amid the cool rush of a myriad streams is a garden, the loveliest in the world; the broad paths are shaded by cedars, banyans, palms, and crotons with purple and orange leaves. under the garlands of gorgeous flowered climbers are hedges of roses of every shade, and shrubs starred with lavender and blue. in the ditches, above the water-plants strewn with petals like hoar-frost, grows a carpet of pale lilac cineraria.
the horizon is the himalaya range; the slopes are covered with the ribbed velvet of the tea plantations, and on one hill stand the scattered bungalows of mussoree, looking no bigger than pebbles.
my friend captain mct——, with whom i stayed, had a house with a peaked, reed-thatched roof. round the verandah where we slept at night hung festoons of jasmine and bougainvillea. bamboos, ph?nix, and curtains of creepers at the end of the lawn made a wall of verdure, fresh and cool; and through this were wafted the perfumes shed on the air—the scent of roses and verbena, of violet[pg 290] or of rosemary, according to the side whence the wind blew, mingling with that of the amaryllis and honeysuckle in bloom close at hand. and in this quiet garden, far from the bazaar where the darboukhas were twanging, birds sang all night, and the fireflies danced in mazes from flower to flower.
captain mct——'s orderly appeared as soon as we stirred in the morning, shouldering arms—the "arm" an umbrella which the authorities allow as a privilege off duty to the ghoorkhas, men from the high plateaux, who are very sensitive to sunstroke, and who wear only a cap without a pugaree. the umbrella solemnly resting against his right shoulder, this worthy stood at attention, serious and motionless, and very upright—a quaint figure, his age impossible to guess, with his mongolian face, his little slits of eyes, and his figure, in spite of his military squareness, rather too pliant in the yellow khaki uniform.
we visited a temple where the natives treasure the couch of the guru ram-roy, a very holy and much venerated fakir.
every year pilgrims set up the tallest tree from the neighbouring jungle in front of the sanctuary, and twist round it an enormous red flag. the[pg 291] mast now standing was at least a hundred feet high, and held in place by guys attached to banyan trees and houses standing near. close to the ground ties of coloured worsted, the offerings of the faithful, held the crimson hanging to the pole.
the front of the temple is covered with paintings. decorations in the persian style divide the panels, on which are depicted the principal scenes from the sacred books of the brahmins. there are two perfect things to be seen here: two nude female figures standing, one white, the other brown, exquisitely refined in colouring, admirably drawn in a style reminding me of early italian art; and then, just beyond these, tasteless imitations of chromos—goddesses with eyes too large and a simper like the advertisements of tooth-paste, and some horrible caricatures of english ladies in the fashion of ten years ago holding parasols like a nimbus.
and certainly the most comical of all is the representation of a baboo donor, to whom two servants, prostrate before him, are offering a glass of water.
to the right of the forecourt is the high priest's room; lustres, glass shades, gilt chairs, coloured photographs, incongruously surrounding an antique silk carpet, soiled and stained.
[pg 292]
at the end of the court, over which enormous bread-fruit trees cast a cool shade, above some steps and a marble terrace where some musicians were performing, stands the holy spot which we dared not go near. in the dim light we could see a square object, red embroidered in gold—the couch of ram-roy—and hanging to the wall a silver curtain. all this, though perhaps it is but tinsel, looked at a distance and in the shadow like brocade and magnificent jewels. round the main building there are four kiosks dedicated to the guru's four wives.
the guardian fakirs who watch the sacred flag sat under a tree in front of the temple. one of these, quite young, was beautiful beyond words. he had taken a vow always to stand. leaning on a long pole he rocked himself without ceasing; for an instant he allowed his rapt eyes to rest on the bystanders, and then looked up again at the plume of white horse-hair that crowns the flagstaff. his legs were rather wide apart and evidently stiff; he walked without bending his knees, and then as soon as he stood still he rested his chin on his long cane, and swayed his body as before.
a tea plantation—a garden of large shrubs pruned[pg 293] in such a way as to secure the greatest possible growth of young shoots, and above the delicate tea plants a shady hedge of fan palms and taller trees. the leaves are gathered by day, spread in the evening on hurdles and left for the night in open sheds. on the morrow they are first thrown into a sort of bottomless square funnel which revolves on a board; rolled and broken in this machine they are ready for drying. the tea passes through twenty grades of increasing temperature, and in drying it gives out the most delightful aroma—a mixture of sweetbriar, seaweed, and violets, with a scent of tea too. the leaves are finally sifted, which sorts them in four sizes into boxes containing the different qualities.
coolies in white turbans were busy round the machines. they are very skilful, but work with determined slowness as a mute rebellion against the humiliating coercion of obeying a thing of wood and iron, and above all of obeying it without stopping, for the ideal of every hindoo is to do nothing. and this rose to positive martyrdom when, in the absence of our own servants, who were nowhere to be found, one of these craftsmen, a brahmin, strictly forbidden by his religion ever to touch the food of the disbelievers, or even the[pg 294] vessels they use, was obliged to make tea for us. looking utterly miserable, the poor fellow weighed out the leaves, put them into little antique earthenware pots, and poured on the boiling water. a sand-glass marked how long the infusion was to stand. he even brought us some pretty little crackle basins that looked as if they had come out of some old-world convent pharmacy; but the poor man could not bring himself to pour the tea out—he fled.
close to a field that had just been reaped four oxen yoked abreast were threshing out the grain, tramping round and round on a large sheet spread on the ground. the driver chanted a shrill, slow tune; further away women in red were gleaning, and a patriarch contemplated his estate, enthroned on a cart in a halo of sunset gold.
the ghoorkhas, small men and very active, young too, with chinese features, were practising gymnastics. and recruits were being drilled, two of them barefoot, though wearing their gaiters.
firmly erect in military attitudes, they moved like one man. all without exception turn out capital soldiers.
[pg 295]
the drill sergeant shouts the word of command in wonderful english—lept, meaning left.
this native regiment, after many victories, was presented by the empress queen with a sort of mace. a little shrine contains two crossed knives, and is surmounted by three ghoorkhas bearing a royal crown in silver. this object is preserved in a case in the ammunition store. an officer is appointed to guard it, and the soldier who took it out to show me touched it really as if it had been the host. and it is a fact that on high festivals the soldiers come to sacrifice goats before the house where this fetish is treasured.
after dinner, with the dessert, the head orderly of the mess marched in with the decanters. he set them on the table, and then stood immovable at his post behind the colonel's chair, shouldering his gun till everybody had done, when he carried off the bottles with the same air of being on parade.
outside, under a thatched screen, sits the punkah coolie, his legs crossed, the string in his hand; and as soon as everyone goes into the room he wakes up, rocks his body to and fro, his arm out in a fixed position, swaying all of a piece with a mechanical see-saw, utterly stupid. he will go to sleep lulled by his own rocking, and never wake unless the cord breaks, or somebody stops him.
