# Life in India/Palankeen Travelling

PART III.
Palankeen Travelling.
In the month of June, 1850, it was decided that two members of the Mission should make a tour, for the double purpose of preaching in the villages and surveying the ground for a new station in the interior. Our preparations were necessarily more complicated than those of the American traveller, who breakfasts in Philadelphia, dines in New York, and sups in Boston, and who, at his journey's end, can find food and lodging, bedding and light in a well-furnished hotel. The steam-car had not yet made its appearance on the plains of the Carnatic; so that we must take a somewhat slower conveyance—the palankeen.
Palankeen in motion, p. 204.
​nished exterior, looked like a handsomely-finished box, six feet long and three feet deep, standing upon four short legs. On pushing back the sliding doors in the sides, you find that you have a neat little berth-like apartment, furnished with mattress and pillow covered with red morocco. At the foot is a small movable strip of wood, against which you brace yourself, and over this a shelf containing two drawers. The whole is carried by two stout poles, firmly fixed to the ends of the palankeen by iron rods. The price of a palankeen varies, with its workmanship, from twenty to fifty dollars: if richly plated, its cost will be greater.
As your palankeen, or, more familiarly, your "palkee,” is to be your home, your trunk, your library, and your carriage, packing it is quite a momentous affair. Lifting out the mattress, you spread a blanket upon the rattan floor of the palankeen, and on it lay your clothes; then, replacing the bed, you stow away books and loose articles at your head and behind the pillow. In the drawers there is room for pen, ink, paper, and other little matters. From the ceiling hangs a net in which your cap, a few oranges, a brush, &c., find a place, and in each corner you can put some useful article. With​out, a rattan basket hangs, containing a tumbler and gurglet, or earthenware bottle. On the top may be fastened a camp chair and table, for use when away from such conveniences.
At dusk the bearers made their appearance, twenty-six for the two palankeens; sturdy fellows with sinewy limbs, trained from boyhood to their work. While we finished our preparations, they stretched themselves on the brick floor of the verandah to catch a nap before their night of toil began. But the hour for starting comes, and Pakkiyer, the head-bearer, is told to call his men. Slowly they rise and gird themselves for their journey. Each bearer applying one end of a piece of cotton cloth several yards long to his waist, gives the other to a companion to hold, then turning round and round he wraps himself in it, till reaching the end, he takes it from his assistant and tucks it firmly within the roll; tightening his turban, he places his long staff and his leathern sandals with his little bundle on the palankeen, and stands ready for the start. The musaljee lights his torch, a tight roll of cloth three or four feet long, and impregnated with turpentine, which he feeds by pouring oil upon it from the tin vessel carried in his other hand. ​The cavady-man balances on his shoulder his bamboo staff, with a large square tin box hanging from either end, containing our tea and sugar, plates, knives, forks, spoons, and all the little essentials of housekeeping. Three bearers now put their shoulders under the hinder pole, so as to raise one end of the palankeen, and the traveller turns in: three more sieze the pole in front and lift it. “All ready! go ahead!" comes from the interior, and off we move, at first slowly, but with a gradually quickening pace. The palankeen with a quivering motion keeps time to the measured and peculiar tread of the bearers. Six carry at a time, while the other six run alongside ready in a few minutes to relieve their companions. As they move on, they keep time with a wailing, grunting ejaculation of “Oh! oh! Ah! ah! Oh! oh! Eh! eh!" intermingled with an exclamation now and then of “Lively there!" "Bandy coming!” or “Softly! softly,” &c. At times the leader gives them a song, usually of flattery to the rider, to which the rest grunt an earnest and dismal chorus.
The bearers are a faithful set of fellows, with whom you may intrust yourself and your property without the least fear. While under ​their charge, every thing in your palankeen is safe. Even a lady may travel alone with them for hundreds of miles without apprehension. If she has a babe, it will find in those hardy men more than one tender and gentle nurse to carry and amuse the “chinna baba," (little baby.) In the cities, they are somewhat given to tricks, and many amusing stories are told of their impositions upon Griffins, as new-comers in India are styled. Sometimes the rider, deceived by their outlandish cries, thinks they are groaning under his weight. Filled with pity, and unable to endure their imaginary misery, as in the case of our worthy Captain P———, they get out and walk in the sweltering sun, not a little to the astonishment of the bearers, who wonder why in the world the doorey (gentleman) should walk when he might ride.
At half-past eight in the evening we set out. As the two palankeens wound their way toward the gate with the spare bearers and the cavady-men trotting beside them, the torches of our musaljees cast a lurid glare along the dark, close-built streets of the city. Passing shops, and temples, and long rows of windowless houses, the loud cries of our escort created ​quite a stir. Men stared, dogs barked, and women peeped out of their doors. But the romance was brought to a sudden close before we reached the city-gate, by the falling of the shelf of Mr. Scudder's palankeen upon his feet. The palankeen proved too old and weak for our work. Nothing could be done but turn about and retrace our steps. By one o'clock in the morning, a new one had been procured, and we were off again for a run of twenty-seven miles to Stree-permatoor. Leaving the city by the Elephant gate, we turned westward, and our bearers, with more subdued voices, moved soberly through the country. The night was warm, but the motion, though disliked by many, was to me most soothing. Gazing at the twinkling stars and the dim outlines of trees upon the dark sky, revery soon gave place to sleep.
The bearers stopped once to eat, but otherwise scarcely halted till they reached the end of their run. The work, to a stranger, seems hard, but is far from oppressive, if the stages are not too long. In fact the men grow fat on a march. The ordinary run for a night is twenty-two to twenty-eight miles, but, if pressed, they will go fifty miles in a single night. ​Their pay is about ten cents a-day to each bearer, when engaged by the month. Our delay made us late in reaching the bungalow. The sun was hot when we entered the village of Stree-permatoor. It contains an extensive temple of Rama, with a gobram or pagoda seven stories high. Near it our bearers stopped, not to pay their respects to the god, but to run to a small booth where some charitable native kept a supply of buttermilk for the refreshment of travellers. A mile more, and our bearers, with panting loins and covered with perspiration, set down their burdens at the door of the goverment bungalow. It is a large one-storied house, built in the usual India style, of brick plastered within and without. This bungalow was presented to government for the entertainment of travellers by a Hindu gentleman. Ascending a short flight of steps, you enter the central hall. On each side of it is a bed-room with bath-room attached. Two tables and cot-bedsteads, with a few chairs and jars of water, complete the furniture. A short distance in the rear stands the kitchen and stable.
As you enter, the sepoy in charge meets you with a low salaam, and stands ready to ​execute your commands. He is a pensioned soldier, and shows with pride two medals given for good conduct in the wars with Burmah and China. He was at the taking of Ava, the capital of the Burmese Empire, when the American missionaries were saved from the sword of the executioner by the hurrahs of the British army as they scaled the city walls. Our cook, who had left Madras before us, also came forward to make his salaam and unpack his cavady-boxes. He had made his purchases in the town, and soon gave us a breakfast of chicken, eggs, and tea. The bearers adjourned to the shade of a tree, and, after cooking and eating their rice and curry, stretched themselves out for sleep, while we enjoyed the hospitable shelter of the bungalow.
These bungalows, or rest-houses, are provided for the entertainment of travellers, ordinarily by the government, sometimes by the charity of individuals. They contain a few simple articles of furniture, and are kept clean by servants who receive a small pay from the government and also presents from visitors. The total absence of inns, and the barriers raised by caste, make some such refuge absolutely necessary for the enter​tainment of travellers in India. To build such choultries or “rest-houses” is considered by the Hindus an act of the highest merit. To us, the shelter was most grateful; for, though the morning was cool and refreshing, (the thermometer standing at 81°,) the hot wind through the day whistled around us, making us thankful for a refuge from its fiery blasts. After sunset, the thermometer stood at 96°, but the heat was less oppressive than it had been in the city on previous days.
The hot land wind which visits Madras during the months of April, May, and June, sweeps over the Western Ghauts, depositing there its moisture, and crossing the parched plains of the Mysore and the Carnatic, reaches the eastern shore of South India heated and dry. All nature wilts before it, and the inhabitant of colder climes shrinks from its blasts within the cover of his house. I well remember my first experience of the hot wind. The day was warm, the thermometer standing at 91°; no sea-breeze refreshed us, and all was languor and lassitude. Presently the wind was heard rustling through the branches. On going out to greet it, it met me hot as if from an open furnace. I took my thermometer ​and held it in the wind as it passed through the house. Immediately, from 91°, it rose to 100°. Flowers upon the table withered and turned black and crisp; the sides of books curled up; clothes seemed scorching to the skin, and we were glad to hide in a sheltered corner to escape its power. Toward evening the land-wind gave way to the cool and refreshing sea-breeze, and we seemed to live again. These winds, happily, do not blow more than a week or two at a time; they then intermit, to commence again after a short interval. During their continuance any exertion is made by Europeans with great reluctance.
As the night only is devoted to travelling in Southern India, we continued in the bungalow through the day. At sundown, having repacked our boxes, and despatched the cavady-man and cook, we took leave of the bungalow attendants, and resumed our journey, setting out on foot.
The road was of British construction, hard, red, and at this season, extremely dusty. The country around presented the aspect of a desert, dotted here and there with trees, and with an occasional village, almost hid within the shade of its tope of cocoanut, palmyra, and tamarind-trees, from amid which the blackened pagoda ​of its idolatrous temple rears its head. Populous as is India, it is not by any means fully peopled; more than one-half of the soil is untilled. Owing to wars, the oppressiveness of taxation, and the sorer oppression of tax-gatherers, together with the want of irrigation, vast portions of this rich country lie completely waste. Thus has it been in this district since the ferocious Hyder Ali fulfilled the vow of vengeance formed "in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such purposes," and left the Carnatic a wilderness devoid of life. It is a sad spectacle, fit emblem of the moral desolation that rests on India; but, by the word of God, both shall pass away, and the desert blossom as the rose. When Christianity shall have given purity, industry, and truth to the Hindus, these plains, now so bare, will be the abode of beauty and plenty.
Our palankeens soon overtook us, and rolling in, we pursued our way in the silent night watches, soothed to sleep by the song of our bearers. An easy run of twenty-four miles brought us to Bala-chetty-chattiram, several hours before sunrise. Spreading our palankeen mattresses on the verandah, we slept till daylight; then going into the village, we made known to the people the truths of the Bible. ​We were followed on our return by a number of persons. One of these, a fine young man in government employ, had been a pupil in the American mission-school at Madras, and professed a total disbelief of Hinduism; a second had, from this young man, learned the folly of idolatry; and a third, who was the village schoolmaster, had been a scholar in the institution of the Scotch Free Church. It was cheering, at this distance from the city, to find these diverging rays of light streaming even faintly from its missions into the gross darkness of the country; and it encouraged us to go forward in the work of kindling and cherishing these little flames, trusting to God to make them, in his good time, the means of a great flashing forth of divine truth.
In the afternoon we went to the temple near by. It was of the usual form, with its gobram facing the east, but somewhat dilapidated. In front of the temple was a beautiful tank, surrounded on all sides by flights of granite steps descending to the water. In its centre stood a stone shrine, visited annually by the idol, and at the opposite side was a small temple. As we came near, a Brahminee woman, who caught sight of us, ran to her house in great haste to ​hide herself, while a lad hurried to close the temple-gate. Going to a stone-built portico, erected for the accommodation of strangers by some pious Hindu of past ages, we seated ourselves upon the top step, and soon were surrounded by a group of Brahmins. They were very ready for argument; one of them, indeed, became quite violent, asserting that we were invading the peace of the land, and taking the bread from their mouths; that in former days the East India Company had supported and countenanced their religion; but that within a few years past, the padrés, (missionaries,) coming and going through the land, had broken up this happy state of things, so that the Brahmins were losing their sustenance and the temples were going to decay. He had many objections to make to our doctrine. The first was, that of the heathen of old, “Where is your God?" With the Psalmist (in the 115th Psalm) we could reply—
To the question “Why did you not sooner bring the gospel to us?” it was not so easy to give an answer. Alas! how has the church of Christ failed to obey the command of Christ to carry the gospel to every creature! They were surprised to hear that we were not paid five hundred dollars a month by the government to preach to them," and finally separated from us on our return to the bungalow, with very friendly farewells.
Our third night of travel brought us to Arcot, where we intended to form our plans, and to leave the high road for the villages, to survey the field for new mission stations. Our first care was to despatch a note to Mr. B., collector of the district of North Arcot. This modest title is very far from conveying to an American ear the idea which accompanies it to the mind of the inhabitant of British India. The collector, or, as it is corrupted, “kalkakta," is the highest authority known to the poor ryots. (cultivators.) He is, to all intents, governor of the district, with, it may be, a million of in ​habitants, over which he rules; and is looked up to with awe and reverence as the personification of that mysterious, unknown, unseen power—“The Company”—by which the land they till is owned.
Mr. B., of Arcot, held his high station, his large income, and his influence as talents committed to his care for the glory of God. He was an unsought contributor to the American and other missions in India. On the receipt of our note, he immediately returned to us an invitation to call upon him, and command him as to our wishes. As we desired information with regard to the towns and villages which we expected to visit, we called a common country bullock-cart, and throwing into it a mattress, set out for his residence, three miles distant.
Hindu Family Journeying. p. 219
​slow, sober, and plodding. The bandy has an arched mat-covering, and over this the straw with which the cattle are fed is hung in long rolls. The hire of a man, a pair of bullocks, and bandy, by the month, is at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a-day, out of which sum feed must be found for man and beast.
Our illustration gives us a picture of one of these bandies, with a family on a journey. The driver, seated on the pole just upon the bullocks, has full opportunity to stimulate their spirits with his foot as well as his whip, or to give their tails a wicked twist in an emergency. The patient creatures, all scored and starred with the branding-iron, (for health and ornament,) plod meekly on with the rude conveyance which carries all the goods of the household, as well as the weaker members of the family.
But our bandy was ready. Creeping in at the back, and taking our seats on the mattress, we gave the word to our driver to go to the collector's house. Passing through the Arcot cantonment, with its barracks for troops, and handsome houses in spacious enclosures, occu​pied by officers of the Indian army, we descended by a native bazaar to the Palar River. At Arcot, eighty miles from its mouth, the Palar is more than half a mile wide, and, in the rainy season, a mighty river. But now, without bridge or boat, we passed it in our ox-cart without wetting our bullocks' hoofs. Not a drop of water moistened the heavy sand through which our cart-wheels ploughed their way. It seemed a river of desolation, vast, sandy, parched, and glaring in the noonday sun. But, while thus deathlike to the eye, beneath the sandy surface lie hidden treasures of moisture, which may be obtained by digging a few inches beneath the sand.
The banks between which this river of sand winds its way, are fringed with the graceful cocoanut, the date, the palmyra, and the spreading tamarind. Bending over this glistening, waterless stream, with every leaf glittering in the bright sunlight, these waving trees form a striking contrast to the arid sand. While all on the surface is parched and dreary, their summits are ever green; for they have sent down their roots to the well-springs; and they are drinking from unseen streams. So shall “the righteous flourish as the palm-tree;” for ​he drinks of the river of the water of life, while others are dead and fruitless about him.
Not far from the other bank stood the collector's house. Our poor rustic bandy-man, not daring to come too near the great ruler's residence, drew up before the cutchery or courthouse. Native officers, handsomely dressed, were grouped before it. One of them, the duffadar, with his silver-hilted dagger and broad belt, not conceiving that riders in so humble a conveyance could have any business there, told us, with bold impudence, that the collector was not at home. We informed him that we happened to know that the collector was at home; and, not waiting to be introduced by these courtly gentry, we entered the house. Mr. B.'s warm reception of us showed them that they had made a mistake, and completely changed their behaviour, which became as obsequious as it had been rude. Insolence and servility are twin vices, and both are almost universal characteristics of the Hindu. Anxious to know who and what we were, they plied our poor bandyman with questions; but to no purpose, for all that he could tell was, that we got into his bandy, and bade him drive to the collector's.
Having received from Mr. B. the advice and ​information which we needed, and the loan of a map of his district, from which we made a copy, with the names of the villages and towns through which we might pass, we recrossed our waterless ford, and prepared to set out for Arnee, a town twenty miles distant from Arcot.