—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.
The journey to Benares was all in daylight, and occupied but a few hours. It was admirably dusty. The dust settled upon you in a thick ashy layer and turned you into a fakeer, with nothing lacking to the role but the cow manure2 and the sense of holiness. There was a change of cars about mid-afternoon at Moghul-serai—if that was the name—and a wait of two hours there for the Benares train. We could have found a carriage and driven to the sacred city, but we should have lost the wait. In other countries a long wait at a station is a dull thing and tedious, but one has no right to have that feeling in India. You have the monster crowd of bejeweled natives, the stir, the bustle3, the confusion, the shifting splendors4 of the costumes—dear me, the delight of it, the charm of it are beyond speech. The two-hour wait was over too soon. Among other satisfying things to look at was a minor5 native prince from the backwoods somewhere, with his guard of honor, a ragged6 but wonderfully gaudy7 gang of fifty dark barbarians8 armed with rusty9 flint-lock muskets10. The general show came so near to exhausting variety that one would have said that no addition to it could be conspicuous11, but when this Falstaff and his motleys marched through it one saw that that seeming impossibility had happened.
We got away by and by, and soon reached the outer edge of Benares; then there was another wait; but, as usual, with something to look at. This was a cluster of little canvas-boxes—palanquins. A canvas-box is not much of a sight—when empty; but when there is a lady in it, it is an object of interest. These boxes were grouped apart, in the full blaze of the terrible sun during the three-quarters of an hour that we tarried there. They contained zenana ladies. They had to sit up; there was not room enough to stretch out. They probably did not mind it. They are used to the close captivity12 of their dwellings13 all their lives; when they go a journey they are carried to the train in these boxes; in the train they have to be secluded14 from inspection15. Many people pity them, and I always did it myself and never charged anything; but it is doubtful if this compassion16 is valued. While we were in India some good-hearted Europeans in one of the cities proposed to restrict a large park to the use of zenana ladies, so that they could go there and in assured privacy go about unveiled and enjoy the sunshine and air as they had never enjoyed them before. The good intentions back of the proposition were recognized, and sincere thanks returned for it, but the proposition itself met with a prompt declination at the hands of those who were authorized17 to speak for the zenana ladies. Apparently18, the idea was shocking to the ladies—indeed, it was quite manifestly shocking. Was that proposition the equivalent of inviting19 European ladies to assemble scantily20 and scandalously clothed in the seclusion21 of a private park? It seemed to be about that.
Without doubt modesty is nothing less than a holy feeling; and without doubt the person whose rule of modesty has been transgressed22 feels the same sort of wound that he would feel if something made holy to him by his religion had suffered a desecration23. I say “rule of modesty” because there are about a million rules in the world, and this makes a million standards to be looked out for. Major Sleeman mentions the case of some high-caste veiled ladies who were profoundly scandalized when some English young ladies passed by with faces bare to the world; so scandalized that they spoke24 out with strong indignation and wondered that people could be so shameless as to expose their persons like that. And yet “the legs of the objectors were naked to mid-thigh.” Both parties were clean-minded and irreproachably25 modest, while abiding26 by their separate rules, but they couldn’t have traded rules for a change without suffering considerable discomfort27. All human rules are more or less idiotic28, I suppose. It is best so, no doubt. The way it is now, the asylums29 can hold the sane30 people, but if we tried to shut up the insane we should run out of building materials.
You have a long drive through the outskirts31 of Benares before you get to the hotel. And all the aspects are melancholy32. It is a vision of dusty sterility33, decaying temples, crumbling34 tombs, broken mud walls, shabby huts. The whole region seems to ache with age and penury35. It must take ten thousand years of want to produce such an aspect. We were still outside of the great native city when we reached the hotel. It was a quiet and homelike house, inviting, and manifestly comfortable. But we liked its annex36 better, and went thither37. It was a mile away, perhaps, and stood in the midst of a large compound, and was built bungalow38 fashion, everything on the ground floor, and a veranda39 all around. They have doors in India, but I don’t know why. They don’t fasten, and they stand open, as a rule, with a curtain hanging in the doorspace to keep out the glare of the sun. Still, there is plenty of privacy, for no white person will come in without notice, of course. The native men servants will, but they don’t seem to count. They glide40 in, barefoot and noiseless, and are in the midst before one knows it. At first this is a shock, and sometimes it is an embarrassment41; but one has to get used to it, and does.
There was one tree in the compound, and a monkey lived in it. At first I was strongly interested in the tree, for I was told that it was the renowned42 peepul—the tree in whose shadow you cannot tell a lie. This one failed to stand the test, and I went away from it disappointed. There was a softly creaking well close by, and a couple of oxen drew water from it by the hour, superintended by two natives dressed in the usual “turban and pocket-handkerchief.” The tree and the well were the only scenery, and so the compound was a soothing43 and lonesome and satisfying place; and very restful after so many activities. There was nobody in our bungalow but ourselves; the other guests were in the next one, where the table d’hote was furnished. A body could not be more pleasantly situated44. Each room had the customary bath attached—a room ten or twelve feet square, with a roomy stone-paved pit in it and abundance of water. One could not easily improve upon this arrangement, except by furnishing it with cold water and excluding the hot, in deference45 to the fervency46 of the climate; but that is forbidden. It would damage the bather’s health. The stranger is warned against taking cold baths in India, but even the most intelligent strangers are fools, and they do not obey, and so they presently get laid up. I was the most intelligent fool that passed through, that year. But I am still more intelligent now. Now that it is too late.
I wonder if the ‘dorian’, if that is the name of it, is another superstition47, like the peepul tree. There was a great abundance and variety of tropical fruits, but the dorian was never in evidence. It was never the season for the dorian. It was always going to arrive from Burma sometime or other, but it never did. By all accounts it was a most strange fruit, and incomparably delicious to the taste, but not to the smell. Its rind was said to exude48 a stench of so atrocious a nature that when a dorian was in the room even the presence of a polecat was a refreshment49. We found many who had eaten the dorian, and they all spoke of it with a sort of rapture50. They said that if you could hold your nose until the fruit was in your mouth a sacred joy would suffuse51 you from head to foot that would make you oblivious52 to the smell of the rind, but that if your grip slipped and you caught the smell of the rind before the fruit was in your mouth, you would faint. There is a fortune in that rind. Some day somebody will import it into Europe and sell it for cheese.
Benares was not a disappointment. It justified53 its reputation as a curiosity. It is on high ground, and overhangs a grand curve of the Ganges. It is a vast mass of building, compactly crusting a hill, and is cloven in all directions by an intricate confusion of cracks which stand for streets. Tall, slim minarets54 and beflagged temple-spires rise out of it and give it picturesqueness55, viewed from the river. The city is as busy as an ant-hill, and the hurly-burly of human life swarming56 along the web of narrow streets reminds one of the ants. The sacred cow swarms57 along, too, and goes whither she pleases, and takes toll58 of the grain-shops, and is very much in the way, and is a good deal of a nuisance, since she must not be molested59.
Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together. From a Hindoo statement quoted in Rev60. Mr. Parker’s compact and lucid61 Guide to Benares, I find that the site of the town was the beginning-place of the Creation. It was merely an upright “lingam,” at first, no larger than a stove-pipe, and stood in the midst of a shoreless ocean. This was the work of the God Vishnu. Later he spread the lingam out till its surface was ten miles across. Still it was not large enough for the business; therefore he presently built the globe around it. Benares is thus the center of the earth. This is considered an advantage.
It has had a tumultuous history, both materially and spiritually. It started Brahminically, many ages ago; then by and by Buddha63 came in recent times 2,500 years ago, and after that it was Buddhist64 during many centuries—twelve, perhaps—but the Brahmins got the upper hand again, then, and have held it ever since. It is unspeakably sacred in Hindoo eyes, and is as unsanitary as it is sacred, and smells like the rind of the dorian. It is the headquarters of the Brahmin faith, and one-eighth of the population are priests of that church. But it is not an overstock, for they have all India as a prey65. All India flocks thither on pilgrimage, and pours its savings66 into the pockets of the priests in a generous stream, which never fails. A priest with a good stand on the shore of the Ganges is much better off than the sweeper of the best crossing in London. A good stand is worth a world of money. The holy proprietor67 of it sits under his grand spectacular umbrella and blesses people all his life, and collects his commission, and grows fat and rich; and the stand passes from father to son, down and down and down through the ages, and remains68 a permanent and lucrative69 estate in the family. As Mr. Parker suggests, it can become a subject of dispute, at one time or another, and then the matter will be settled, not by prayer and fasting and consultations70 with Vishnu, but by the intervention71 of a much more puissant72 power—an English court. In Bombay I was told by an American missionary73 that in India there are 640 Protestant missionaries74 at work. At first it seemed an immense force, but of course that was a thoughtless idea. One missionary to 500,000 natives—no, that is not a force; it is the reverse of it; 640 marching against an intrenched camp of 300,000,000—the odds75 are too great. A force of 640 in Benares alone would have its hands over-full with 8,000 Brahmin priests for adversary76. Missionaries need to be well equipped with hope and confidence, and this equipment they seem to have always had in all parts of the world. Mr. Parker has it. It enables him to get a favorable outlook out of statistics which might add up differently with other mathematicians77. For instance:
“During the past few years competent observers declare that the number of pilgrims to Benares has increased.”
And then he adds up this fact and gets this conclusion:
“But the revival78, if so it may be called, has in it the marks of death. It is a spasmodic struggle before dissolution.”
In this world we have seen the Roman Catholic power dying, upon these same terms, for many centuries. Many a time we have gotten all ready for the funeral and found it postponed79 again, on account of the weather or something. Taught by experience, we ought not to put on our things for this Brahminical one till we see the procession move. Apparently one of the most uncertain things in the world is the funeral of a religion.
I should have been glad to acquire some sort of idea of Hindoo theology, but the difficulties were too great, the matter was too intricate. Even the mere62 A, B, C of it is baffling.
There is a trinity—Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu—independent powers, apparently, though one cannot feel quite sure of that, because in one of the temples there is an image where an attempt has been made to concentrate the three in one person. The three have other names and plenty of them, and this makes confusion in one’s mind. The three have wives and the wives have several names, and this increases the confusion. There are children, the children have many names, and thus the confusion goes on and on. It is not worth while to try to get any grip upon the cloud of minor gods, there are too many of them.
It is even a justifiable80 economy to leave Brahma, the chiefest god of all, out of your studies, for he seems to cut no great figure in India. The vast bulk of the national worship is lavished81 upon Shiva and Vishnu and their families. Shiva’s symbol—the “lingam” with which Vishnu began the Creation—is worshiped by everybody, apparently. It is the commonest object in Benares. It is on view everywhere, it is garlanded with flowers, offerings are made to it, it suffers no neglect. Commonly it is an upright stone, shaped like a thimble—sometimes like an elongated82 thimble. This priapus-worship, then, is older than history. Mr. Parker says that the lingams in Benares “outnumber the inhabitants.”
In Benares there are many Mohammedan mosques83. There are Hindoo temples without number—these quaintly84 shaped and elaborately sculptured little stone jugs85 crowd all the lanes. The Ganges itself and every individual drop of water in it are temples. Religion, then, is the business of Benares, just as gold-production is the business of Johannesburg. Other industries count for nothing as compared with the vast and all-absorbing rush and drive and boom of the town’s specialty86. Benares is the sacredest of sacred cities. The moment you step across the sharply-defined line which separates it from the rest of the globe, you stand upon ineffably87 and unspeakably holy ground. Mr. Parker says: “It is impossible to convey any adequate idea of the intense feelings of veneration88 and affection with which the pious89 Hindoo regards ‘Holy Kashi’ (Benares).” And then he gives you this vivid and moving picture:
“Let a Hindoo regiment90 be marched through the district, and as soon as they cross the line and enter the limits of the holy place they rend91 the air with cries of ‘Kashi ji ki jai jai jai! (Holy Kashi! Hail to thee! Hail! Hail! Hail)’. The weary pilgrim scarcely able to stand, with age and weakness, blinded by the dust and heat, and almost dead with fatigue92, crawls out of the oven-like railway carriage and as soon as his feet touch the ground he lifts up his withered93 hands and utters the same pious exclamation94. Let a European in some distant city in casual talk in the bazar mention the fact that he has lived at Benares, and at once voices will be raised to call down blessings95 on his head, for a dweller96 in Benares is of all men most blessed.”
It makes our own religious enthusiasm seem pale and cold. Inasmuch as the life of religion is in the heart, not the head, Mr. Parker’s touching97 picture seems to promise a sort of indefinite postponement98 of that funeral.
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1
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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irreproachably
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| adv.不可非难地，无过失地 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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annex
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| vt.兼并，吞并；n.附属建筑物 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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fervency
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| n.热情的；强烈的；热烈 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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48
exude
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| v.(使)流出，(使)渗出 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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51
suffuse
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| v.(色彩等)弥漫，染遍 | |
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52
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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54
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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picturesqueness
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56
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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puissant
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| adj.强有力的 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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mathematicians
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| 数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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81
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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84
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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ineffably
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| adv.难以言喻地，因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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