Beast and Man in India Part 13

This canine immigration has been going on for a long time. Sir Thomas Roe brought a present of British mastiffs to the Great Mogul,--the Emperor Jehanghir. One jumped overboard to attack the porpoises diving near the little ship; another on the way up-country seized an elephant. These little traits of pugnacity endeared them to the Emperor, who provided them with servants, carriages, and palkis in which to take the air, and had silver dishes and tongs made in order that he might feed them with his own royal hands. Probably they were fed to death, but haply some of their descendants are now slinking round the slums of Delhi or Agra trailing nerveless tails in the hot dust and yapping at the travelling Briton as a foreign intruder.

The English dog has come to stand as a high-caste animal of respectable birth. Our domestic life is jealously shut off by the people from contact with their own, but the inmates of the prison-house have learned that the dog is a valuable domestic friend. Native ladies see that European animals are unlike the unclean creatures of the street, and are anxious to adopt them. Already English names are naturalised and Persianised after the liquid Oriental manner. The _punyar_ is the spaniel, which used to be thought most highly of, probably from its silky unlikeness to the pariah, but its coat is too heavy for the climate. The bull-dog, vulgarly spoken of as the _guldank_, is highly prized as a watch-dog, while its fighting instincts commend it to the increasing cla.s.s which takes delight in sport.

A dog of an English breed sometimes receives an English name from its native master, as Eespot for "Spot." A servant of ours once contributed to a family debate on the name to be given to a puppy the remark that f.a.n.n.y (both vowels very long) was the best possible name for a dog. "Bully" is a favourite Indo-Anglian dog-name.

In recent years the clever and amiable fox-terrier, who withstands the great heat of the plains better than any other breed, has come to the front and promises to be the dog of the Indian future. The pariah, like the sound patriot he is, appears to know this, and waylays the English animal as bands of street-boys in the West waylay a strayed public-school boy. A new science, the care and lore of dogs, picked up by menial servants from their English masters, is being formed and spreads upwards among the people.

So, though we may pa.s.s away and be forgotten, the dogs we loved will remain as permanent colonists. But it appears to be a fact that the creole dog, born in India of imported parents, develops some of the characteristics of the indigenous animal. His head, especially his nose, grows longer and narrower, he loses substance in the neck, chest, and loins; he stands on higher legs and wags a longer tail than his British-born parents. The climate exerts a deteriorating influence on his moral qualities, and he loses some of the courage, temper, and fine spirits which are the birthright of a good dog in the West.

It is to an influence of this nature, rather than to any reasoning or religious prescription, that we may look for the growth of a humane appreciation of animals in general. There can be no doubt that the English people are more indebted to the humble and sympathetic tutorship of the dog than they are aware of, for such pre-eminence in a recognition of the rights of animals as distinguishes them. You may quote in opposition to the canons, which of set purpose have thrust the a.s.s and the dog beyond the pale of mercy, that wise word of Jeremy Bentham, who said, "The question is not,--can animals speak or reason, but can they suffer?" But the companionship of a good dog will teach more effectively than the words of any philosopher. Nor is the lesson uncongenial to the Indian people, although for many generations they have allowed a practice of neglect and indifference and a mult.i.tude of superst.i.tious beliefs to obscure the real kindliness of their nature.

It is a good omen when a fox shows his face, so a sympathetic saying runs, "The fox gives luck to everybody, but himself is thinking of the dogs all the time." A sly fellow is called a fox in India as elsewhere, and the animal plays a part in some stories. But the jackal is the true Mr. Reynard of Eastern folk tales, the great original of the best of our fox stories;--sweet-toothed, mischievous, lurking; and as full of resource as Brer' Rabbit.

The jackal's night-cry,--the wild chorus with which the band begins its hungry prowl, is of evil omen, which is wonderful, seeing that in nearly every town and village of the vast continent it is heard about the same hour of the evening; but it is believed that when the cry is raised near the house of a sick person, it is a sure presage of death, and that jackals scent coming dissolution, much as sharks are said by sailors to scent death on a ship. There are endless stories in favour of this belief.

The jackal's chorus is so sudden and shrill a clamour, so importunate and ear-filling, that one daily marvels at its equally sudden cessation. The air ought to go on vibrating with these fearsome yells, but it abruptly shuts down on them, still as a sleeping pond. And you resume your talk or work, but the creature with that one imprecation has sworn himself to hours of silence. Thereafter he goes dumbly to a night of hungry and often ghoulish research, for his sanscrit-born name is "greedy." But when going on a morning journey, the distant cry of one jackal (besides being rare) is lucky, as says a North-West Provinces rhyme, translated by Mr. Crooke in his valuable _Agricultural Glossary_: "A donkey on the left, a jay (the roller is meant) on the right, and a jackal howling in the distance--all omens of wealth and happiness. Go, and bring home four bags of gold." A jackal crossing the road to the left is lucky, to the right, unlucky.

Very many stories of the jackal are to be found in old books and folk-lore, but in the talk of to-day he scarcely takes the high place to which his cla.s.sic reputation ent.i.tles him, being used as much as an object of derision as a model of cleverness. Most modern native humour, however, takes the form of irony. His talents are acknowledged in a saying which cla.s.ses him with that busy and important person, the barber: "The jackal is the sharpest among beasts, the crow among birds, and the barber among men."

The barber of India is, in fact, a clever Figaro; news-bearer, matrimonial agent, surgeon, and busybody in general. The painted jackal who 'fell into the dyers' vat and set up as king on the strength of his fine colour, has strayed from the Panchatantra into modern life, and you may hear of "painted jackals" being elected to the honours of a munic.i.p.al "Kemety"

(committee). "The jackal fell into a well,--I think I will rest here to-day, said he"--is a charming way to express the making the best of a downright bad job. "The jackal born in August says of the September flood, I never saw so much water in all my life," is a popular snub for youthful conceit. So also is, "The horse and the elephant are swept away, and the jackal asks--Is it deep?" "The jackal fell into the river and cried, The deluge has come and all the world is drowning!" recalls the American "Thinks the bottom has tumbled out of the universe because his own tin-pot leaks," or the drunken English skipper, who, when fished out of London dock, went dripping to the cuddy and gravely wrote in his log-book, "This night the ship went down, and all hands were drowned but me." He is supposed to be the friend and guide of the tiger, so the hangers-on of powerful persons are known as jackals. Boy and jackal have the same name in the North-West Provinces, and neither has much right to complain. "The jackal slips away and your stick jars on the ground," is a saying of obvious meaning.

Not that a stick would be of much avail against a jackal, for they say, no matter how savagely he may be beaten, he will pick his sore body up when left to die, and slink away to resume a life of crime. I once saw a large Irish retriever do all he knew to kill a jackal, and at last, in despair of the efficacy of his teeth, he dragged him at a hint from his master to a pond and drowned him fit for any coroner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN FLOODTIME]

The jackal afflicted with rabies is a deadly creature, and more common than one likes to think.

Menu, the wise Hindu law-giver, was consistently brutal to women, and after cla.s.sing wives as "marital property" with cows, mares, she-camels, slave-girls, she-goats, and ewes, he says the wife who violates her duty to her husband is disgraced in this world, and after death she enters into the womb of a jackal and is tormented by diseases! There is a hateful monotony in the abuse bestowed on women. Nowadays no one greatly cares for Menu, but in the East, as in the West, the baser sort habitually call their women folk by the name of the female dog.

India is probably the cradle of wolf-child stories, which are here universally believed and supported by a cloud of testimony, including in the famous Lucknow case of a wolf boy the evidence of European witnesses.

And there are many who firmly believe in the power of magicians to transform themselves into wolves at will. But though the wolf is probably the parent of all dogs, he is, as a wild beast, beyond the narrow scope of this sketch.

CHAPTER XII

OF CATS

"If you want to know what a tiger is like, look at a cat; if you want to know what a thug is like, look at a butcher," is a common Hindu saying, but only half of it is quite true. The thug is, or let us hope, was, capable of many disguises, and his favourite semblance was that of the Brahman and the religious mendicant. Victor Hugo has expressed the tigerishness of the cat in his own swaggering fashion: "_Dieu a fait le chat pour donner a l'homme le plaisir de caresser le tigre_." There are not many Indian sayings about cats in men's talk, but probably sensitive women have more than we know of.

Cats are not so much petted here as in England, and have a stronger tendency to run wild. Generations of devoted cat-lovers in Europe have not been able to quite overcome this tendency, and many a gamekeeper can tell you of cats which during the day are models of saintly propriety, and at night are "just prowling tigers." No creature is more independent than the cat. Its more complete domestication in the West is in reality merely due to its love of warmth. For the sake of comfort it will tolerate humanity and blink amiably at the fireside, but a serene selfishness is the basis of cat character. The Indian domestic cat is not bound to the family circle by the need of warmth; there is no fireside to speak of, and it lives its own life.

Nor are household breakages attributed so freely to the cat, because there are so few things to break in an Indian household, and the customs of the country do not include pantries and the storing of flesh food. It is sometimes, however, slung in a net, so they say of a windfall, "Cat's in luck, the net broke!" Care does not kill the Eastern cat, nor has she nine lives nor nine tails, but she is used in a frequently-quoted saying about doubtful matters. "If the Punchayet (village council) says it's a cat, why, cat it is." This saying _may_ be built on a story, but it is certain that a little story is built on the saying. A grocer one night heard sounds in his shop, and, venturing into the dark, he laid hold of a thief. The marauder mewed like a cat, hoping the grocer would let go. But the grocer only gripped tighter, saying, "All right, my friend; if the Punchayet in the morning says you're a cat, you shall be a cat and go; but meanwhile I'll lock you up."

A proverb about setting a cat to watch uncovered milk pans shows the Indian cat to be as fond of milk as the English. "I wasn't so angry at the cat stealing the b.u.t.ter, as at her wagging her tail," is a saying of obvious application. Of the great Sepoy mutiny they say, "The cat (the English) taught the tiger (the Sepoy), till he came to eat her." Of a hypocrite: "The cat, with mouse tails still hanging out of her mouth, says--Now I feel good, I will go on a pilgrimage to Mecca." The Indian cat _miyaus_, which is better by a syllable than the English _mew_; so they say to child or servant: "What! my own cat, and _miyau_ at me!" "The cat does not catch mice for G.o.d" has obvious applications.

An odd bit of observation, acknowledging in a mistaken fashion the exquisite nervous sensibility of the cat, is shown in, "When the cat is ashamed, it scratches the wall." The idea is that when a cat is noticed it becomes afflicted with self-consciousness, and "to make itself a countenance," as the French say, it scratches the wall. But cats scratch the wall to keep their claws in order, just as tigers and leopards do. I venture to see in the saying an evidence of the Oriental dislike of the mood of embarra.s.sment or shyness. A well-brought-up Oriental is remarkable, as a rule, for his want of _mauvaise honte_. Quite small boys are calm and self-possessed, with full control over eyes, fingers, and limbs, in situations where English children would be writhing in nervous embarra.s.sment. In Capt. R. C. Temple's edition of Fallon's _Hindustani Proverbs_ it is an angry cat that scratches the wall in impotent rage. I have heard it "ashamed" as above. The scratching, moreover, is a tranquil performance, usually ensuing after a yawn and stretch, and in nowise suggests rage. Probably both versions are current. "Even a cat is a lion in her own lair," is a saying used when mild people flare up in self-defence.

The cat seems to have no particular walk in Hindu mythology, nor are there many folk tales like our Whittington, and Puss in Boots. The jungle wild-cat is a poor relation of the domestic p.u.s.s.y, and poor relations are apt to compromise the most respectable people and prevent them taking their proper place in society. The Persian cat is prized as a family pet, and numbers are brought down from Kabul by the Povindahs, a tribe of Afghan dealers who bring camel caravans with various kinds of produce into the Punjab every winter.

Cats are frequently kept in the courts and purlieus of Muhammadan mosques which serve as rest-houses for religious persons. If you make friends with a mosque cat and talk with the Mutwalli or sacristan, its owner, you will probably hear of Ab Harera (father of cats), one of the friends of Muhammad, who had as great a fondness for cats as Theophile Gautier, and with whom the Prophet conversed on the subject, saying,--"I love all who are good to cats for your sake." Though this is a merely popular legend, sanctioned by no authoritative tradition or _hadis_, it seems to have secured good treatment for the cat at the hands of most Indian Muhammadans.

From Cairo, when the annual procession of the Kiswa goes to Mecca, cats are always sent on the camels; formerly they were accompanied by an old woman known as the Mother of the Cats, and it has been suggested that this may be a survival of the ancient Egyptian reverence for cats which has so often made readers of Herodotus smile. But the legend of Ab Harera shows that we need not look so far back for an explanation of the honour in which Puss is held. The sympathy of the Prophet with his friend's predilection seems to be confirmed by the pretty story of his cutting off the skirt of his coat rather than disturb the sleeping cat, his pet.

I told that story once to a Kashmiri Muhammadan, when urging on him the advantages of treating animals kindly, and was answered as prosy preachers deserve to be. "Yes," said my friend, the leader of a gang of _kahars_ or porters, "the sahib spoke the words of truth, it is wrong to ill-use creatures whom G.o.d has made. Once before it was my fortune to listen to similar talk from a sahib who also knew of the Prophet. That sahib was a model of virtue, he also would not allow mules or ponies to be beaten, and his regard for men was such, that he insisted on paying them double the usual daily rate, while to me,--such was the virtue of that sahib,--he gave a handsome present." This little speech was beautifully delivered, but it ought to be Englished in the Irish tongue to give it due effect.

A sneering saying is, "In a learned house even the cat is learned." A sly man is said to look like a drowned cat; a live cat is said to be better than a dead tiger, as a living dog is better than a dead lion; a stealthy tread is, of course, catlike; and it is easy to imagine occasions when one might say of a human creature, "The cowed cat allows even a mouse to bite its ears." In nature a cowed cat is as rare as a silent woman, but a proverb has not necessarily much concern with nature. We say, "Even a worm will turn." In India the cat is considered so gentle, they say, "Even a cat, hard pressed, will make a fight for it." To an idle girl a mother will say, "Did the cat sneeze, or what?" (that you drop your work). To her child, too, the mother will point the cat cleaning her face and fur as an example of cleanliness, saying the cat is a Brahmani, nice and clean.

In Kashmir they say, "If cats had wings, there would be no ducks on the lake." Cats are credited with an occult sympathy with the moon, on account of their contracting eyes and nocturnal habits. You may hear cats spoken of with mistrust for this peculiarity, for natives dislike being abroad at night. They take lanterns, go in companies, and sing to keep their courage up; but they hate and fear the dark, thickly peopled with ghosts, demons, and imaginary evil folk of flesh and blood. So we need not see in the ascription of the cat to the moon an echo of its ancient Egyptian dedication. A cat's moon is a Kashmiri expression for a sleepless night.

Old-fashioned English rustics talk of a man "as lazy as Ludlam's dog that leaned his head against the wall to bark." In Kashmir, says the Rev. J. H.

Knowles, they speak of Khokhai Mir's idle cat that scratched the ground on seeing a mouse, as who should say, "You may catch it, master, if you like."

The sensitiveness of the cat's eye is noticed, but they do not pretend, like the Chinese, to tell the time by looking at its pupil.

Among a vast number of omens the cat takes a place. A cat crossing the path of a native going out on business would turn him back at once, for it is most unlucky. Orientals are terribly superst.i.tious. Yes, but here is a verse by an English poet,[4] writing from first-hand knowledge of hard-headed Whitby fisher folk,--

"I'm no way superst.i.tious as the parson called our Mat, When he'd none sail with the herring fleet, 'cause he met old Susie's cat.

There's none can say I heeded, though a hare has crossed my road, Nor burnt the nets as venomed, where a woman's foot had trode."

[Footnote 4: _On the Seaboard and other Poems_, by Susan K. Phillips.]

CHAPTER XIII

OF ANIMAL CALLS

"The beasts are very wise, Their mouths are clean of lies; They talk one to the other, Bullock to bullock's brother, Resting after their labours, Each in stall with his neighbours.

But man with goad and whip, Breaks up their fellowship, Shouts in their silky ears Filling their souls with fears.

When he has tilled the land He says,--'They understand.'

But the beasts in stall together, Freed from yoke and tether, Say, as the torn flanks smoke, 'Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke.'"--R. K.

In English we say "Puss puss" to a cat. "_Pooch pooch_" is sometimes used in India, but "_koor koor_" is a more frequent word to dogs, cats, and domestic pets. "_Toi-toi_" is a call of the same kind. "_Ti-ti_" is a Kashmir call to fowls and ducks. "_Ahjao!_" the first syllable long drawn out, is the usual cry to fowls for feeding, and faqirs living in woodland places thus call peac.o.c.ks and monkeys to a dole of grain. Though not a tail is visible at first, plaintive cries like those of lost kittens come faintly from aloft and afar in response, gradually growing louder. Then, one by one, slinging onward and downward, the creatures arrive with their leader. "_Ah ah ah!_" is also a common fowl and pigeon call. The sacred crocodiles in the Rajputana lakes are invited to dinner by the Brahmans with "_Ao bhai!_"--Come, brother! Elephants have quite a small dictionary of their own. There are separate words for--go quickly, sit, kneel with front legs, with hind legs, with all four, lie down and sleep, go slowly, lift a foot, rise, move backwards, stand still, break off branches, put me up with your trunk, make a salaam, and possibly more. All these are understood. A good mahout, too, is always talking to his beast, like the ploughman and ox-cart driver. When riding on an elephant those who have the knack of self-effacement and appearing to take no notice may hear quaint things sometimes, nave comments on themselves and odd phrases of reproach and encouragement to the beast. One might, indeed, from these soliloquies, ascribe more faith in animal intelligence to the Oriental than he really cherishes. Many natives habitually talk to themselves by way of beguiling the tedium of a long road; and old women of the rustic cla.s.s, when walking alone, frequently rehea.r.s.e their family quarrels or bargainings with dramatic gestures.

Camels have but a limited vocabulary, nor do they seem to have brought with them the Arabic "_tss, tss_," which is the "woa" of the beast throughout his Western home from Morocco to Hadramaut. "_Hoosh_" is the Biloch driver's command for sit, but in the Eastern Punjab plain they say "_jai_."

For go on they use the heavily aspirated word for shout, "_hankh,_," which is also a great ox-word; whence comes "_hankh,_" a drive of wild animals.

In Anglo-Indian slang there are Government servants who have to be "_hankhed_" or driven to their work.

"_Hiyo!_" is a cow cry, but with none of the fine note of the English north-country "How up!" nor is there a pretty call like the "Cusha! cusha!"

that Miss Ingelow has used so effectively in her beautiful poem, "A high tide on the coast of Lincolnshire." And as "Whitefoot" and "Lightfoot" are called to come up to the milking shed, so Indian cows are summoned by their names, often those of the days of the week, Tuesday (Mangal) being especially lucky. A deep, guttural, cork-drawing tock, very different from the English carter's click, and hard to learn, is much used for oxen, with a variety of tones of anger, encouragement, and remonstrance in the chest-deep "_han_." When in a hurry or stuck in a rut, Indian carters produce noises that the most skilful ventriloquist would find hard to imitate. They rumble like a rusty tower clock in act to strike, they gurgle, grunt, click, moan, and shout strange words known only to oxen, punctuating every period with blows. "_Cheeo, Cheeo_" is said to oxen drinking, and as they are released from labour, and must be a welcome word.

Animals also hear just the same foul and senseless abuse of their female relatives that their masters bestow on each other. The constantly heard "_Sala_" (brother-in-law) is the key-word to this loathsome line of talk.

Among caressing epithets in use are young one, son, father, mother, darling, and daughter; sometimes _my_ child, etc. The interjection of surprise of ordinary life "_are!_" is often heard as a sort of "Would you, now?" Horses are calmed and stopped by the kissing chirrup with which we stimulate them in Europe, as a newcomer learns with surprise when his steed stops dead at a sound meant to make him go faster. Bird-catchers and jungle-folk at large imitate all bird and animal cries with surprising skill. Quails, however, are lured to the net by a mechanical call, produced by the finger-nail on a stretched skin. On thieving excursions the notes of the jackal, owl, and other creatures are used as signals by burglars and cattle-stealers.

On the whole Indian country cries and songs are harsh and unpleasing. But there are exceptions to this rule. In Hindustan and parts of the Bombay Presidency where oxen, walking down an incline, haul up water, the drivers accompany their work with songs clear in note, musical in cadence, and pathetic in effect.