by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XX
A JUVENILE WEDDING AND HINDU THEATRICALS
The note to Lord Tremlyn enclosed sixteen cards printed in gold letters,one for each member of the company, and they were passed around to them.They were to the effect that Perbut Lalleejee would celebrate the marriageof his son that evening, and the favor of the recipient's attendance wasrequested to a Grand Nautch at nine o'clock. The gentleman who sent outthese cards was one of the wealthiest of the Parsee community, with whomthe viscount was intimately acquainted, and he strongly recommended theAmericans to attend.
The Parsees kept their religious affairs to themselves, and the party werenot to "assist" at the ceremony, which would have been an extra inducementto attend. Promptly at the hour named the carriages set the tourists andtheir volunteer guides down at the magnificent mansion of the father of theyoung man who was to enter the marriage state that evening.
The street in the vicinity of the house was brilliantly illuminated, and itwas covered over with an awning, from which no end of ornamental lamps weresuspended. Behind a mass of flowers--cartloads of them--a foreign orchestrawas placed. As the carriages stopped at the door, the band began a militarymarch, whose inspiring strains seemed to give an additional lustre to theelaborate decorations. It was easy for the guests to believe that they hadbeen introduced into the midst of a fairy scene. Sahib Perbut appeared atthe door as soon as the vehicles stopped, and took his lordship by thehand, and each of the guests were presented to him as they alighted. Thehost was not an old man, as the strangers expected to find him, since hehad a son who was old enough to get married.
He was very richly dressed, and he was a gentleman of unbounded suavity.Taking Mrs. Belgrave by the hand, he conducted her into the house, the restof the party forming a procession behind them. The Americans had beenobliged to make a trip to the Guardian-Mother, to obtain garments suitablefor such a "swell" occasion, and they were all dressed in their Sundayclothes.
If the exterior of the splendid mansion had challenged the admiration ofthe guests, the interior presented a scene of Oriental magnificence whichmight have astonished even the Count of Monte Cristo. The party wereconducted to the grand and lofty apartment where the Nautch was to begiven. Immense mirrors reflected the brilliancy of a thousand lights; thefloor was covered with the richest of carpets, the luxurious divans andsofas were overspread with the cloths of Cashmere; the elaborate richnessof the costumes of the Oriental guests, and the army of servantsmanipulating _punkas_, or fans, formed a scene not unlike, while itout-rivalled, the grand _denoument_ of a fairy spectacle on the stage.
The procession of foreign guests were all seated in the most conspicuousdivans; for if Lord Tremlyn had been the Prince of Wales, he and hisfriends could hardly have been treated with greater distinction, as he wasthe unofficial representative of the predominating influence in the affairsof India near the throne of the United Kingdom and the Empire. The partywere immediately beset with servants offering them fruit and sherbets, andthey were sprinkled with rose-water from silver flagons.
The Nautch girls were not the same the tourists had seen earlier in theday. There were more of them, and they were of a finer grain; in fact, thegentlemen, who were judges, declared that most of them were really pretty.They were seated on the floor in native fashion. They had great black eyes;their complexion was only the least tawny, and was paler than it would havebeen if they had lived on a more invigorating diet than rice and fruits.
There were half a dozen musicians, who played upon tom-toms, instrumentslike a fiddle, and one that was very nearly a hurdy-gurdy, with lutes andflutes. They gave the preliminary strains, and the dancers formed thesemicircle. The performance was similar to that the party had seen at thehotel, though it was more finished, and the attitudes and posturingappeared to belong to a higher school of art than the other. But the wholewas so nearly like what the strangers had seen before, that they were notabsorbed by it, and gave more attention to the people attending the feast;for they were an exceedingly interesting study to them.
After the performance had continued about a quarter of an hour there was apause, and the dancers retreated to a corner of the room, seatingthemselves again on the floor. At this moment Sahib Perbut came into thegrand saloon leading a boy, who did not appear to be more than ten yearsold, by the hand. He was dressed in the most richly ornamented garments,and he was an exceedingly pretty little fellow. He was conducted to theviscount.
"Will your Lordship permit me to present to you and your friends my sonDinshaw, in whose honor I am making this feast? This is Lord Tremlyn, myson," said the father, who was evidently very proud of the boy.
"Sahib Dinshaw, I am very happy to make your acquaintance," replied hislordship, as he rose and took the hand of the young gentleman, whom heintroduced to every member of his party.
They all followed the example of the viscount, and addressed him as "SahibDinshaw," the title being equivalent to "Lord," or "Master," applied by thenatives to their employers, and to the English generally. All of them gazedat him with intense interest, not unmingled with admiration. The hero ofthe occasion spoke English as fluently as his father.
"How old are you, Sahib Dinshaw?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, who was stronglytempted to kiss the little fellow; but she was afraid it would not be inorder, and she refrained.
"I am ten years old, madam," replied Dinshaw, with the sweetest of smiles.
"And you have been married this evening, sahib?" continued the lady.
"I should not ask him any questions in that direction," interposed SirModava, afraid she would meddle with an interdicted subject; and the younggentleman's father seemed to have a similar fear, for he gently led himaway.
He was introduced to the members of the "Big Four," who could hardly keeptheir faces at the proper length after hearing what passed between theyouthful sahib and Mrs. Belgrave, at the idea of a ten-year-old bridegroom.
"Is it possible that this little fellow is married, Sir Modava?" exclaimedthe principal lady from Von Blonk Park.
"There can be no doubt of it," replied the Hindu gentleman. "But it ishardly in the same sense that marriage takes place in England and America.The bride will be received into this Parsee family, and the groom willremain here; but everything in the domestic circle will continue verynearly as it was before, and husband and wife will pursue their studies."
"It looks very strange to us," added the lady.
"It is the custom of the country. The British government does not interfereunnecessarily with matters interwoven into the religion and habits of thepeople, though it has greatly modified the manners of the natives, andabolished some barbarous customs. The 'suttee,' as the English called theSanscrit word _sati_ meaning 'a virtuous wife,' was a Hinduinstitution which required that a faithful wife should burn herself on thefuneral pyre with the body of her deceased husband; or if he died at adistance from his home, that she should sacrifice herself on one of herown."
"How horrible! I have read of it, but hardly believed it," added the lady;and others who were listening expressed the same feeling.
"It was a custom in India before the time of Christ. Some of your AmericanIndians bury the weapons of the dead chief, food, and other articles withhim, as has been the custom of other nations, in the belief that they willneed these provisions in the 'happy hunting-ground.' The Hindus believedthat the dead husband would need his wife on the other shore; and this isthe meaning of the custom."
"It is not wholly a senseless custom," said Mrs. Woolridge, "barbarous asit seems."
"In 1828, or a little later, Lord William Cavendish, then Governor-Generalof Bengal, determined to abolish the custom, though he encountered thefiercest opposition from the natives, and even from many Europeans, whodreaded the effect of his action. He carried a law through the council,making it punishable homicide, or manslaughter, to burn a widow. In 1823there were five hundred and seventy-five of them burned in the BengalPresidency; but after the enactmen
t of the law, the number began todecrease. The treaties with the Indian princes contained a clauseforbidding it. The custom is really discontinued, though an occasionalinstance of it comes to light."
The dancing had been renewed, and this conversation continued till later.At this wedding Lord Tremlyn met a gentleman whom he introduced to some ofhis party as Sahib Govind. This gentleman had just invited him to visit atheatrical performance at a private house, such as a European can veryrarely witness.
"I never went to a theatre in my life!" protested Mrs. Belgrave.
"But this is a representation in connection with the religious traditionsof the Hindus," argued his lordship.
It was decided to go, the scruples of the Methodists being overcome by thefact that it was a religious occasion, and not at all like the stageperformances of New York. The carriages conveyed them to the houseindicated by Sahib Govind, and they were conducted to a hall, at one end ofwhich was a stage, with a thin calico curtain in front of it. Theperformance was just beginning.
A Brahmin came out in front of the curtain, with some musicians, and set upan image of Ganesa, the god of wisdom; then he prayed this idol toenlighten the minds of the actors, and enable them to perform their partswell, which was certainly very untheatrical, the Americans thought, whenSir Modava had translated the substance of the invocation. The Brahmin thenannounced that the subject of the play was the loves of the god Krishna.
"Who is the hero of the piece, Sir Modava?" asked Mr. Woolridge, who was atheatre-goer at home.
"He is really Vishnu, one of the Hindu trinity, known as the preserver.Vishnu has a considerable number of forms, or incarnations, one of which isKrishna, the most human of them all."
The curtain rose, and cut short the explanation. The scene, painted oncanvas, was an Indian temple. A figure with an enormous wig, his half-nakedbody daubed all over with yellow paint, was seated before it, abstracted inthe deepest meditation. The interpreter told them it was Rishi, asupernatural power, a genius who is a protector to those who need hisservices. Then a crowd of gods and goddesses rushed on the stage, and eachof them made a long speech to the devotee-god, which Sir Modava had nottime to render into English, even with the aid of Sahib Govind.
The actors were fantastically dressed. One had an elephant's head, and allof them wore high gilt mitres. Krishna enters, and the other divinitiesmake their exit. He is a nice-looking young man, painted blue, and dressedlike a king. His wife enters, and throws herself at his feet. Then shereproaches him for forsaking her, in a soft and musical voice, her eyesraining tears all the time. She embraces his knees.
Then appears the rival in her affections with Krishna, Rukmini, animperious woman, and tells by what artifices she has conquered the weakhusband. Then follows a spirited dialogue between the two women. The rivalboasts of her descent from Vishnu, and of her beauty and animation, andreproaches Krishna with his unworthy love. Sir Modava wrote this down inhis memorandum book, and handed it to the Americans.
Satyavama, the wife, insists that her only crime was her love for herdivine husband. She narrates her early history, when she was a peasant girlon the banks of the Jumna, with her companions, and drew upon herself theattention of the god. Her life had been simple, and she had always been afaithful wife. Yet Rukmini triumphs over her. Her pride is aroused; sherushes off, and returns with her little son.
"Kill us both, since we cannot live without your love!" the interpretersrendered her piteous cry. The rival ridicules her, and, urged on by her,Krishna hands her a cup of poison, which she drinks, and sinks to theground.
"It is not the poison that rends me; it is that my heart is broken by theingratitude of one I have so dearly loved." She forgives him, and dies.
But not thus does the Indian love-story end; for the genie enters, and inthundering tones calls Krishna to an account for his deeds. The festive godis tortured with remorse, but has no excuse to offer. He drives Rukminifrom him, and implores the yellow-painted god for forgiveness; and, as heis the preserver, it is granted. Satyavama is brought back to life. Shepresents her son to her husband, who holds out his arms to embrace him; andthe curtain drops in a blaze of Bengal lights, and the "Wah! Wahs!" of theHindu audience.
The interpreters finished their explanations, and the company retired withthe salaams of the crowd. It was very late when they retired to rest thatnight.