CHAPTER X.MAGH, JANUARY.
The Morning Bath.—Shoresh-sotee, or Muse.
This month, though third in order, is the first of the three which are held sacred by the Hindoos. On the first day of Magh, at five in the morning, the whole country is up to bathe. The excitement thus created is beyond comparison. Sacred songs, jubilees, exhortations are heard from every quarter. The school-teachers form concerts of their pupils, who sing the praise of the sacred river Ganges, through the streets and before the temple. Men, women, and children crowd in the Ghats,—bathing-places. As they go in they throw some fruits, such as mangoes, bananas, cocoa-nuts, into the water as an offering to the sacred river. Some continue their morning bath through the whole month, others only three days, while a few religious persons continue it through the year.
The Hindoos have no preaching like the Christians, but there is something in that shape which occurs in this month. The religious Hindoo engages a Brahmun to read and expound the sacred books in his house, which is free and open to all hearers. This Brahmun is always well trained, has full knowledge of the Scriptures, a fine, sonorous voice, and is full of fun. In short, he must be learned, a good reader, singer, and actor. An altar is made for him, on which he sits on a cushion. He wears some flower-wreaths round his neck and head, like the Grecian orators with laurels.
In the middle of the month the image of Shoresh-sotee is worshipped. She is the giver of learning, poetical genius, and efficiency in music. Hence the poets, orators, singers, pay her homage and worship. Every family is not required to buy her idol, for the worship of books, writing-desks, inkstand, pen, musical instruments, do just as well. Even at the foot of the image these things are set in order. The schoolmasters make a grand idol of the goddess, and tax their pupils to meet the expense incurred thereby. There is one thing singular and unpleasant to the children. They are forbidden to eatKool, a kind of plum, until it has been offered to the goddess; and if they do, her wrath will doom them to a life of ignorance. As theKoolsgrow earlier than the time of the worship of the goddess, they feel very badly seeing the trees smile with red and yellow fruits, while they are not able to touch them. The temptation on the one hand, and the fear of becoming dunces on the other, trouble them. Under such circumstances the cunning boys come to an understanding with the goddess, and promise to present her double or triple the number ofkoolswhich they eat before the time. Thus, with care and caution they keep the accurate account of thekoolsthey eat, and produce the same before the image, agreeably to the contract made before. The worship occupies one day only, which is spent with music and other amusements.
Besides being the daughter of Doorga, the great goddess, Shoresh-sotee has a legendary tale attached to her person, which is regarded by the Hindoos as a genuine fact. Much as I do doubt its genuineness, I think it is a beautiful story, contrived to show the mercy of the goddess to her children. It is as follows. There was a young princess in India whose youth, personal charms, and mental accomplishments had made her the admiration of the time.Among other things that brought her notoriety, there was an oath she had taken, to the effect that she would give her hand to a man who would surpass her in power of reasoning, and conquer her in intellectual warfare.[24]The learned young princes and nobles of literary renown crowded her palace, but success did not smile upon any of them. One after the other they took the field of controversy with the maiden, and were vanquished. Disappointment and shame became their reward. Next to the kings and nobles, the Brahmun sages—whom we might call Depositories of Indian literature—made their appearance, but had to wear crowns of shame. Whether some superhuman intelligence shaped her arguments so as to render them impregnable, or her personal charms, her “lightning-like smiles,” or her “voice sweeter than Cuckoo’s,” threw a net of confusionover her opponents, I cannot say. While the vanquished party of the Brahmuns was returning home, they determined to know if anything could be done to punish the proud princess. Finding their own literary merits quite inadequate to the purpose, they did not hesitate to resort to stratagem. As the troubled company moved slowly homeward, contriving some way to ruin the learned maiden, it happened that a young man, singular in every way, came before their eyes. He was tall in stature, dark in complexion, unintelligent yet mild in his countenance. To describe his ignorance, which was proverbially great, the story says that the Brahmuns found him sitting on the branch of a lofty tree, and severing the same with an axe from the main trunk, not knowing that his own weight will facilitate the work, and that great will be his fall on the ground below! This ridiculous, yet pitiable scene attracted the attention of the sages, and they halted. This philosopher on the tree would make a good match for the princess, they said, if he could be saved from the ruin which his own hands were bringing upon him. They beckoned him down the tree, hinting that they have something very important to communicate to him, and so he came. In answer to their inquiries he told them his name was Kalidass, a Brahmun by caste, and that he had had no education. They informed him that they knew the latter while he had been on the tree. They asked him to follow them if he wished to marry a rich, noble woman in the country. He begged them not to make fun of him, as he was too unworthy of the bride they spoke of. However, they let him understand that they would do what is necessary, argue with the princess, and arrange the matter prudently, provided he would go with them as their Master, keep himself seated in a dignified look, which they would show him how to assume, and now and then makesome gesture during the discussion. He consented to their words, and leaving his axe and anything he had behind him, followed the cunning Brahmuns to catch a woman. The unfortunate damsel fell a victim to the united subtility of the Brahmuns, acknowledged her failure, and, faithful to her vows, married Kalidass, their supposed Master.
At the usual hour a maid-servant showed him his room, and he entered in, tired and excited. Illiterate as he was, he was able to reflect upon the contrasts between his position then and a few hours previous,—a boor in the country, and a master of the sages,—a poor Brahmun in the morning, and the husband of a princess in the evening,—accustomed to lie down on the cottage-floor, now the silvery bosom of a bedstead in the palace is to receive him. There was a mosquito-net round the bed, and he did not know how to get in. The story says, he climbed the bed-post that held the net, to see if there was any opening on the top, and finding none he jumped in, tearing the costly net to pieces. Late in the evening the princess came in, and first of all, wishing to exchange some words, began to look for a topic. In the mean time a camel in the king’s stable roared. “The Oostros roar very loud, do they not?” she said. No response came from Kalidass. “Am I wrong? Is it not Oostro which I heard roar just now?” “Yes, you are right,” he said; “certainly it is ‘Oo’tro,’” not knowing the true pronunciation of the word. The princess felt quite alarmed at the word “Oo’tro,” for a scholar, a man of delicacy would hardly use it. She thought perhaps it was owing to a “slipof the tongue,” that he saidOo’tro, or it might be that he was tired or was making fun.
Venturing again, so as to find out the truth, she begged him to tell her what it was that roared a little while ago. At which he, in his full ignorance of the case, replied, “ItwasOttro,” making it a new term altogether. The literary princess was shocked at it, knowing that the Brahmuns had ruined her; and indignantly striking her husband with her foot, she left the room. I do not believe this part of the story; it is contrary to the Hindoo custom; no insult is so great as to touch a man with the foot. Women, especially delicate and learned ones like the princess, could not do such a deed,—it is not only a great insult to a husband, but a real sin. It may be she had left the room disrespectfully, which, too, was not polite. Whatever was the case, poor Kalidass felt very much mortified, rose from his seat, looked towards heaven, and with tears said, “Mother Shoresh-sotee! the man is a mere animal who does not possess thy blessing in his soul. A woman insulted me! And why? Because of my ignorance of science and literature! To whom shall I go for redress but to thee, O Goddess of Learning? I am too old to begin to study. What shall I do then? I do not wish to live an insulted life without learning, without worth, any longer.” He then left the palace and his learned bride, and entered into a desert with a view to put an end to his life there. Finding a lake before him, he went in to drown himself in its water. While on the point of merging into eternity he heard a voice saying, “Do not die, child! here I am, thy Mother, come from heaven; thy tears have fallen at my feet, and thy prayer hath sunk deep into my heart, so I descended on earth to redress thy grief. I am Bak Dabie! Sink thy head into the water of this lake, and when thou hast lifted it up a clearer atmosphere will spread over thy head.” At the direction of the goddess, Kalidass immersed his whole body in the water, and lifting up his head, saw the goddess standing in the air. Inspired with a miraculous gift of knowledge, he immediately offered a prayer to the goddess, describing her beauty from head to foot, in languagewhich the Hindoos think very chaste and high. In fact it is a fine specimen of Sanscrith poetry. The Hindoos are taught to repeat it in their schools. Unfortunately the goddess found fault with his description of her face first, and said, “He will be killed by the hands of a vile woman.” The sentence has been fulfilled in the life of Kalidass.[25]
Thus the insulted Brahmun miraculously became the greatest of all the poets whom India ever produced. His writings, still extant, are real treasures, both in regard to their poetical splendor, their sublime depth, and their moral bearings. Such is the legendary manifestation of the goddess to Kalidass, which, although a mere story, has much influence upon pure Hindoo minds.