor Duncan, chiefly to enable the natives of the larger islands to bring their produce to the Bombay markets.

Presently we entered upon a wonderful river, flowing through the land out of the sea and dividing this island from the continent, at the very mouth of which are the bleak, barren island and mountains of Trombay, the latter rising up nine hundred feet high. We passed along reefs of gold, now over wide swamps, our boat riding above and crushing down the tall waving grass, and anon we would suddenly shoot almost within touch of dark hollow caverns, and looking up see the high beetling cliffs piled one above the other, surmounted by the ruins of some of old Portuguese or Mahratta forts or castles, covered with wild flowers and huge creeping plants. The scenes along the banks of this river are wild and romantic enough to satisfy the most enthusiastic lover of nature. We cast anchor at length at Tannah, having reached "a land all sun and blossom, trees as high as heaven, amid every bird that sings."

Tannah, the chief town of the island of Salsette, wastaken by the troops of the East India Company in the year 1774, and by a treaty then entered into the Mahratta king, Raghu Nauth, ceded in perpetuity to the company Bassein with its dependencies, the island of Salsette, the entire districts of Jainbhosir and other valuable provinces adjoining it in Guzerat. It is chiefly inhabited by Roman Catholic Christians, the majority of whom are converts from Hindooism. The interior of the island is inhabited by a peculiar tribe of peasants who are to this day in a condition as wild as the Bheels and Konds of Guzerat and Central India. These peasants are burners of charcoal; they dwell together among the hills, but apart from all other tribes, and have neither intercourse nor any social bond with the Hindoos of the plain. At stated times they bring down their loads of charcoal in rude carts drawn by buffaloes to particular spots, whence it is carried away by the Hindoo or Portuguese buyer, who, according to a settled custom among them, deposits in its place rice, clothing, and iron tools. This excessive shyness is said to be owing to the contempt in which the natives, as outcasts, are held by their Hindoo neighbors.

We were met on our landing by a very polite and obliging native Portuguese, the elder brother of my husband's tailor Tom, in whose company we walked about the town and at whose house we stayed during our visit.

Tannah, the chief town of the island of Salsette, takes its name from the beautiful river which flows at its base, and which was anciently calledTainnah-Dèo, "the Limb of God." It runs deep and narrow in front of the town. It is a place of great antiquity, probably dating back to the days of Vicrâmaditya, of whose universal and beneficent rule, 57B. C., tradition is yet eloquent throughout India. The ruins here are few and not very interesting. There are some massive walls of a great square buildingthat was once a Mahratta citadel, and some ponderous old arches that have fallen and are now covered with beautiful wild creepers; also a Hindoo temple, a vast, shapeless mass of architecture, but almost animate with the innumerable gods and goddesses that grin and smirk at one from every cornice and entablature of the building. There is here a small but perfect little fortress, from which, during the last Mahratta war, the famous Trimbukjee escaped, occupied by a small European garrison. The government prison is also well worth visiting. We were surprised to see the manner in which the prisoners of all ranks, creeds, and nationalities worked together within these walls. Most of the prisoners, however, were of the Takhor race. They were busily employed in the manufacture of very valuable striped cotton stuffs much prized by the natives for scarfs, cumberbunds, and waist-cloths.

Caves of Elephanta

Caves of Elephanta.

The cavern temples that are found in this island are the chief objects of interest.

On the morning following our arrival, furnished with two guides and accompanied by our pundit, we started off to visit some of these remarkable excavations in the mountains that stretch across the middle of this island. At first, the road, though very narrow and rugged, lies through a most beautiful valley formed by hills of moderate height, covered with forests to their summits, with here and there patches of bare rock, while the ravines and the valley itself were planted with groves of mangoes and several varieties of the palm. For some time we saw but few traces of inhabitants; we passed during a ride of more than eight miles but one small village, a collection of most miserable-looking huts, a few half-starved looking children, and a troop of pariah dogs, who rushed out to bark at us.

At another small village, named Viarè, we came uponwhat seemed a jungle, open in some parts and in others densely thick, abounding in hyenas, tigers, panthers, and the wild-boar; passing through this with anything but pleasurable feelings, we reached Toolsey, named after a famous Hindoo goddess who, like the Greek Clytie, loved some Hindoo god, and was by him, out of pity for her unrequited passion, transformed into the beautiful toolsey-plant, whence her name. This is a lovely spot, encircled with hills, the highest of which is Khennari, its face perforated with no less than one hundred cavern temples. Under a fine banyan tree which stands in an open plain we passed the night. In northern latitudes one can form no idea of the peculiar beauty of the night with a bright moon shining overhead.

Almost at dawn next morning we set off for the temples. The ascent to the Khennari Hills is somewhat steep and difficult, but after a hard climb we gained a platform, and was confronted by a stone porch leading into an arched cavern temple of great majesty and beauty. These cavern temples are scattered over both sides of a high rocky hill at many different elevations, consisting of no less than six stories or tiers of caverns, of various sizes and forms, all excavated out of the rocky surface of the mountain and connected with each other by narrow stone steps cut in the rock. The façades and great court are most imposing.

Entering through a fine lofty portico, we saw a little to the left hand a curious octagonal pillar, detached from the rock and surmounted by three well-carved lions seated back to back. Passing this, we were suddenly introduced into an elaborately carved vestibule, at the end of which is a colossal statue of Buddha, with his hands raised in the attitude of benediction. The stone screen which here separates the vestibule from the body of the temple iscovered with a row of male and female figures half nude; the expression of the faces of these figures is remarkably calm and thoughtful, and the whole is executed with considerable spirit. Above them the rocks are carved into a profusion of graceful sculptures.

The great temple or cave is divided into three aisles by regular colonnades of octagonal pillars; of these, the twelve on each side nearest the entrance are ornamented with exquisitely carved bases and capitals in the style usual in Indian temples. The arch of the vault is occupied by a dagoba or mausoleum, perhaps of some early disciple of Buddha. It is cylindrical in the shaft and surmounted by a cupola. On the right and left of the portico are two colossal figures of Buddha, perhaps twenty feet in height.[7]The ceiling of this cave is arched semicircularly and ornamented with slender ribs of fine teak-wood, disposed as if for the support of the ponderous dome overhead, but in reality for the floral decorations which on solemnoccasions were hung from them. A flight of steps cut into the same mountain leads by various intricate paths to smaller caves or cells, consisting only of a portico and two small chambers, with everywhere seats for the disciples or the recluse cut into the rock. To each cave there is a cistern for the preservation of rain-water, some larger and more elegantly carved and finished than others. The whole appearance of this excavated hill of Khennari is that of a Buddhist monastic city, the cells and temples, the apartments and cisterns, hewn in the rocky sides of the mountain.

On Sunday we attended the Roman Catholic church, which is a stone's throw from the home of our Portuguese friends. Early on Sunday morning the streets were filled with men, women, and children, entirely of the Portuguese population. The men were, with a few exceptions, quietly dressed in the ordinary European attire, which the majority don only on stated occasions, with the black silk hat of modern fashion, carrying prayer-books, fans, and footstools of the ladies of their party. It was a pleasant sight. The Portuguese here are entirely independent of the Romish Church, and from simple contact have adopted the mode of life and a great many superstitions of the Hindoos. One finds everywhere in India not only Hindooized Mohammedans, but Hindooized Christians. Their priests are natives of the country, under the jurisdiction of the archbishop of Goa, who is a sort of Indian pope. Their worship is so much more pagan than Christian that when in a Roman Catholic church in any part of India one finds it difficult to believe that it is not the worship of Khrishna or Brahm.

The native Portuguese are darker than the darkest of the better class of Indians, showing a mixed and degenerate race.

I accompanied our host and his family to church. The children were charming with their little pink trowsers, lace over-slips, pink shoes, and were adorned with jewels; the only difference between the dresses of the little boy and the girls was that the boy sported a hat like that seen in the pictures of Bonaparte, which gave him a most whimsical air, and the little girls had white handkerchiefs tied neatly under their chins. I took little Marium's hand, and off we went; looking toward the deep flowing river, I saw a string of Brahman priests marching solemnly along the steep banks preparatory to beginning their morning services, for our Sabbath is also their day of sacrifice and prayer to Suriya, the sun-god. I was very much tempted to abandon my Christian friends and follow the Brahman priests, but I restrained myself, and was soon within thetempleof Jesus Christ. I say designedly thetempleof Jesus Christ. It was crowded with images—perhaps one ought to say idols—of God the Father, Christ the Son, the Virgin Mother, and the Holy Ghost, besides quantities of relics, sacred vessels, tapers, candles, incense-burners swinging from the roof, flowers both natural and artificial, and all kinds of beads and shells on the altar. High above the altar was a great porcelain figure of the Virgin jewelled and crowned as queen of heaven, with her arms stretched out in benediction.

We pressed in. The service had not begun. All the men, women, and children prostrated themselves—some at full length; others, being crowded for room, squatted down and touched the brick pavement with their outspread open palms and then their foreheads; after which the rich, among whom were classed my friends, took their seats, and the crowd remained kneeling on the bare floor. Presently the priests, of whom there were no less than a dozen, appeared, gaudily dressed in tinsel and lace, andtook their places before the altar, keeping their heads covered. Now the service began, which consisted of some chants in a kind of Latin known only to the priests, and not fully understood even by them, with dressings and undressings, perpetual genuflexions, turning from the altar to the people, swinging of censers, marching and countermarching with the baby figure of Christ and a pretty wax doll which represented the mother; these the men, women, and children kissed with apparently genuine pleasure. This done, boys dressed as angels in long white robes and with wings attached to their shoulders, entered, each bearing a lighted candle and a lily, as do the Buddhists at prayer, chanting some beautiful hymn, of which no one understood a word, and even the music was wild and Oriental. Then finally came the ringing of multitudinous little bells (another Buddhist custom when about to exhibit a tooth or any other relic of Buddha), and up rose the Host, as large as an ordinary fan, composed of glutinous rice. In the centre was a white spot, and around it rays of gold proceeding outward. All fell upon their faces; little Marium and I alone were the lookers-on, but suddenly my gentle hostess gave her little daughter a vigorous push, which sent her head foremost to the floor, whispering, "The body of God!" I bowed my head out of respect for the poor human hearts that worshipped here, and not without a deep sense of humiliation at witnessing the complicated and ingenious ceremonies by which these ecclesiastics, an outgrowth of the Church of Rome, cultivate and foster the credulity and ignorance of the people, whom they teach to rely more on certain forms and the supernatural agencies of the Virgin and relics of deceased saints than upon religious and moral truths. After the "body of God" a bone of some martyred Indian saint who had been converted to Christianity was held up foradoration; again the people bowed down; and then came the end, the benediction, amid more ringing of bells and swinging of censers.

Who can witness these imbecilities and not hold the native Portuguese clergy accountable for withholding the true knowledge, the simple teachings of Jesus, the true Bread of life, and for substituting superstitions and pageantries not one whit superior to, but in some respects even more degrading than, the most debasing paganism which they have supplanted? Forms are the same, the names alone have been changed; otherwise, the Roman Catholicism I have everywhere witnessed in India is essentially the same as the lowest forms of paganism.

Before dawn next morning we took leave of our kind friends, and in our comfortable bunder-boat started for the island of Elephanta, or Gharipoore. After a couple of hours or more of pleasant sailing we reached the island. I found it larger and more beautiful than I had expected. A good part of it is under cultivation, especially all around a village of tolerable size, above which a couple of clearly-defined hills rise from the sea to a considerable height. The view as you ascend to the right is simply magnificent: the twin mountains seem to be knit together by a grand old forest, the one rising slightly higher than the other. The name "Elephanta" was given to it, some say, by the Greeks, others by the Portuguese conquerors; however that may be, the name of the caves was anciently "Gharipoore," or, "the Town of the Rock," or, according to some, "the Town of Purification."

We ascended a long flight of stone steps, in the wake of a party of fakeers, Hindoo priests, and half-nude men beating tomtoms, which at length brought us to a very handsome and spacious platform shaded with some fine old trees.

Here the party of Hindoo priests, drummers, and fakeers sat down to rest, while we went on a short distance and reached the entrance to the famous caves of Elephanta. The principal cave is of great extent, excavated out of the solid rock; the colossal columns of the portico seem to hold up the mountain above them. On either side of the entrance great creepers come down in heavy masses over the mountain. Rows and rows of columns handsomely ornamented appear within, growing beautifully less in the distance and vanishing amid gloomy shadows and a thousand fantastic shapes. The gateway or porch is still in excellent preservation; it leads directly through the heart of the mountain. The different shrines, which contain objects of Hindoo worship, are placed on each side. In the centre there is seen by the light of torches a majestic altar of stone, now in a state of decay, supporting a gigantic bust of three noble heads, two of which are in profile. The Hindoo Trinity, Maha Dèo, the Great God, commonly called Brahm, the Hindoo Creator, occupies the centre in full relief. The eyes are half closed, the expression serene and tranquil. It seems to be carved from a living model, and is a perfect Oriental ideal of masculine beauty, with the delicate and refined outline of the features and the deep contemplation expressed in those large downcast eyes. The forehead is crowned with a lofty diadem exquisitely carved, not unlike the mitres worn by the bishops of the Roman Church; the right arm, which is very much broken, once grasped the head of a cobra da capello, which, our pundit explained to us, here typifies in its sublimest sense the masculine or creative energy of the world.

Siva, to whom this cavern temple is said to be dedicated, and who is seen in another compartment with his consort Parvati, with a chaplet of skulls round his neck,eight-handed, and bearing the cobra, and whose name in Sanskrit signifies either happiness or pleasure, is seen in profile on the right. In a hand outstretched from the altar he also grasps a cobra, but with its hood extended wide. In his hand the character of the symbol is transformed with the god into that of the avenger or destroyer. The god's mouth is distorted with grimaces, and he puts out the tip of his tongue, by which, according to our pundit and guide, he mocks at the sensualist, and says as plainly as our Bible, "The wages of sin is death."

On the left side of Maha Dèo is Vishnu, in the grand character of preserver; the head is very noble and the face of no common beauty; it wears a tender and smiling expression. He no longer holds the symbol at once of masculine creative energy and of sensuality, but a peculiar oblong lotos-shaped cup or flower, the higher and purer symbol of maternity. Our pundit gave this wonderful bit of sculpture, which reaches from the low altar to the ceiling of the temple, the name of "Maha Trimourtri, the Great Three-in-One." By some it is called Bhava Natria, "Love threefold." Whatever else it may be called, it certainly makes a wonderful impression seen high above from the principal aisle, guarded on all sides by gigantic and well-proportioned caryatides. The shape of the largest cave is cruciform and resembles the plan of an ancient basilica.

The massiveness and strength of the pillars, which find their deep foundations in the earth below, supporting the elephant-shaped mountain above, is rendered more and more striking by the thousand and one scenes of Hindoo, and particularly Saivic,[8]mythology, in part solemn andmajestic, and in part grotesque and absurd, that fill every part of the walls; gods and goddesses, heroes and monsters, almost stand out of the rocks. Here are carved strong and clear the story of the babe Krishna and the slaughter of the infants by his uncle Cansa. Everywhere are curious and venerable specimens of sculpture, which, though shamefully mutilated in parts, still show so high an advance in art, and possess so indescribable an aspect of animated life, that one half expects the stone figures to move or to speak. A great number of the pillars have been undermined by the accumulation of water in the cavern temple; the capitals of some and parts of the shafts of others remain suspended from the ceiling like huge stalactites. Enormous creepers and trees have forced themselves through certain cracks and crevices in the mountain, and the whole scene is very wild and pagan; which enhances the beauty and mysterious appearance of the caves.

On going through a passage guarded by stone lions the pundit took a little tin box out of his pocket, opened it, and scattered some odoriferous snuff on the head of the lions, and then took a little pinch himself. His explanation was, that he had taken cold, and snuff was his remedy for it. "But," said I, "the stone lions haven't taken cold too?"—"Oh, that," said he, "was a propitiatory offering, lest I should sneeze in their sacred presence."

As we went out of the great stone porch the declining sun sent a long line of light through the aisle, the wind blew softly, and the island stretched away green and beautiful, surrounded with the sea all a-glitter with the rosy hues of the setting sun. In many places we noticed traces of color, but everywhere are to be seen the ruthless mutilations this cave has suffered both from the conquering Mohammedan and Portuguese soldiers; most of the colossal statues are defaced and broken, the arms and limbs of innumerable figures are prostrate. Long lines of pictured story and inscriptions are effaced, but there are still standing rows and rows of gods and goddesses, their heads crowned with garlands. These figures, although much defaced, still show that the artist carved some of the female forms with only one breast, like the famed Amazons of Greek story. The temple or city of purification was desecrated centuries ago, and it is now deserted, save for an annual fair and occasional visits from Brahmans and fakeers; it can boast of none of the splendors of its palmy days.

About fifteen miles from "Gorabunder," on the mainland, lies Bassein—or, as it was anciently called, Vassai—once a proud city and the chief seat of the early Portuguese settlers in this part of India. But for nearly three-quarters of a century it has ceased to be inhabited. The city is of considerable size, and surrounded by a regular fortification of rampart and bastions. It is kept locked up under a small body of soldiers and an English conductor of ordnance.

By permission obtained from the authorities at Bombay we spent a very interesting day wandering over this deserted city, its ruined towers, cloisters, convents, monasteries, and churches, that once belonged to the Jesuits, which are here crumbling away unheard of and unnoticed.The only building in good repair is a small pagoda raised over a Mahratta saint amid a display of the most melancholy of ruined houses, churches, and colleges. In the vast jungle-covered cemetery of the dead Portuguese are the tombs of the great Don Lorenço and the famous Albuquerque. In one of the largest of the churches there is a monument to a certain lady, Donna Maria de Souza, of the date of 1606.

Bassein was wrested from the Mahrattas by the Portuguese in 1532A. D.But the Mahrattas laid siege to it again under the renowned Chinaje Apa, brother of the Peishwa Baji Rao, and after a desperate struggle the Portuguese were forced to capitulate. It is said that the English in Bombay might have saved them this defeat and humiliation, but from a feeling of jealousy of the power and influence of the Portuguese in India refused them all aid, except that of advancing fifteen hundred rupees, for which they took some very valuable church plate and some brass guns, which were actually removed from the defence of Bassein as security. They were finally induced, however, to make some amends for this barbarous treatment of fellow-Christians, and sent boats with a strong escort to convey the refugees to Bombay, whence they started for Goa, but were once more attacked and almost annihilated by the Mahrattas. In 1780 the English attacked, stormed, and captured the city of Bassein once more from the fierce Mahrattas, and have held it ever since, a melancholy monument of the departed greatness of the Portuguese conquerors. Such is the fate of conquering nations. It can hardly be doubted that if the English were now expelled from India the few relics left of their religion, their power, and their civil and military magnificence would be swept rapidly away, and would in the course of a century or two leave not a trace behind them.

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