FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[7]The following extract from Dr. Bird'sCaves of Western Indiamay prove interesting to the curious reader:"The tope (a monument erected over a Buddhist relic, sometimes resembling a pagoda) at Khanari was opened by me in 1839. The largest, being selected for examination, was penetrated from above to the base, which was built of stone. In this tope the workmen found two small copper urns, in one of which were a ruby, a pearl, and a small piece of gold mixed with the ashes. In this urn there was also a small gold box containing a piece of cloth; and in the other ashes (probably of some cremated saint) and a silver box were also found. Outside, a circular stone was found, and to it were fixed two copper plates in the Salh or cave characters. The inscriptions read thus: 'Whatever meritorious acts proceed from cause of these the source Tathagata (Buddha) has declared; the opposing principle of these the great one of golden origin has also demonstrated;' or, in other words, Whatever merit may proceed from these acts, Buddha has explained its source to you, and also the opposite principle of these acts; he has also demonstrated to you the one of golden origin. This discovery establishes the fact that these caves are of Buddhist origin, and probably date from the beginning of the Christian era."[8]The Saivi Hindoos are those who worship Siva or Shiva, one of the Brahman Trinity, as chief god; the lingam or phallus is sacred to him. Their chief act of worship is performed on the fourteenth night of the dark half of every moon. They fast during the day, and at night repair to their temples, repeat the names of their god—of which there are no less than one thousand, all expressive of certain spiritual and physical qualities, passions, acts, etc.—pour the leaves of the bheel tree, sacred to Shiva, because they are heart-shaped, over the lingam, then rub it with oil, and finally sprinkle it with consecrated water. At the Shivaratri, or the night of Shiva, which falls once a year on a dark night, a fair is held at the caves of Elephanta during the day, and a night-vigil from eight o'clock till five in the morning, accompanied with music, prayer, and other strange ceremonies.

[7]The following extract from Dr. Bird'sCaves of Western Indiamay prove interesting to the curious reader:"The tope (a monument erected over a Buddhist relic, sometimes resembling a pagoda) at Khanari was opened by me in 1839. The largest, being selected for examination, was penetrated from above to the base, which was built of stone. In this tope the workmen found two small copper urns, in one of which were a ruby, a pearl, and a small piece of gold mixed with the ashes. In this urn there was also a small gold box containing a piece of cloth; and in the other ashes (probably of some cremated saint) and a silver box were also found. Outside, a circular stone was found, and to it were fixed two copper plates in the Salh or cave characters. The inscriptions read thus: 'Whatever meritorious acts proceed from cause of these the source Tathagata (Buddha) has declared; the opposing principle of these the great one of golden origin has also demonstrated;' or, in other words, Whatever merit may proceed from these acts, Buddha has explained its source to you, and also the opposite principle of these acts; he has also demonstrated to you the one of golden origin. This discovery establishes the fact that these caves are of Buddhist origin, and probably date from the beginning of the Christian era."

[7]The following extract from Dr. Bird'sCaves of Western Indiamay prove interesting to the curious reader:

"The tope (a monument erected over a Buddhist relic, sometimes resembling a pagoda) at Khanari was opened by me in 1839. The largest, being selected for examination, was penetrated from above to the base, which was built of stone. In this tope the workmen found two small copper urns, in one of which were a ruby, a pearl, and a small piece of gold mixed with the ashes. In this urn there was also a small gold box containing a piece of cloth; and in the other ashes (probably of some cremated saint) and a silver box were also found. Outside, a circular stone was found, and to it were fixed two copper plates in the Salh or cave characters. The inscriptions read thus: 'Whatever meritorious acts proceed from cause of these the source Tathagata (Buddha) has declared; the opposing principle of these the great one of golden origin has also demonstrated;' or, in other words, Whatever merit may proceed from these acts, Buddha has explained its source to you, and also the opposite principle of these acts; he has also demonstrated to you the one of golden origin. This discovery establishes the fact that these caves are of Buddhist origin, and probably date from the beginning of the Christian era."

[8]The Saivi Hindoos are those who worship Siva or Shiva, one of the Brahman Trinity, as chief god; the lingam or phallus is sacred to him. Their chief act of worship is performed on the fourteenth night of the dark half of every moon. They fast during the day, and at night repair to their temples, repeat the names of their god—of which there are no less than one thousand, all expressive of certain spiritual and physical qualities, passions, acts, etc.—pour the leaves of the bheel tree, sacred to Shiva, because they are heart-shaped, over the lingam, then rub it with oil, and finally sprinkle it with consecrated water. At the Shivaratri, or the night of Shiva, which falls once a year on a dark night, a fair is held at the caves of Elephanta during the day, and a night-vigil from eight o'clock till five in the morning, accompanied with music, prayer, and other strange ceremonies.

Sampwallahs, or Serpent-Charmers.—Jâdoowallahs, or Miracle-performers.—Nuzer-bundyânâ, Mesmerizers.—Yogees, Spiritual Jugglers, and Naga-Poojmi, or Serpent-Worship, in India.

Life in the East is altogether so novel, so full of dramatic sights and sounds, that one's curiosity seems to grow with the abundant nourishment it finds everywhere. Now one sees a Mohammedan funeral, or the procession of gorgeous Taboots of Moslems, or gods of the Hindoos; anon the body of a Hindoo or a Parsee borne on an open bier by white-robed priests, the one to be burned, the other to be abandoned to birds of prey in their strange silent "towers of the dead." Sometimes a gay procession of dancing-girls, followed by troops of men and elephants richly caparisoned, waltzing all the way to the temple and keeping time to the pipes, cymbals, and the beating of most discordant drums; at others, a poor funeral of some low-caste person, quiet and unpretending—an open bier, on it perhaps an only child in its every-day soiled garments, followed by women wailing and beating their breasts and throwing dust on their heads. This wailing is inexpressibly mournful. One morning, as I sat at work in my room, there came floating upon the breeze toward the "Aviary" a sharp, penetrating, and very peculiar cry. While I listened there came another and another of these unearthly sounds; again they were repeated, and all at once there appeared in sight a band of half-naked men accompanied by two women and a perfectly nude littlechild—all so strange and weird-looking that I almost felt the victim of some illusion.

They were a band of sampwallahs, or serpent-charmers, and in rather a bewildered state of mind I watched the gang approach the front of the house and take their places around the doorsteps. Having deposited their bags and baskets, they proceeded to salââm before me. I could not summon resolution to send them away, as my curiosity was gradually getting better of my fears, nor could I bring myself to witness their performance in the absence of my husband. I therefore sent a message to the one who seemed the headman of the band by my "ayah," or maid, to inquire if they would not go away now and return in the afternoon about four o'clock. "Return? Why, what is to prevent us from remaining just where we are until the master comes home?" I could see no just reason save my own fears to have them lounging around my lonely house, and in spite of these concluded to let them stay.

Strange it was to see these, to me almost supernatural men and women, enjoying themselves as naturally and innocently for three or four full hours as did this company of wild serpent-charmers and jugglers. The two women of the party searched for the most delicate and polished pebbles to be found in the gravelled walks of the garden, and entertained themselves by digging holes in the sand and rolling their pebbles with great skill into these, hitting off one with another, and seeming to think it capital sport. Some of the men took some caiah, or cocoanut-fibre, out of their bags and proceeded to twist a rope out of it. Some lighted long pipes and began to smoke quietly, stroking down the cobra de capellos, who would poke their heads from under the baskets by their sides. The boy of the party had a bit of rag spread forhim under an adjoining tree, and here he stretched himself at full length to sleep, with a basket of snakes for his pillow. Every now and then the upper lid of this basket seemed to open and a snake would thrust out his head, as if to survey the sleeping boy, then as suddenly withdraw. All the while the beautiful sea gleamed and sparkled and dashed against the rocks in front of the "Aviary," and completed this strange picture.

Native Snake Charmers

Native Snake Charmers.

A little after four o'clock my husband arrived, and, seated on the steps of the "Aviary," we witnessed some most astonishing performances. Before beginning his music, and while the women were girding themselves for action, the snake-charmer paid us some very startling and original compliments. All at once, seizing his bagpipe-like instrument and puffing out his polished black cheeks, he produced the same queer melody that I had first heard, with its endless reverberations, creating a strange effect upon one's nerves. The women kept time to these sounds by motions the most gently waving that one could conceive of. When the sounds were low and faint they waved their arms and bent downward in graceful undulating curves; then again, as the sounds began to be shrill and piercing, they raised their arms aloft, turned up their faces to the sky, and, poised on tiptoe, beat a rhythmic movement to the sound. The dance was in itself a wonder of grace and flexibility. But, strangest sight of all, the serpents were equally moved. In raising their heads they had thrown off the covers of the baskets, and presently every snake, large and small—and there were no less than six—had begun to take part in this dance, their eyes glistening, their forked tongues extended, their hoods spread to the utmost; they raised themselves on the abdomen and swayed their heads to and fro, following the movements of the charmers and seemingly ravished withthe strange sounds. There was not a doubt in my mind, as I watched the serpents, that they distinguished the varieties of sound, for with every rise and fall of the music they kept time with their inflated hoods and slender forms.

Suddenly the serpent-charmer started to his feet and began a wild circular movement, accompanied with wilder and more energetic sounds, which were reverberated from every rock of the hill. After a few minutes he stood still, and, taking for a moment the instrument from his mouth, uttered a sudden "Ah!" short, sharp, and guttural, and all at once resumed his former movements both of sound and action. We involuntarily turned our eyes in the direction of those of the serpent-charmer, and noticed a slight movement in the grass and brushwood that covered the ground-floor of the "Aviary;" and as we looked the head and neck of a cobra de capello of large size rose above the grass. The strange reptile approached nearer and nearer. He passed with folded hood through the open wirework of the "Aviary." Out of it, he once more unfolded his hood, and, waving it to and fro, looked like one suddenly awakened to some subtle and purely spiritual influence; he leaped rather than crept toward the sound of the charmer; every curve, every change of motion, and every movement of the body betrayed an exquisite apprehension of the peculiar waves of the melody. The serpent, followed by another more slender in proportions, leaped almost into the arms of the charmer, and, swinging their bodies to and fro, both snakes seemed to give themselves up to the enchantment of sound. Very slowly but deliberately the serpent-charmer dropped one hand, and, stooping over the head of the largest serpent, playing all the while, grappled it just under the head by the thumb and forefinger and handed it to one ofthe men. This done, he proceeded to enchant and capture the smaller snake, which was accomplished in the same way. Then he dropped his instrument, took a curious flint knife out of his bag, and, pressing tightly the windpipe of each of the serpents in turn, cut out the bags containing the poisonous fluid and dropped the deadly reptiles, now rendered for ever harmless, into the bags. This was done in broad daylight, in the open air, where no deception could have been practised.

Some persons have suggested that these two snakes might have been brought by the band and let loose in the "Aviary." Even if this were so, it could not destroy the mystery of the influence which certain sounds evidently exercised over the serpents, who voluntarily returned to captivity even before the poison-bag had been cut out, the removal of which, according to all testimony, renders them harmless and agreeable pets. As far as my observation went, I am inclined to believe that these snakes were perfectly wild till caught by the serpent-charmer.

When I asked him by what power he compelled these snakes to abandon their holes and come out to hear his music, his reply was characteristic. "Asmani ka jore se, Maim Sahib," translated into English, would mean, "By the secret power of the heavenly motions."

The other tricks of the band were very wonderful, but not as absorbing as serpent-charming. They appeared to cause a seed to bud, grow, blossom, and bear fruit in the open air in a short space of time and with but few contrivances. They showed us a mango-seed, which they planted before our eyes in a pot of prepared soil brought with them; this they watered again and again with a peculiar liquid, also in their possession. Each time that there was a positive growth in the tree the round basket which covered it was removed, and our attention calledto the fact that it was growing. When the tree had outgrown the basket a large cloth was thrown over it. Finally, it was presented to us full grown, and, though dwarfed in stature, with ripe mangoes hanging from its branches. They invited me to taste the fruit, which I did, and found it decidedly inferior in flavor to the most ordinary mango produced in the natural way. The curious part of this feat is this, that the tree itself, supposing they carried it about with them, had that fresh and vigorous look of active life and growth which it could not possibly retain out of the earth in a hot climate for any length of time without a very delicate and careful knowledge of how to preserve plant-life on the part of these apparently savage jugglers. I have also seen them produce flowers on plants in the same way.

A great many other feats and tricks were performed, such as throwing up a top, and not only catching it on the end of a slender stick, but balancing it on the point of the nose, and causing it, without any new impetus to stop or to go on spinning at the request of the spectator.

Some of the tricks are callednuzzerbund, "blindfolding" or mesmerizing the spectator. A ring is placed in your hand and you are requested to hold the hand tightly between your folded knees, and when you look again you find a little dust. One of these tricks, calledkhano-nuzzerbund, "ears and eyes bound," is that of a small boy being put into a basket and made to disappear and reappear. Our juggler produced a small basket and beckoned to the boy to get into it, which he did; two of the men then produced instruments that looked like flageolets and began to play, moving round the head of the child. This seemed to have a peculiar effect on the boy, who appeared like one in paroxysms of pain. It was very distressing to witness his convulsions, and even while we looked thechild began to disappear in the basket. The moment he was out of sight the musicians seized long knives and fell upon the basket and pierced it with many thrusts, and it seemed certain that the child was not in it, nor could we see him anywhere. Presently they straightened out the basket and resumed their music, when, all at once, from afar the clear answering voice of the child was heard; nearer and nearer came the sound, until the basket swelled and distended, and, lo! there was the boy peering from under the lid serene and smiling.

These jugglers call themselves Jâdoo-wallahs, and are of the same tribe as the Yogees who follow the Mohammedan processions and cut themselves with knives and sharpened flints in order to extract money from the more tender-hearted of the crowds who always frequent such spectacles. The name of Jâdoo-wallah is a corruption of the words Yahdèo-Wallah, "filled with god-power." The common people believe that these powers are bestowed upon them by the gods, and thus do everything and anything in their power to propitiate the goodwill of the Jâdoo-wallahs. As acrobats they far surpass the Europeans. One of the men who performed for us received on his right shoulder, as lightly as if it had been a feather, a heavy weight which was dropped from an over-hanging branch of a tree above.

It was dusk before the jugglers and serpent-charmers finished their astonishing feats and performances. We handed them five rupees, and they were delighted with this liberality, though I had feared they would not think it enough. They departed with the usual benediction, "Both burrus Jeho Sahib loke. Tumarra bucha kè bucha Ingrage kè guddee per bait jowoh" ("Long may you live, gentlefolk, and may your children's children seat themselves on the British throne").

Not long after we had an opportunity of witnessing the grand serpent-festival held in Bombay and other parts of Hindostan in the months of July and August. It is called "the naga-poojmi," literally, "serpent-worship." There are many tribes in India who have assumed the name of Nagas or Serpents from the earliest times. Diodorus supposes that the snake had been used as their crest or banner. There are three kinds of serpent-worship practised in India, and each is peculiar to a distinct class of people, although all the natives of India, except the Mohammedans, either from dread of the deadly serpent or from a feeling of veneration, join in the festival of the naga-poojmi.

The first of these is the worship paid to the serpent by the high-caste Brahmans, who adopted the early serpent-worship from the non-Aryan populations, placing the serpent, as a symbol of the masculine energy of the world, in the hand and sometimes around the head of Brahma, the chief god of their trinity; they adroitly represent that on the day sacred to the serpent, Krishna, their last incarnation, slew the great serpent Kali, who was just in the act of swallowing up the sun and moon. The second is the worship made to the serpent-gods carved in their temples by the non-Aryan and low-caste races of India, by whom the serpent is regarded in the light of a benefactor and friend, and to whom it was at one time customary to offer annually a human victim to propitiate its deadly sting. And, last of all, is the worship paid to it by the professional snake-charmer, to whom the art of taming the serpent has been transmitted from father to son, and in whose eyes the serpent is an oracle of wisdom, the harbinger of all good things, and last, but not least, a means of livelihood to the tribe.

On the last day of the waning moon at the end of July we rode out, accompanied by a party of friends, to the nativepart of the city, where we were told the chief of the serpent-worshippers were assembled. Here we found an immense throng of men and women gayly dressed, bands of handsome dancing-girls in flowing veils and glittering jewels, and rows of young maidens beautifully attired, with offerings of rice and milk, and some with fruit and flowers tastefully arranged in baskets which they carried on their heads; others with baskets filled with such flowers as serpents are reported to delight in—the champu, the marigold, the water-lily, the tuberose, and quantities of the snake-plant commonly calledsampkèmah, "the mother of the serpent." We passed through the crowd and succeeded in reaching the centre of a greatmaidan, or open plain, where we stood.

Not far off clustered a vast number of serpents, with their charmers and worshippers. Immediately behind this curious assembly was a temple dedicated to the snake-god. From within these walls the lights, kept burning in great numbers, could be seen pale and ghastly amid the daylight, and the sounds of the tomtom and gongs beat in honor of the idol were heard; some noble old peepul trees surrounded the temple. Right in front of the temple were placed great basins containing milk and a preparation of rice and milk calledkhir, for the serpents. Those, however, that fed out of the basins were mostly all tame; they coiled in and out and round about the worshippers in a careless and easy manner. But farther on, beyond the stone basins and amid flowers and floods of sunshine, women dancing and men and boys singing, might be seen the deadly cobra de capellos now and then inflating their hoods and keeping time to the music.

The Brahman worship of the serpent is characteristic. Regarding the snake purely as a symbol, each priest prepares a clay figure of a cobra and winds it when in aplastic state round a tall pole, the upper part of which is ornamented with a ring, which in its turn typifies the feminine powers of nature.

On the day of the festival thousands of Brahmans, each with his pole thus ornamented, accompanied by musicians and dancing-girls, the former playing on their instruments and the latter keeping time to the music and performing a mystic circular dance, surrounded by half-naked fakeers and gossains, who keep shouting and leaping about, traverse the length and breadth of the native town till they reach their temples. Entering these, they plant their poles in front of the shrine of Siva, after which they make over the clay serpent a wave-offering of fire, pouring over it the oil pressed from the "telah," or sesamum-seed, sacred to the serpent, and repeat the prayer, "Life has sway over all in earth and heaven; protect us as a mother her children; grant us life, prosperity, wisdom," etc.

On this day every Hindoo and Brahman woman places seven wicks in a dish of silver or other metal, fills the dish with telah oil, and at nightfall waves it around the portals and windows of her house. When her husband returns he makes her a present, generally of a scarf, and she then performs a curious and very mysterious rite: placing her hands on her own hip-joints, and touching his with the tips of her fingers, she prostrates herself before him and implores for him, from the god of the day, renewed vigor, health, and strength.

The Nagas, or low-caste serpent-worshippers, assemble with the snake-charmers in open plains, where all the tame snakes in the country are brought together. After having fed these creatures, they offer up prayers, each to his own deity, but mostly to the god Siva, for long life and for protection from its deadly bite, making offeringsof the snake-plant, and to the priests of little lamps lighted with one or two wicks for the altars.

The common people in the Hindoo villages also make clay images of the cobra and pray to them. Most of the abandoned characters turn out on the occasion of these festivals, and the night is spent in licentious merriment, music, and song, while the snake-charmers, jugglers, and Yogees obtain large sums of money and presents from the people, who regard them in the light of divine benefactors to their race.

To understand the worship paid to serpents we must remember that the earliest feeling which mankind had of a relation to invisible powers must have been a compound of dread and gratitude, and in the mingling of these emotions dread predominated. The dreaded serpent alone, says Fergusson,[9]without arms or wings or any of the usual appliances of locomotion, still moves with singular celerity and grace; its form is full of elegance, its colors are often very beautiful, its eyes are bright and piercing. A serpent can creep, spring, climb, swim, expand, constrict, suspend itself by the tail, burrow in the ground, and even raise its body almost erect. Its muscular irritability is remarkably great and persistent, depending on its nervous energy. The heart palpitates long after death; the jaws open and shut even when the head is severed from the body; the outer skin is shed more than once, and the ancients believed that by this means the snake renewed its youth. It does not need food for long periods when casting its skin. It often changes color at will, and, above all, its longevity is so great as still to make the superstitious ascribe to it immortality. It makes no nest (except in the case of the python, who hatches her eggs by the heat of her own body); no food is stored for theyoung, who are born with all powers in full perfection. Then the poison of a serpent is so deadly and subtile that it excites in the heart of the savage the greatest dread and mystery, and even more startling and terrible than the poison of the cobra is the flash-like spring and fascination of the boa constrictor, the instantaneous embrace, the crushed-out life,—all accomplished faster than the human eye can follow. These are the powers that must have impressed the primitive races of the East with dread and terror, and wherever the serpent was found, there he seems to have been propitiated by man with prayers, supplications, and all forms of worship. It is perhaps strange that the serpent in the early period of the worship was not so much dreaded as loved—whether from a feeling that it was not as deadly as it has in its power to be, or for some other reason, it is now impossible to determine. However, in the history of this peculiar religion it is found that in course of time the serpent began to be regarded as the harbinger of good gifts, the teacher of wisdom, the symbol of subtlety, the oracle of the future, and even the healer of all diseases.

All the gods, and even the kings and queens, of the old world are usually represented with serpents coiling about their heads or arms. The Hindoos most probably adopted this symbol of the serpent from the aboriginal populations among whom they settled. "Sanee," the oldest rock-sculpture of the Hindoo "Saturn," the presiding deity of the seventh day of the week, has serpents for her belts or rings. She rides on a raven, a bird of ill omen sacred to her, and no Hindoo will undertake any new enterprise on the day over which she presides. As one wanders through the forests of India one finds that many of the finest trees served as altars to a generation long gone by. Their huge old trunks have been hollowed out and carved in theform of oriel chapels or windows, in the inmost recesses of which may be still traced the faint remains of what was intended to represent the cobra de capello or hooded serpent of India.

Sacred trees have from very early times shared a portion of the homage paid to serpents. It would appear that while the serpent was made to symbolize both the beneficent and dreaded powers of nature, the tree represented man. The wondrous spectacle of a new creation every year, the forest trees gathering their fresh leaves every spring, became to the primitive man a steadfast promise of a similar resurrection, and perhaps caused him to associate the tree with the serpent because of the analogies that exist between them. The one shedding its leaves, the other its skin, their mutual inactivity in winter, their awakening to life in the spring, their longevity, the twig-like form of the serpent, and a last, but not least, important fact is this, that wherever, in India, the deadly serpent is found, there also abounds the mungoose,[10]or snake-plant, with convex flower-clusters and long serpentine roots, possessing the mysterious power to cure the deadly bite of a snake.

Thus, in the course of time, the serpent became an endless writing on the wall, so full was it of mysterious significance and dread to the ancient races of the world. In fact, serpents play an important part in the mythology of every nation of the earth. Even to-day the snake-charmers will tell you that the circles on the head of the cobra de capello are spiritual eyes which enable it to distinguishbetween good and bad men. If a good man is bitten to death, they account for it by declaring that he must have committed some deadly sin in a former state of existence, hence his punishment in this.

It will not be amiss to conclude this chapter with a mention of some of the symbols for which the serpent stood in ancient times. It stands for the higher and lower forms of the creative energy of nature; for the emblem of evil; for wisdom and subtlety, as we all know, being self-supporting from the moment of birth; for immortality, because of its fabled longevity; for death, for new birth, and resurrection, from its casting its skin and from its awakening in spring from the torpor of winter. In the oldest hieroglyphics the serpent with its tail in its mouth stood for cycles of time, for the horizon, for eternity, and for life to come. Twined around the crown of ancient Oriental kings and queens, it symbolized the fatal sting lurking beneath the power entrusted to them; and bound round the royal sceptre, it typified national life, vigor, and strength.

FOOTNOTES:[9]See Fergusson'sTree- and Serpent-Worship.[10]This plant is named after a large rat common in India and called mungoose by the natives. It is said to have a deadly antipathy to snakes of all kinds. It will hunt and destroy them wherever they are found. If, however, the mungoose happens to be bitten by a snake, it is said that it instinctively runs to this plant, gnaws at its roots, and thus cures itself of the poison.

[9]See Fergusson'sTree- and Serpent-Worship.

[10]This plant is named after a large rat common in India and called mungoose by the natives. It is said to have a deadly antipathy to snakes of all kinds. It will hunt and destroy them wherever they are found. If, however, the mungoose happens to be bitten by a snake, it is said that it instinctively runs to this plant, gnaws at its roots, and thus cures itself of the poison.

The Parsees, or Fire-Worshippers, of Bombay.—A Visit to a Fire-priest and Astrologer.—His Astral Predictions.—The Gâthas.—Zoroaster.—His Life and Religion.—History of the Settlement of the Parsees in India.

The race which more than others attracted my attention in India was the Parsees in Bombay. As we drove almost daily to or from the fort to Malabar Point, we passed a Fire-temple, and there are also two others in the old fort. These are held very sacred, and none but Parsees are allowed to enter them. The one, however, which stood between the fort and our house was less guarded, by which means it was more accessible to strangers and visitors.

At my earnest request, I was invited by the wife of our Parsee neighbor to witness the worship of this interesting people. It was on the occasion of the "Khurdad-Sal," the anniversary of the birthday of Zoroaster, that I repaired to the above-mentioned Fire-temple. Seeing a large crowd centred about the building, I ventured to peep in, in the hope of seeing my friend. No one paid the slightest attention to me; presently a young Parsee lad came forward and conducted me to a quiet corner, and I found myself the sole spectator of a very curious and interesting worship performed by the Fire-priests alone, with a crowd of Parsee women and children, and some very aged Parsee men scattered here and there among them.

The building was quite small, circular in shape, with asort of pent roof, small iron-grated windows, and an iron-bound door, which was padlocked the moment the service was over. Under the central arch of the temple was a low altar on which burned a clear bright fire; the smoke had no means of escaping but through the windows, which made the place rather unpleasant to stay in for any length of time. A number of priests clad in simple white robes and quite unadorned fed the sacred fire[11]with thedifferent kinds of precious woods, and while some chanted, passing each his sacred thread through the fingers of his hands, others dropped perfumes and consecrated oil into the Fire.

The Parsee women and children sat or stood around this central fire, most of them beautifully dressed. I was struck with the beauty and nobility of their faces as they worshipped here with their hands folded, their eyes closed, listening reverently to the chants or praying silently to themselves.

A great many silver trays full of fruit, sweetmeats, and white robes were placed on one side, offerings from the women to the Fire-priests.

At the close of the service the entire congregation folded their hands across their breasts, and, having bowed their heads, retired, leaving the priests to heap precious fuel on the sacred fire, so as to preserve it from going out, for which purpose the temple is regularly visited during each day, and the fire is carefully preserved from year to year by certain priests who take turns to perform this most religious duty.

One evening we went to visit, by appointment, one of the oldest Fire-priests in Bombay, who was also a famous astrologer. The appointment was made by our nearest European neighbor on Malabar Hill, a Mr. S——, an Englishman who had lived a long time in India, and one of our intimate friends. Although Mr. S—— was personally acquainted with him, the old priest had declined to receive strangers until prevailed upon to do so by Mr. S——'s Parsee friend and partner in business.

We started about six o'clock in the evening, and after a long drive through the Parsee settlement of the native town and through a crowded and noisy bazaar, our carriage drew up before a high, dilapidated wooden building. The balcony projected into the street, supported by rickety wooden pillars, under which there was a small garden filled chiefly with herbs and plants. Mr. S——, who had often visited the house and was familiar with its ways, led us through the little garden and up a great flight of wooden steps into a corridor or hall, crossing which we at length stood before a very old door which was slightly ajar, through the opening of which a light streamed upon us in the dark passage. Mr. S—— tapped, and a voice feeble and tremulous bade us enter. We did so, and in another moment we were standing side by side with an old Fire-priest, perhaps the oldest in the world. He did not move or speak, or even turn his eyes upon us.

An old Ethiopian servant present pointed to us to be seated on some cushions near by until his master had finished his evening prayer. We silently took our places on the seats and looked on. In the centre of the room, which was woefully shabby and coarsely built, stood a three-legged stand, and on it was a round earthen lamp filled with cocoanut oil and containing depressions at the sides for wicks, of which there were just seven burning. Before it stood the Fire-priest, his dress, a long dingy-looking robe which might once have been white, flowing down to his emaciated feet, which were bare. But as his lips moved in prayer, and his thin dark fingers passed over and over his sacred thread or girdle, that mystic emblem of his faith, there was an indescribable reflection of some unseen interior light on his wan and pallid features; he hardly looked old, so wonderfully was his countenancelit up with a serene and beautiful expression of peace and happiness.

The floor of the room was made of planks roughly hewn and rudely put together. A number of curious old parchments were piled up on one side; pots, earthen lamps, vases, flowers, shawls, carpets, bedding, and a number of embroidered silk cushions lay in seeming confusion about the floor. The Ethiopian attendant, who looked almost as old as his master, grinned at us from his corner, showing plainly that he had lost nearly all his teeth; but no word was spoken.

His prayers over, the aged Fire-priest put off his long robe and dark conical cap, which were replaced by a short gray angraka, or coat, and close-fitting skull-cap, revealing a few locks of long scanty gray hair. He then turned to Mr. S——, took both his hands kindly in his own, and saluted him by raising them to his forehead three times, and then he did the same to us.

After an interval of about an hour or so spent in pleasant conversation, during which we learned that the Dustoor or Fire-priest Bhèjah was a native of Surat, and had come to the island of Bombay about forty years before with his family, every member of whom he had survived save some distant connections still living in Surat, we begged him to read our horoscopes for us.

The old Dustoor rose at once, as if pleased at our request, and with great alacrity led the way through a long narrow passage and up another old wooden staircase into a small chamber open to the sky by a curious contrivance, a sort of trapdoor, which was let down in rainy weather. There was a bench in one corner of this room; in the middle a circular table which revolved on a pivot, painted with curious hieroglyphics, and beside it a three-legged stool. As soon as we had taken our seats on thebench, the Dustoor drew out from under the table a board chequered black and red and a piece of chalk, and, taking the dim horn lantern that stood in a niche in the wall, set it on the table. This done, he turned to me and questioned me very closely in Hindostanee about the day, year, hour, and almost moment, of my birth. All such questions as I had it in my power to reply to he put down in what seemed to me signs and figures in one of the squares on his peculiar black and red board.

This was a work of some time, for every now and then he seemed doubtful of his operations, rubbing out and replacing the signs and figures in new squares. When he had scrawled on the board to his satisfaction he began to compare it with the hieroglyphics on his revolving table, deciphering and studying the stars on each of his tablets with the utmost care. He then turned up his wan face and began to gaze alternately at the bit of sky seen through the open trapdoor and to examine the strange hieroglyphics on the table. The stars presiding at my birth were evidently unpropitious. He foretold for me many deaths among relations and friends, long and cruel separations by strange seas and oceans being placed between my friends and me; softening it off, however, by predicting a long life, a happy old age, and a numerous progeny of grand- and great-grandchildren; which, indeed, are the chief sources of happiness in the Parsee household.

He then foretold my husband's future, which was even less auspicious, saying that a great shadow of one of the planets would cross his path in middle life, which if he survived he would live to a good old age, etc., etc.

It was not what the old astrologer and Fire-priest said so much as his perfect faith in his own rendering of the position of the stars that most impressed me. Thefloating locks of gray hair, the serious brow, the deep, thoughtful, contemplative look on that face, were all very striking: his head full of the mystery of the stars and his heart ever revolving the secret destiny of human life were as strange and marked as any of the many lives whose future he believed he could so easily decipher.

In the Zend-Avesta—or, more properly, the Avesta-Zand—the religious books of the Parsees, we find the Gâthas, or sacred hymns, of the ancient Fire-priests, and these in their turn may be traced directly to the Rig Vèdas, the oldest of the Aryan Scriptures, a collection of a thousand hymns, more or less, called "Mantras," or Mind-born songs, composed and recited by various priests and poets, the earliest of whom lived about three thousand, and the latest not far from twenty-six hundred, years ago. These hymns, some of which are very beautiful, composed and sung long before the Aryans left their home in the Hindoo Kush[12]Mountains, were inspired by its soaring mountains—"roofs of the world," as they called them—capped with snow, clear blue skies, and by the rushing waters leaping in gladness out of the heart of the hills.

"They found the mountains ever near mighty to defend them, the lakes and rivers eager to serve them."[13]"Sparkling bright with mighty splendor, she carries the clouds across the plains; the unconquered Sindhui, Indus, the quickest of the quick, like a beautiful mare, a sight to see; by their swiftness, depth, as well as by the sweetness of their waters; the birds by their delicious warbling; the winds by the fragrant dust of flowers which theybore along on their invisible wings, the clouds by their refreshing shadows."

Light, as seen in the sun, moon, and stars, dawn and sunrise, fire in all its mysterious forms—the spark struck from the flint, the fire that burned their oblations, the holy flames that were lighted on the domestic hearth—became their earliest objects of worship. These they celebrate in the Rig Vèda, and in these they saw, with their deep intuitive insight, thousands of years ago, an "all-productive cosmic energy."

Thus, the simple act of rubbing two dried pieces of wood together in order to obtain fire became a religious ceremony, and the tiny flint which served to kindle fire became their first idol, and gave those ancient Aryans the first hint of the wonderous power of heat, at once their god, the ministering angel of their lives, and their first step toward civilization.

This vital fire of the universe, with every upward dart of flame issuing out of the cold, hard rock, starting out of dried wood, streaming in jets spontaneously out of the heart of the earth itself, and flaming luridly from mountain-tops, was an object so full of mystery, so potent, ever present, even when invisible, ever within call, lurking in the rock and air, water and tree, waiting to be called into life, vanishing at a breath, naturally became the highest symbol of the unseen to those primitive worshippers of nature.

The early Aryan priest, who was to his race what our poets and thinkers are to us to-day, on awakening at dawn turned his face to the east, and, waiting for the light, cried, "Arise! arise! the breath of our life has come, the darkness has fled." The fire had to be kindled by men. "She, the Dawn, brought us light by striking down darkness.—Shine for us with thy best rays, O thou brightDawn! thou who lengthenest our lives, thou beloved of all, thou mother of the morning clouds, leader of the days, gold-colored and lovely to behold!" When the sun at last climbed the mountain-tops and shone upon his worshipper, he sang a deeper hymn of joy to the Creator: "In the beginning there arose the source of golden light. He was the first-born lord of all that is. He established the earth and the sky. He gives us life, he gives us strength—whose shadow is immortality, whose absence is death—he who through his power is the only king of this breathing and awakening world."[14]

These songs were not only sung, but transmitted from father to son, long before the age of a written alphabet, as a sacred, inviolable inheritance, preserved from century to century in the religious memory of the Aryan priest, even as they were recited to us evening after evening at the "Aviary" by our modern pundit without book or notes or text.

The pictures these songs present of the deep religious and poetic fervor of the early Aryans, both before and after their descent into the plains of India, of their pastoral and agricultural life, divided into separate and distinct classes, as priest, king, shepherd, warrior, and tiller of the soil, are in themselves the most comprehensive and valuable of historical records.

The first and most important fact to be found in the study of these hymns is that every home, every dwelling, has its own altar, which is the family hearth, called the "dâdgâh" by the Fire-worshippers—that "holy of holies" of which father and mother were priest and priestess. This fire is the ancient "avesta," to which were attached three mystical interpretations—first, "womanly purity;" second, the "inviolability of the family;" and third, "thesacredness attached to the mother as the transmitter of human life."

There is no doubt that from the Assyrians, Chaldeans, and the early Iranians, who were then one with the purer Hindoos of to-day, this worship of nature, and especially of fire in its triple significance, was propagated southward among the Egyptians, westward among the Greeks, and by them introduced into Italy.

The Greeks met together to worship in their Prytaneia. Here they consulted together for the public good, and there was a constant fire burning on the altar, which was called "vesta." The Vestal Virgins of the Romans had their origin in the same idea. Many of the oldest and some of the most modern usages still to be found among the Parsees, Hindoos, Jews, Greeks, Mohammedans, and Roman Catholics bear reference to this early worship of the "household fire," and many of the problems, puzzles, and contradictions that are found in the religious symbols of the world stand clear and evident when submitted to this light.

The word "Light" is used in the New Testament as the highest symbol of Christ—"the Light of the world," "the Light that lighteth every man who cometh into the world." Every instance also of God's acceptance of sacrifice and prayer in the Old Testament is made evident to the people through the medium of fire, as seen in the case of David, in the dedication of Solomon's temple, and when Elijah demanded that extraordinary proof from Jehovah that Baal was not God. From Genesis to the Revelation, from the first offerings of Cain and Abel to "the city that had no need of a sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it, for the glory of the Lord did lighten it and the Lamb is the light thereof," this symbol of light is the dearest to the human heart, and ever recurring andconspicuous as the fittest and purest to be applied to the Deity.

It is as a symbol, not as a material element, that the worshippers of fire have clung to it through all times; and their adherence and tenacity are all the more remarkable when we consider the changes that have passed over all primitive institutions. We ourselves have had a succession of different religions and gods—the divinities of the Phœnicians, then those of the Greeks and Romans, which superseded the terrible gods of the Norsemen and the aboriginal deities of the Druids, our ancestors. All these in time have given place to the sublime teachings of Christ. Our religious forms are changing even to-day as religious convictions become wider, deeper, and more comprehensive than ever.

But the Parsees, those ancient Sun- and Fire-worshippers, still offer up their prayers in the old Pehlevi—a language which is the elder sister of the ancient Sanskrit—in which the Zend-Avesta, the sacred books of the Zoroastrians, are written, and older by far than the cuneiform inscriptions of Cyrus, Darius, and Xerxes;[15]still wear the same old conical cap in the form of ascending flame, preserved in the shape of the bishop's mitre in the Christian symbolic dress; still adhere to the rites, ceremonies, manners, and customs peculiar to their earliest fathers, invoking the invisible fire upon which they called centuries before the building of the temple of Solomon.

The race has survived the destruction of Babylon and Assyria—outlived the beautiful gods of the Greeks, who beat them down by land and sea. It has persistently overcome the hatred and persecution of the Scythian and Tartar hordes, the rage and fury of the Moslems, theintolerance and prejudice of all sects and nations, and, strange to say, even when placed between the currents of new ideas, which ceaselessly move and transform those around them, the Fire-worshipper, like the Jew, stands alone, as if he were beyond time and above change.

From the time of Xerxes, four hundred and eighty-six yearsB. C., we have to date the decline of the Persian empire. Even the old heroic name of Iran—Ayiran, from the Sanskrit Ariya, "the noble"—has passed away for the word Persia, which, whether we apply it to the country, to the people, or to the language, is a misnomer. Pars, or Fars, is only a province of the great empire of "Iran." It was owing to the fact that the language of its chief city, Shiraz, was considered the most elegant and fashionable speech of the Iranians that the name of the province Pars was gradually used to distinguish the people, the entire country, and the language.

To the ancient world Zoroastrianism was known by the name of "Mazdasnah" or "Mazdayasnah," the doctrine of "universal knowledge." It was revealed by the "Pure Spirit," called also the "Excellent Word," pure, efficacious—"the word that Zoroaster has conveyed to men," which is the "Good Law." The priests were called Madhi, or middlemen, go-betweens, corrupted into Magi, which name is very commonly applied to the priests of the Zoroastrian religion by the Greek authors, beginning with Herodotus, who had travelled in Media and confounded the name of the priests of Magism and the Median religion with that of Zoroastrianism.

It is impossible to fix exactly the era when the great reformer Zarathustra—"splendor of gold"—lived. The Greek and Roman historians make him very ancient. Xanthos of Lydia, 470B. C., the first Greek writer who mentions Zoroaster, is convinced that he must haveflourished about six hundred years before the Trojan war. Aristotle and Eudoxus place his era even earlier. Berosus, the Chaldean priest and historian, who translated the history of his native country, Babylonia, into the Greek language, and dedicated the work to Antiochus, one of the Greek kings of Syria, makes him a king, or rather founder of a dynasty which reigned over Babylon between 2200 and 2000B. C.[16]The Fire-worshippers hold that their great priest and reformer lived about five hundred and fifty yearsB. C. They identify him with the great Kavan-Vistaspa of the Zend-Avesta, called Khai Gustasp in theShahnamah.[17]But it is very evident that even the ancient Persians themselves were very uncertain as to who this Kavan Vistaspa was. It is clear, however, that Darius's father, who was also namedVistaspa, and the Kavan-Vistaspa of the Zend-Avesta and theShahnamah, were entirely distinct persons.

There is very little doubt that this confusion of opinions is owing to the similarity of names. A very common habit even in India to-day is to name persons after heroic kings, great priests, or even after the gods, without any mark being added to distinguish them in after years; and when any period of time has elapsed it is almost impossible to separate the personality of the father from the son, or the disciple from the teacher, or the priest from the god. Zoroaster, or rather "Zara Thustra," means illustrious like gold, or, in another sense, simply high priest; and this being taken afterward as the proper name of the celebrated priest and reformer of ancient Iran, gave rise to the endless confusion of dates and opinions which has always prevailed with regard to the age in which he lived.

There is, however, internal evidence in the language and religion which he reformed that he lived at a very early age, and there are many traces of his great antiquity in the Zend-Avesta itself. First, that he stands at the head of the extensive Zend literature,[18]which must have required centuries for its growth, and which was already in a state of perfection when Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, was born, from four to five hundred years before Christ; and secondly, that he is expressly called Aryana Veèdgo, "the celebrated one," in the Aryan home whence the Aryans, now called Hindoos, emigrated in times immemorial. This title, Martin Haug justly observes, would not have been given him had his followers not believed him living at that early time. Under no circumstance can we assign to him a later date than the year 1000B. C.

The causes which led to the schism between the early Fire-worshippers may be readily learned from the Zend-Avesta, where the gods of the dissenters are called "dèvas" (to whence our word devil) by the orthodox "Soshyantos," or Fire-priests. It was a vital and successful struggle against that form of the early religion which inclined to Brahmanism, and later to open idolatry. Thus, for instance, the Vèdic gods Aditya, Mitra, Varuna, and Indra became the devils of the Zoroastrian religion; and this struggle must have taken place when Indra was declared the chief of the gods by a large portion of the Aryans, before they had immigrated into Hindostan proper. In the later period of Vèdic literature we find Indra at the head of the gods; then in the great epics, the Mahâbhárata and Râmayâna, he gives place to the Trimourtri, Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. A compromise was thus effected between the esoteric doctrine of the metaphysicians and the common forms of worship, giving rise to what was henceforth to constitute the orthodox system of belief of the Brahmanic caste. The Vèdic pantheon, however, is not altogether discarded in the Zend-Avesta; the existence of the old gods is recognized, but in a very different way from that of the mysterious triple divinity which represents not only the eternal, infinite soul, but Brahma himself in his active relation to mundane occurrences; and moreover, as the Trimourtri is never alluded to in the Zend-Avesta, where most of the other Vèdic gods are named, we are obliged to fix the religious struggle at a much earlier date than that assigned to the Indian poems.

The only source whence we derive anything like reliable historical facts, and those of the most meagre kind, respecting this great reformer Zoroaster, is in the Yasnahs, where he is distinguished by his family name S'pitama. His father's name was Poorooshaspa. Of his children,only his son S'pitama and his daughter Poroochista are mentioned. In these fragments, rather than books, he appears to us as a real man, earnest, strong, and true, just and generous in every act of his life, taking a prominent part in the history of his country and the welfare of his fellow-creatures. It was he who struck a deathblow to the idolatrous practices that had crept in among the Fire-priests—who established in his own country a new community, governed by new laws; he called upon every man to take his part in the battle between good and evil, adding the firm assurance that good will always prevail. In his own works he calls himself a "Dutah"—i. e."a messenger"—sent by the great Ahura-Mazda. His ideal of home, of father and mother living together under one roof in freedom and love and unity, cemented by a supreme and unalterable bond of love and friendship, has never yet been equalled save by Christianity.

This remarkable reformer, according to the Yasnahs, was born in the sacerdotal city of Ragha, near Teheran, the capital of Persia. His father was an aged priest named Poorooshaspa, a man noted for his purity of life. Like all such histories, his birth was miraculously ordained.[19]One evening as Poorooshaspa and Dhogdha his wife, a childless old couple, were praying in a lonely place, the atmosphere around them became suddenly luminous. They looked up, and saw a form of exquisite beauty standing in the midst of a bright cloud, and as they gazed upon this beautiful vision there was handed to them a cup fashioned out of an amethyst filled with the wine of heaven. "Drink this," said the angel, "and renew your youth, forAhura-Mazda has chosen you to bring a savior into the world." Having drank the wine, they became the parents of one son, S'pitama.

It is related that the ruler of the city of Ragha sought to destroy the child; at his command he was snatched from his mother's arms and thrown into a narrow lane where cattle passed, in the hope that they might tread him to death; but, lo! in the evening a sensible and motherly cow brought him on her horns to his weeping, disconsolate mother. Then again, by the order of the same cruel governor, he was cast into a blazing fire; but he lay there unscathed, smiling so serenely upon his persecutors that they were at once converted into friends. In fact, every attempt made by enemies to destroy the infant is said to have been arrested by divine agency. At last the child was permitted to grow up unmolested with his friends and relatives, who were among his earliest followers.

Zoroaster did not so much reveal a new religion as reform the old Fire-worship of his country. He abolished stone images, necromancy, magic, witchcraft, all of which were identified with the worship of fire. He investigated astrology, and confirmed its practices as true and elevating. He inspired the old materialistic teaching of the Fire-priests with a new and more spiritual meaning. He made war on the idolatrous practices of his fellow-men, and banished from Iran all who still bowed down before wood and stone. At the age of thirty he completed a new code of laws, and also the Zend-Avesta, with the Izeshnee, a still more sacred book. He distinctly recognized, above and beyond all manifestations of sun, light, or fire, a purer, higher, unconditioned Being.[20]When moved by deepest awe he bowed his head and reverently called this Being"the Truth of the Truth, the Wisdom of the Wise, the Purity of the Pure." So also in his famous prayer of one-and-twenty words, "The world is produced, and all that is good in thought, word, and deed, because of the Truth."

The problem of the origin of evil, the most difficult to be solved, seems to have been constantly before his mind. It seemed to him impossible that the Truth, whom he conceived to be eternally pure, good, just, and perfect, had created evil. The ancient Aryans attributed the struggles in the physical world around them to the strife between good and evil; Zoroaster seized this idea, applied it with the deepest emphasis to the moral and spiritual world, and it became the basis of his system of dualism. Together with Ahura-Mazda, the good principle, he admitted the existence of an evil principle or spirit equal in power and of a similar nature[21]—Angra Mainyus; in Persian Ahriman. This spirit is the author of all moral and physical evil, sin, disease, suffering, and death.

All things, created by Ahura-Mazda pronouncing the creating, pre-existing word "Honover," were pure, perfect, and beautiful as himself until spoiled by the evil influence of Ahriman. And though Ahriman, like Ahura-Mazda, has been eternal and self-existing in the past, Zoroaster declares that a day will come when three great prophets will arise, Ukhsyad-eremah, "the increasing Light," Ukhsyad-eretah, "the increasing Truth," Açtvad-ereta, "self-existent Truth," who will convert all mankind; everything created will become as pure as on thefirst day when it issued from the breath of the "Wisest of all Intelligence," and Ahriman will be destroyed and disappear for ever.

Such is the real doctrine of Zoroaster, while the hymns of the Zend-Avesta glow and burn with the assurance of the mystic and essential life of the soul with the spiritual essence of all pure thought. The pure heavens are like light; thought is likened to a drop of pure light, and the departing spirit has a sunbeam for its guide to conduct it to immortal light.

In the Gâthas, or Songs, he says: "God appears in the best thought, the truest speech, and the sincerest action. He gives through his pure spirit health, prosperity, devotion" (which, more properly translated, ought to be "love"), "and eternity to this universe. He is the Father of all truth and the Mother of all tenderness."

It is very remarkable that the early Aryans looked upon disease, deformity, and weakness in the same light that we are apt to regard the depraved and vicious. Health was the first and greatest boon, the gift they supplicated most earnestly from heaven. Health first, then immortality. They seemed to loathe consumption and scrofula, and many of their most energetic prayers are supplications to the Deity to be preserved "from this hateful indwelling sin," as they termed it. Their laws for the happy treatment of women, especially in certain conditions of health, of which I shall treat in the chapter on their domestic life, is full of that reverence for her health and happiness, as well as those of her offspring, which is seen to penetrate the whole life of the Fire-worshipper, passing as it did in the course of time into a rigid etiquette. Stern as it is, it is infinitely better than the careless indifference with which the mother, "the transmitter of human life," is so often regarded among us.

In the Zend-Avesta we find a moral code almost as perfect as our own, with rather a singular account of the creation. In one of the books, called "Desater," it would seem all animals being created except man, the dog was dreadfully lonely, and that man was created only out of compassion for him; and no sooner was man formed than all the animals, save the dog, broke out into open rebellion against the Great Spirit for having favored man with speech, reason, and immortality.

As in Genesis, so in the Desater, the Great Spirit brought the animals to Gelshadèng and made them subject to him, and he it was who divided them into seven classes. There is a curious dialogue that passed between the seven great sages of Persia and the seven different animals, and the reasons given why some are made fierce, others harmless, and yet others beneficent. In some passages great veneration is expressed for the cow, and great aversion to some animals, and to the human corpse; this is not permitted either to find a resting-place in the earth or in the fire, because of the sacredness of both these elements; and it is commanded that it be abandoned to birds of prey or to absorption by the air in enclosures set apart for the purpose.

However, in spite of many things that seem childish and absurd in their books (the unprejudiced student is not always certain that the right meaning of the text has been rendered, for the language is full of difficulties), yet so much is clear: that the "Gâthas" are very beautiful hymns and full of true religious feeling. They are addressed to the household fire, to the sun, moon, and stars, to the spirit of the hills, mountains, trees, birds, and flowers, to the earth, air, and sea. The earth is often called the "infinite, the all-nourishing cow," and the sun is consequently, by the same figure, designated "the fiery-winged one, the immortal bull."

Then there are prayers and songs to the spirits of the righteous dead, to the seven high angels around the throne, the planets then known. The most spiritual are those addressed to Ahura-Mazda, "the Everlasting Light," who is described as an ineffable Being, full of brightness and glory. Zoroaster discovers God in the eternal invisible Fire. His wonder and joy over the first kindling of the flame arose from the spiritual symbolism that interpreted all nature to him. In it he recognizes the type of the immortal Light and the spiritual resurrection of the soul. Thrilling with religious fervor, he bows before the radiant light as the most subtle and all-dissolving element, and in feeling its mystery acknowledges the mystery of God, its Supreme Creator.

Thus, all the rites and ceremonies of the ancient Fire-worshippers abound in symbols which typify the operations of nature, not only in the heavens, but also in the hidden recesses of the earth. They attribute the maturing of precious gems and metals to the peculiar influence of the sun, moon, and stars; and it is a curious fact that they called the seven metals by the very same names by which they denominated the seven planets, and the same peculiar hieroglyphic characters are used to this day to distinguish both. Among them certain stones represented certain virtues, and not a few were famed for their magical properties. The months of the year were spirits who exerted their influence over certain precious stones, which in their turn had power over the destiny of any person born during the period of their sway. Thus each month has its own presiding genius in the heavens and its appropriate symbol in the heart of the earth, bound up with the life and character of the individual born under their combined influence. The garnet, symbol of the presiding spirit of January, means constancy; the amethyst, of February, sincerity;the bloodstone, of March, courage and presence of mind; the diamond, of April, innocence; the emerald, of May, love; the agate, of June, health and long life; the carnelian, of July, contentment; sardonyx, of August, happiness; chrysolite, of September, antidote against madness, sane mind; opal, of October, hope; topaz, of November, fidelity; turquoise, of December, prosperity.

Rings are still used among the more superstitious of the Parsees as charms and talismans against the evil eye, demons, and most of the ills inherent to the human flesh. Sometimes the virtue exists in the stone, sometimes in the magical letters engraved upon it, which are thought to have the power to preserve the owner from thunder, lightning, witchcraft, the evil eye, from sin, and from taking cold even when exposed to biting frosts and storms.

The ancient history of the Fire-worshippers presents no nobler picture than that of Zoroaster traversing the wilds of Persia to preach a purer doctrine to his fellow-men. Before his death he is said to have reduced the twenty-one books he had written to three immortal maxims: Pure thoughts, Pure words, Pure deeds. "All pure thought is spirit-worship, or religion," said he, going at once to the root of the matter, "and all pure actions are fed by the immortal dew of heaven;" this dew isvirtue, and he calls it the vapor which the pure-hearted inhale from the heart of the eternal Sun.

What a nation does thoroughly, she does for all time. So it was with the ancient Persians: centuries after the death of their great teacher they kept their faith in one God firm and inviolate amid the most crushing persecution. On the final conquest of Persia the unrelenting soldiers of the Caliphat forced at the point of the sword one hundred thousand persons daily to abjure their faith. Thousands upon thousands were slaughtered daily; only afew escaped and fled to the mountains of Khorasan, taking with them a lamp lighted from the sacred Fire. From these mountains they were again driven forth by the Mohammedans four hundred years after, and the little band of Zoroastrians fled once more, to the beautiful island of Ormuzd, at the mouth of the Persian Gulf. Here persecution still followed them, and, driven out again, the little colony put to sea, still taking with them their sacred lamp, which had been preserved from extinction through all those troublous years.

They had hardly lost sight of land when a terrific storm overtook them, and their little fleet was soon deprived of all hope of escape. Voluntarily exiled from their native land, they had fled from place to place for protection; the mountains refused to hide them, the earth to shelter them, and now even the sea and all the elements rose up against them—all but their little feeble lamp, which, according to their historians, continued to burn brightly in spite of the dreadful storm. At length the high priest of Zoroaster resolved to hoist their sacred lamp as a signal to the tempest-driven little fleet to join in prayer. Up rose the horn lantern containing the sacred light to the masthead of the dahstur's (or high priest's) vessel. The little fleet of boats and ships tried to draw near to the precious beacon, but the winds blew and the tempest beat upon their vessels. All undismayed, straining their utmost and peering through the gloom, they turned them in the direction of the sacred light. Then up above the din and roar of that angry surging sea the prayer of that faithful little company ascended to the Invisible, the shining Ahura-Mazda, for help in their sore distress.

Next morning the storm had abated, and they landed at Diva, on the coast of Western Hindostan, where they disembarked, and remained nineteen years, whence theymigrated in a body to Sajan, twenty-four miles south of Damaun. The Hindoo king, Ranah Jayadeva, granted an asylum to the fugitives.

After centuries of cruel persecution the exiles at length found refuge from the enemies of their faith among the Hindoos, who had separated from them in the dim dawn of history because of a religious feud, but whose antagonism touched only names and other non-essential rites, the worship of light as the Creator's highest symbol remaining unchanged for both. Though they had drifted farther and farther apart, the latter in the multiplying of symbols, while the former gradually dispensed with even those they once regarded as a part of their worship, they still remained united in their worship of fire.

In 721A. D.they erected their first Fire-temple on Indian soil at Sajan, and the sacred fire was once more kindled on its altars by means of their little lamp, the flame of which they had so religiously preserved. To the Fire-worshipper this first temple on Indian soil seemed a resurrection of hope, of reality, striking deep into their fervent hearts and binding them to one another by a subtler and diviner fire. From this time the Parsees rose to importance in India. They greatly aided the Portuguese and Dutch settlers in the establishment of mills and factories all along the coast of Guzerat. Owing to their enterprising spirit, Surat, Cambay, and Baroda grew into large and influential cities and attracted all the extensive commerce of the East. When the island of Bombay was ceded to the British a colony of Parsees emigrated thither, and, having purchased a part of Malabar Hill from the British, built there a Fire-temple and a tower of silence, or tomb for the reception of their dead, and here was brought the same sacred fire and rekindled once more on the altar of their first temple in Bombay.

No country in the world has witnessed so many revolutions as Persia. Nevertheless, the moral and physical condition of the Fire-worshippers, who are still found centring about Yezd and Ispahan, has remained much the same as when they called the country their own. They certainly are superior in moral character to the Mohammedans of Persia to-day. In the garden adjoining the harem of the present shah none are employed save Zoroastrians, and this is because of their national character for purity. As for the Parsee women, they are remarkable for their chastity, an unchaste woman being unknown among them.

In Persia, however, the Parsees are subject to heavy taxation, from which the Moslem population is entirely free, and the distress to which the poorer Parsees are reduced in order to pay this tax is deplorable. Unheard-of cruelties are practised, and many as a last resource abandon their homes to escape the extortions of the annual tax-gatherer. All means of instruction are also closed to the children of the Fire-worshippers in Persia. "The Parsees of Bombay, hearing of the distress of their co-religionists, have recently caused schools to be established in various parts of Persia, where instruction is imparted gratuitously to the children of the Zoroastrians."

When we remember that the Parsees of Bombay are the descendants of a small colony of ancient Fire-worshippers who emigrated from Persia more than a thousand years ago under circumstances the most overwhelming, it is a matter of wonder that this people should have risen with the progress of British power in India to wealth, honor, and dignity in every condition of life. More than once, even after they had established themselves in Guzerat, they were all but decimated by the sword of the conquering Moslem. But up again they rose each time, creating anew the old life, starting afresh on the same oldbasis, nothing discouraged, remembering with deeper appreciation the old promise of their earliest priest and founder, "that to persevering mortals the blessed immortals are swift."

It is impossible not to be struck with the life and history of this people—a history of endless defeat and persecution, a life of the closest unity and steadfastness. And this oneness of purpose, by which they have distinguished themselves for so many centuries, has a still closer relation to their moral and religious character. Whatever may be the errors and defects of the religion of the Fire-worshipper, the comprehensiveness and unity of his national character demand our respect and admiration.

Back to Index Next