Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

  The Sati

  A rich baniyā, a corn chandler, whose house was near the gate of our grounds, departed this life; he was an Hindu. On the 7th of November, the natives in the bazaar were making a great noise with their tom toms, drums, and other discordant musical instruments, rejoicing that his widow had determined to perform sati, i.e. to burn on his funeral-pile.

  The magistrate sent for the woman, used every argument to dissuade her, and offered her money. Her only answer was dashing her head on the floor, and saying, ‘If you will not let me burn with my husband, I will hang myself in your court of justice.’ The shāstras say, ‘The prayers and imprecations of a sati are never uttered in vain; the great gods themselves cannot listen to them unmoved.’

  If a widow touch either food or water from the time her husband expires until she ascend the pile, she cannot, by Hindu law, be burned with the body; therefore the magistrate kept the corpse forty-eight hours, in the hope that hunger would compel the woman to eat. Guards were set over her, but she never touched anything. My husband accompanied the magistrate to see the sati: about five thousand people were collected together on the banks of the Ganges: the pile was then built, and the putrid body placed upon it; the magistrate stationed guards to prevent the people from approaching it. After having bathed in the river, the widow lighted a brand, walked round the pile, set it on fire, and then mounted cheerfully: the flame caught and blazed up instantly; she sat down, placing the head of the corpse on her lap, and repeated several times the usual form, ‘Rām, Rām, sati; Rām, Rām, sati;’ i.e. ‘God, God, I am chaste.’

  As the wind drove the fierce fire upon her, she shook her arms and limbs as if in agony; at length she started up and approached the side to escape. An Hindu, one of the police who had been placed near the pile to see she had fair play, and should not be burned by force, raised his sword to strike her, and the poor wretch shrank back into the flames. The magistrate seized and committed him to prison. The woman again approached the side of the blazing pile, sprang fairly out, and ran into the Ganges, which was within a few yards. When the crowd and the brothers of the dead man saw this, they called out, ‘Cut her down, knock her on the head with a bamboo; tie her hands and feet, and throw her in again’ and rushed down to execute their murderous intentions, when the gentlemen and the police drove them back.

  The woman drank some water, and having extinguished the fire on her red garment, said she would mount the pile again and be burned.

  The magistrate placed his hand on her shoulder (which rendered her impure), and said, ‘By your own law, having once quitted the pile you cannot ascend again; I forbid it. You are now an outcast from the Hindus, but I will take charge of you, the Company will protect you, and you shall never want food or clothing.’

  He then sent her, in a palanquin, under a guard, to the hospital. The crowd made way, shrinking from her with signs of horror, but returned peaceably to their homes: the Hindus annoyed at her escape, and the Musulmāns saying, ‘It was better that she should escape, but it was a pity we should have lost the tamāshā (amusement) of seeing her burnt to death.’

  Had not the magistrate and the English gentlemen been present, the Hindus would have cut her down when she attempted to quit the fire; or had she leapt out, would have thrown her in again, and have said, ‘She performed sati of her own accord, how could we make her? It was the will of God.’ As a specimen of their religion the woman said, ‘I have transmigrated six times, and have been burned six times with six different husbands; if I do not burn the seventh time, it will prove unlucky for me!’ ‘What good will burning do you?’ asked a bystander. She replied, ‘The women of my husband’s family have all been satis, why should I bring disgrace upon them? I shall go to heaven, and afterwards reappear on earth, and be married to a very rich man.’ She was about twenty or twenty-five years of age, and possessed of some property, for the sake of which her relatives wished to put her out of the world.

  If every sati were conducted in this way, very few would take place in India. The woman was not much burned, with the exception of some parts on her arms and legs. Had she performed sati, they would have raised a little cenotaph, or a mound of earth by the side of the river, and every Hindu who passed the place returning from bathing would have made salam to it; a high honour to the family. While we were in Calcutta, many satis took place; but as they were generally on the other side of the river, we only heard of them after they had occurred. Here the people passed in procession, flags flying, and drums beating, close by our door. I saw them from the verandah; the widow, dressed in a red garment, was walking in the midst. My servants all ran to me, begging to be allowed to go and see the tamāshā (fun, sport), and having obtained permission, they all started off; except one man, who was pulling the pankhā, and he looked greatly vexed at being obliged to remain. The sāhib said, the woman appeared so perfectly determined, he did not think she would have quitted the fire. Having performed sati according to her own account six times before, one would have thought from her miraculous incombustibility, she had become asbestos, only purified and not consumed by fire. I was glad the poor creature was not murdered, but she will be an outcast. No Hindu will eat with her, enter her house, or give her assistance; and when she appears they will point at her and give her abuse. Her own and her husband’s family would lose caste if they were to speak to her: but, as an example, it will prevent a number of women from becoming satis, and do infinite good: fortunately, she has no children. And these are the people called in Europe the ‘mild inoffensive Hindus!’

  The woman was mistress of a good house and about Rs 800; the brothers of her deceased husband would, after her destruction, have inherited the property.

  The burning of the widow is not commanded by the shāstra: to perform sati is a proof of devotion to the husband. The mountain Himalaya, being personified, is represented as a powerful monarch: his wife, Mena; their daughter is called Parvatī, or mountain-born, and Doorga, or difficult of access. She is said to have been married to Shiva in a pre-existing state when she was called Sati. After the marriage, Shiva on a certain occasion offended his father-in-law, King Dukshu, by refusing to make salam to him as he entered the circle in which the king was sitting.

  To be revenged, the monarch refused to invite Shiva to a sacrifice which he was about to perform. Sati, the king’s daughter, however, was resolved to go, though uninvited and forbidden by her husband. On her arrival, Dukshu poured a torrent of abuse on Shiva, which affected Sati so much that she died.

  In memory of this proof of great affection, a Hindu widow burning with her husband on the funeral-pile, is called a sati.

  [ … ]

  The sati took place on the banks of the Ganges, under the Bund between the Fort and Raj Ghāt, a spot reckoned very holy and fortunate for the performance of the rite.

  Several of our friends requested me, in case another sati occurred, to send them timely notice. Five days afterwards, I was informed that a rānee (Hindu queen or princess) was to be burned. Accordingly I sent word to all my friends. Eight thousand people were assembled on the sati-mound, who waited from midday to sunset: then a cry arose – ‘The memsāhib sent us here! The memsāhib said it was to take place today! See, the sun has set, there can now be no sati!’ The people dispersed. My informant told me what he himself believed, and I mystified some eight thousand people most unintentionally.

  Temple of Bhawāni and satis, Alopee Bagh

  In Alopee Bagh, in the centre of a large plantation of mango trees, is a small temple dedicated to Bhawāni; there is no image in it, merely a raised altar, on which victims were, I suppose, formerly sacrificed. Each of the small buildings on the right contains the ashes of a sati; there are seven sati-graves of masonry on this, and six of earth on the other side, near the temple, in the mango tope. The largest sati-tomb contains the ashes of a woman who was burnt in 1825, i.e. six years ago. The ashes are always buried near a temple sacred to Bhawāni, and never by any other. Families too poor to raise a tomb
of masonry in memory of the burnt-sacrifice are contented to raise a mound of earth, and place a kulsa of red earthenware to mark the spot.

  The temple of Bhawāni is shaded by a most beautiful peepal tree, from the centre of which a fakīr’s flag was flying; it stands in a plantation of mango trees. I desired an Hindu, who was present when I sketched the temple, to count the sati graves around it. As he counted them, he repeatedly made salam to each mound.

  [ … ]

  November – My beautiful Arab, Mootee, after taking a most marvellous quantity of blue vitriol and opium, has recovered, but will be unfit for my riding; the sinews of his foreleg are injured; besides which he is rather too playful; he knocked down his sā’is yesterday, tore his clothes to pieces, bit two bits of flesh out of his back, and would perhaps have killed him, had not the people in the bazaar interfered and rescued the man. It was an odd freak, he is such a sweet tempered animal, and I never knew him behave incorrectly before.

  We spent the month of December, our hunting season, at Papamhow, and purchased several couple of the Berkeley hounds, from the Calcutta kennel, for the pack at Allahabad. I received a present of an excellent little black horse with a long tail and, mounted on him, used to go out every day after the jackals and foxes. I am rich in riding-horses, and the dark brown stud-Arab Trelawny bids fair to rival Mootee in my affections. Returning from chasing a jackal one evening it was very dark, and as Captain A. S— was cantering his Arab across the parade-ground, the animal put his foot into a deep hole, and fell; our friend thought nothing of it, and refused to be bled; a few days afterwards the regiment quitted Allahabad, and he died the second day, on the march to Benares. He was an ill-fated animal, that little horse of his: they called him an Arab pony, but no good caste animal would have been so vicious; he had one fault, a trick of biting at the foot of his rider – he bit off the toe of his former master, mortification ensued, and the man died. I often wished to mount him, but they would never allow me: the creature was very handsome, and remarkably well formed. Doubtless a native would have found unlucky marks upon him – at that time I was ignorant respecting samāt, or unlucky marks on horses.

  CHAPTER XI

  RESIDENCE AT PRĀG

  I KEEP WRITING ON UPON THE PRINCIPLE OF A GOOD ECONOMIST, THAT IT IS A PITY SO MUCH PAPER SHOULD BE LOST, WHICH, LIKE THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN IN THE SONG, ‘HAS A LONG WAY TO GO’

  WHAT RELIANCE IS THERE IN LIFE

  HE WHO HAS ILL-LUCK FOR HIS COMPANION WILL BE BITTEN BY A DOG ALTHOUGH MOUNTED ON A CAMEL

  JANUARY 1829 – In the beginning of this month, having promised to meet Captain A. S— at the races at Ghazipur, we started by land, having sent tents and provisions by water to await our arrival. A violent headache preventing me from mounting my horse, I proceeded in a pālkee much against medical advice, and slept halfway to Benares in our tents.

  Rising late the next day, we had a hot ride before reaching the Stanhope, where we learnt that our pitaras had been stolen. My husband rode forward in pursuit of the thieves, leaving me seated by the side of the road; the sun becoming very hot, I got into the buggy overcome from my recent illness, the sā’is holding the horse. I was startled from a doze by the sound of the bells of a native cart passing with flags flying; the horse alarmed sprang from the sā’is’s hands, pulling away the reins, which fell to the ground; away galloped the horse, a strong animal fifteen hands high; he looked down the steep ditch on one side the raised road, turned round, looked over the ditch on the other side, made one more sudden turn in alarm, and upset the buggy. I was thrown head foremost through the opening in the back, my limbs remaining under the buggy-hood, which was broken to pieces; the horse fairly kicked himself out of the shafts, and galloped off; I was glad when I found he was free, and knew he could not break my legs, which were still under the hood: at length I dragged them out, with my long habit-skirt, and made an attempt to go after the horse, but was obliged to sit down – blue and yellow suns, stars, and bright objects floated before my eyes – I was unable to stand: my dressing-case having been thrown out of the buggy, I drank some sal volatile, which took off the giddiness. My husband returned at this moment, and an officer from some tents near at hand came to our assistance. The Stanhope was carried forward by coolies; we had a Calcutta buggy also with us, in which we proceeded. The road was covered with the finest sand, rendering it impossible to see the deep holes in every direction. The horse, a powerful English imported creature, was going very fast, when he put both his fore feet into a deep hole, and came down; the high Calcutta buggy swung forwards with such force I was pitched out over the wheel on my head, and remained insensible for a few seconds. My husband was not thrown out. He was unable to leave the frightened horse; it was a relief when he heard a voice from the dust, saying, ‘I am not hurt;’ a voice he feared he should never hear again. The bruises I had before received, united with this blow on my head, which cut through my riding hat, made me very nervous; and when at the last stage we had to drive a runaway mare, laid for us by a friend, I really sat in fear and trembling. At last we arrived at Benares. I was carried upstairs to bed, my limbs being stiff and painful. For ten days I could scarcely move, so much was my body bruised by the iron rail and hood of the buggy and my right arm was greatly swollen.

  My recovery was brought about by having four women to shampoo me for five hours daily, and by going into a vapour-bath belonging to the Rajah of Benares. In the bath the women shampooed, and twisted, and pinched my limbs, until I could walk without assistance – that vapour bath was a great relief.

  One morning the rajah sent me a bouquet of flowers, they were beautifully made of ubruk (talc, mica) and coloured wax, the first I had seen well executed.

  My husband at the billiard-table, said: ‘I am uncertain respecting that stroke, I wish A. S— was here.’ ‘Do you not know he is dead?’ said his opponent, ‘he died in consequence of his fall with that Arab pony at Papamhow.’ We were greatly shocked.

  January 29th – We quitted our kind friends at Benares to return home: ill-luck pursued us – the first stage the horse fell lame and we reached our tent with difficulty. During the night a heavy storm came on; the tent being old was soon saturated, and the water poured in on our chārpāīs. The horses picketed outside were drenched, they neighed and shook their chains; the sā’ises crept under the corners of the rāwtī, and we had the floorcloth put over us, to protect us from the rain and cold.

  The next day we galloped to our second tent, which we found soaked through from the rain of the night. There was the tent, and nothing else. One of the camels having fallen lame, the servants had made it a pretext for not continuing their march, and we were planté in the jungle without food, bedding, or warm clothing! A camel driver caught a chicken, and drawing out a long queer crooked blade, killed it and dressed an excellent curry in a few minutes; having had no food all day, and much exercise, we devoured it to the last grain of rice. I thought of the saying, ‘If you ask a hungry man how much two and two make – he answers, “Four loaves”.’ The night was miserable, the wind blowing through the wet canvass; we could not even borrow a blanket from the horses, everything was drenched. A pukka ague and fever was the consequence, which lasted seven or eight days, and returned regularly once every four weeks for three months.

  Nor did our misfortunes end here. Much to the surprise of my husband his Arab, Rajah, whom he had had for seven years, threw him over his right shoulder. Rajah was particularly pleased; for having looked at him, he cocked his tail and went off at his best pace towards home. Monsieur was not hurt, and received only a few bruises for his carelessness which, considering he now weighs fourteen stone, shows that like Caesar he has much respect for his person and can fall in proper form.

  Another malheur! A box from England on its way up the river was stolen at Patna; it contained letters and presents for me, amongst the rest a veritable tête montée à la Giraffe, a serious loss, qui pourrait bien faire monter la tête – but I bear the misfortune bravely.
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br />   The arrival of a friend from England has pleased us greatly. What pleasure reminiscences Etonian and Harrovian give him and the sāhib! '‘Economy, esperanza, and 1833,’ is our motto. ‘In five years,’ says an old Harrovian, ‘we may hear the bell and going up – sounds worth listening to.’

  Cicer arietinum (chick pea), is called arietinum because the young seed bears a very curious resemblance to a ram's horn. The crops being favourable this year, this chick pea (chāna or gram) was sold in the city one mun twenty-two ser per rupee; and in the district, one mun thirty-five ser for the same.

  March 8th – At this time my husband was attacked with ague and fever, the consequence of our expedition to Benares.

  There is a rumour of a central government being established, the location to be hereabouts, so that Allahabad may again become a city of repute.

  We have had much annoyance of late from the servants stealing all sorts of little things, as also wine. Two of the khidmatgārs were the culprits: one has been retained, and put in irons to work on the road; we could not punish the other, but it was a pleasure to get him out of the house. In India, amongst so many servants, it is very difficult to discover the thief:

  May 31st – How I rejoice this month is over! – this vile month! It appears almost wicked to abuse the merry merry month of May, so delightful at home, but so hot in India. Mr M— started from Calcutta to come up dāk on the 7th instant, and died in his pālkee of brain-fever only three days afterwards, in consequence of the intense heat! We spare no expense to keep the house cool, and have fourteen men whose sole business night and day is to throw water on tattīs to cool the rooms; unless the wind blows, the tattīs are useless. The heat makes you as sick as if you were to shut your head up in an oven.