# Life in India/Palhully to Ootacamund

Palhully to Ootacamund.
Palhully, a little village three miles distant from Seringapatam, is noted as the residence of the Abbé Dubois, the French Catholic missionary to whom reference has already been made. After labouring thirty years for the conversion of the Hindus to Roman Catholicism, and seeking to win them to his faith by conformity to their customs, by concealing offensive Scripture truths, (as, for instance, the statement that the fatted calf was killed for the prodigal son,) and by dressing and living as a Brahmin, he retired from India to Europe, confessing that the effort had been a vain one.
In a work published by him, he dissuades Protestants from missions to India, arguing that the Hindus are given over of God to a reprobate spirit, and cannot be converted. He reasons that, if he and his fellow-labourers, who have conformed in so many points to the prejudices of the Hindus, have failed, much ​more certain will be the failure of Protestant missionaries, who do not allow the natives such indulgence! While we agree with him that the preaching of Roman Catholicism has been a failure as to changing the hearts, and lives even, of their converts, and would also concede that, if the work were of man, Protestantism would have very few attractions for sensual and degraded Hindus, we do not fear for the issue. Our confidence is not in man, but in God. With the influences of the Holy Spirit, the gospel can and will change the hardest heart and attract the most sottish soul. Of this the history of Christian missions furnishes abundant proof. The history of the triumphs of the gospel will show to the world that though with man the conversion of a vast nation of idolaters is impossible, with God all things are possible.
Palhully is now the residence of an English family, who are engaged in the business of refining sugar for the market in Madras, as well as for exportation to England. In this retired spot we found a refined and Christian family circle, and were entertained for a day and a night with Christian hospitality.
The manufacture of sugar by the natives is very rude, and leaves it in a state that renders ​it wholly worthless for European use. The sugar-cane is crushed in a hollowed log, sometimes the stump of a tree as it stands rooted in the ground. The beam used as a pestle is attached to a shaft which is turned by a couple of oxen, and the juice drawn off by a hole pierced in the bottom of the trunk. This liquor, full of impurities, is then boiled down, and crystallized in black cakes that would hardly be recognised by us as sugar. The Palhully sugar company, with their steam refinery, convert it into a very excellent and beautiful article. The only hinderance to their success is the great cost of transportation to Madras. This is a hinderance not only to this, but to a thousand other useful arts. When Christianity shall have made Hindus truthful and industrious, civilization will go forward, and the wealth of India be a hundred-fold increased. Without mutual confidence, there cannot be association; and without association, there cannot be improvement. What India wants to make her a happy land is the influences of the religion of the Bible.
The drive of eight miles from Palhully to Mysore would have but little to attract the traveller accustomed to Indian scenes, though ​doubtless a new-comer would see much to interest and amuse him. A group of girls assembled under a mango-tree, and throwing up sticks and stones to knock down the green fruit, would carry his memory back to the apple-orchard of his fatherland; but the smile at the amusement of the little ones would turn to sadness when, a few steps farther on, his eye caught sight of a heathen temple, or, going a little farther still, he saw a tree with a low stone wall built about its trunk, and worshipped as a god. He would notice two little sheds built of bamboo and thatched with palm-leaves, with a screen in front, through which a bamboo pipe projects. Within sits a Brahmin, paid by some charitable person to supply passers-by with water, or, perhaps, with the greater luxury of buttermilk. He has his water-pot and cup beside him; but from these the traveller must not drink, for then it would be so defiled that the next thirsty passer-by could not drink from it. The Brahmin inside pours the water into the pipe, and the applicant, uniting his hands in the form of a trough, receives it as it falls, and drinks. Sometimes the bamboo trough is dispensed with, and the occupant of the shed pours the water into the hands of ​those who come to him for refreshment. As he is a Brahmin, all castes can receive food or drink from his hands.
Water-booth and Soldiers. p. 428.
​with the head shaved, except the coodamy or queue suffered to grow from the crown, and the body bare from the waist upwards. The dress of the soldiers, with the addition of an upper garment of cotton, would illustrate that of the peons or police of the present day.
Mysore, in its general aspect, is pleasing, and gives an impression of prosperity and progress. The streets are regular, and the bazaar (trading street) looks quite brilliant with its shops filled with bright-coloured silks, gay cotton goods, cloth, carpets, and other articles of merchandise. In the fruit-stalls were melons and white grapes, hanging in rich clusters, fair to the eye, and, as we found on trial, most refreshing to the parched lips of the weary invalid melting under a tropical sun. In an open space, a large number of elephants stood chained by the feet to well-fastened stakes, some feeding on long grass brought for them from the fields, others holding in their trunks large branches from the neighbouring trees, with which to brush the flies from their black, hairless sides.
Since the fall of Seringapatam, Mysore has greatly increased in population, in consequence of its being the residence of the rajah (king) ​raised to the throne by the English after the death of Tippoo. His power is merely nominal; the true ruler of the country is the commissioner of the Mysore territory, an English officer, without whose permission the rajah can take no step of importance. A large revenue is allowed him; and, as he owes every thing to the English by whom he was taken from obscurity, though of kingly descent, he is content with his nominal royalty and its emoluments. His income he dispenses in a way that attracts a host of flatterers and parasites. Especially do worthless and greedy Brahmins flock about the palace, clinging to him as vultures to a carcass, for the love of what they can pluck from him. The whole city is corrupted by the influence of the court and its attendant Brahmins, who completely rule the rajah.
Elephant with Howdah, and Hindu soldiers, p. 431.
​﻿He amuses himself with the parade of royalty and with a multitude of diversions, hiring French circus-riders, keeping a great number of horses, whose stables are elegantly fitted up and hung with looking-glasses, and also maintaining a number of elephants. He had a carriage constructed large enough to hold ninety persons, to be drawn by six of these huge creatures, as a royal variety to the usual mode of riding in a howdah on the elephant's back.
The rajah is a bigoted Hindu, and completely under Brahminic influence. In his palace he keeps as an object of worship a cow, which is covered with jewels, silver, and gold. About the time of our return through the city from the Neilgherries, he had just gone through with a peculiar means of getting rid of his sins. He had been told by his attendantBrahmin, his confessor and the keeper of his conscience, that his horoscope, calculated from the position of the starry constellations at his birth, showed that he had but two years to live. The rajah therefore determined to get rid of the accumulated sins of the past years. For this purpose, a number of Brahmins, willing to bear his sins för a good compensation, were collected at the palace. The rajah, dressed in his robes, with ​his sword to add to his weight, got into one scale of a balance; the other was filled with gold, silver and jewels, until it weighed him down. These were divided with certain prescribed forms among the Brahmins who took his sins upon their own heads. The infatuated rajah believes that these men will suffer the penalty due him for his sins, and that he is relieved of their weight. The next day, when he was distributing gifts to a crowd of applicants, some of the scape-goats, contrary to the law which requires them to hide themselves from human gaze, with shameless cupidity came forward for more. The rajah, though not led to question the ability of these liars to bear his sins, was filled with rage at their effrontery, and drove them from his court.
For the three millions of inhabitants of the Mysore there is but one European missionary, beside those stationed in the city of Bangalore. Need we then wonder that, though Christ has been preached in the capital, the way of salvation is so little known and heathen idolatry so strong? Yet the whole country is completely accessible, and residence perfectly safe in any of its towns or villages.
Soon may the name of Jesus, as the true sa​crifice for sin, as the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world, as he who hath redeemed us by his blood, be known throughout this land! And soon may its millions, finding peace with God and forgiveness of sins, join with us in singing the praises of redeeming love!
“Not all the blood of beasts On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace, Or wash away the stain.
“But Christ, the heavenly Lamb, Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name, And richer blood than they.
“My faith would lay her hand On that dear head of thine,— While like a penitent I stand, And there confess my sin.
“My soul looks back to see The burdens thou didst bear,
When hanging on the cursed tree, And hopes her guilt was there.
“Believing, we rejoice To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice, And sing his bleeding love."
Leaving Mysore, we passed near the foot of a steep hill rising suddenly from the plain to ​the height of a thousand feet. On its summit is a house belonging to the British residency, which gives its occupant a delightful prospect and the enjoyment of cool breezes. To the Hindus it is known as the site of two temples of great repute, and of a colossal bull cut from the rock. Hither the rajah, as well as a multitude of pilgrims, makes an annual visit for the purpose of idolatrous worship.
The sun was just setting as we reached Nungengood, fifteen miles south of Mysore. Its bright rays were reflected from the gilded summit of the pagoda of the great temple of Siva which stands here, making it look like a tower of burnished gold. How striking the contrast between this apparent brightness and beauty, and the real darkness and hatefulness of the place! The temple of Nungengood is famous even among the temples of India for being covered all over with figures so obscene that they might make the vilest blush. Yet this is the residence of one of the supreme gods of the Hindus; and the place of assembly, at certain seasons, for thousands of benighted idolaters, who come hither to adore and pray to the god who presides in such a dwelling. If no nation, as is said, will be better than its gods, what ​must be the moral character of Hindustan, as it appears in the eyes of Him in whose sight even the heavens are unclean!
Soon after sunset, we stopped at a traveller's bungalow to cook and eat a meal of rice and curry. We were behind our time, and anxious to press on; but haste is a hard thing to make in India. We must have a change of bullocks, and that was an affair of time; then the musaljee had no torch—at last that was procured; then he must have oil for his torch, but, like the foolish virgins of the parable, at the hour for starting his vessel was empty; off he had to go to a neighbouring village to buy oil. At last all things were ready, and we were on our way again. Darkness brought sleep and forgetfulness; while we dreamed, it may be, of the magical railroad with its fiery steed and lightening speed, our poor shigram-po with its oxen was toiling along at the rate of two miles an hour. On waking before daylight, it occurred to us that our position was rather more perpendicular than was natural, and looking out, we found that we were quietly resting by the roadside, with the pole of the bandy on the ground, and its back pointing to the sky, while our driver and musaljee were seated comfortably ​beside a fire of burning straw. They were waiting for fresh bullocks!
During the night we had made just twelve miles, which, as we were in great haste to meet an appointment, was somewhat provoking. We made the best of it, however, and pushed on, our troubles growing thicker as our bullocks grew more thin. We were now entering the jungle, a wilderness extending around the base of the mountains, and many miles in depth. The hills became steep, the road rough, the air close, and the sun glared fiercely on us. The cattle toiled over the stony way, worn out with labour, and seeming ready to drop. At times they cast themselves down in the road with exhaustion and obstinacy, and would not move until actually lifted up. The drivers, goading, pushing, yelling, beating, and hauling, urged them on. As we mounted the hills, they called on their gods to help them: “Swamy! Swamy! Hanuman! Hanuman! (the monkey-god,) oh help! help! just get us up this hill! get us up this hill, and you shall have a cocoanut !" At the next hill the same promise was made, and at the next; but whether the god got his cocoanuts or not, I cannot say.
We were to have reached the foot of the ​mountains by early morning, so as to meet a conveyance sent down for us by friends to whom we had written, as our “shigram-po" would not ascend the heights. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, however, when we reached the Bandipoor bungalow, a rest-house on a hill-top, and twenty miles of jungle were yet between us and the mountain's base. To go on would have compelled us to spend the night amid the malaria of the jungle, with an almost certainty of contracting the deadly "jungle-fever;" and to stop would be to render it uncertain whether we should find any means of ascending the mountains on our arrival at Seegoor. We stopped, however, and spent the night at the lonely bungalow, as it seemed the less evil of the two. We managed to procure a chicken for ourselves and one for the bandymen, and had a dinner of the never-failing rice and curry. Our little sick boy owed his supper of milk to the fact that a tiger had the night before carried off two kids from the flock of a company of Kuravers who were encamped close by. These Kuravers are semi-savages, and wander from place to place, carrying with them their houses, which are mere bamboo baskets inverted. They do not usually milk ​their goats, but they sold us the milk of the dam that had lost its kids.
We were up with the morning star, and by daylight had our bandy repacked, our cattle yoked, and resumed our journey; but our speed did not improve. As we neared the Neilgherries, our road grew more hilly, rough, and precipitous; and the posted bullocks were utterly worn out. It was painful to be drawn by them, but to stop where we were was impossible. We were now in the midst of the jungle, a wilderness thinly or densely wooded, and the home of bears, tigers, leopards, and wild elephants. Men have frequently been carried by tigers from the public road; and not long since a young English officer was here killed by an enraged wild elephant which he had imprudently attacked. We had not the pleasure of seeing any of these savage rangers of the forest, for we passed through the jungle by the high road and in broad daylight, when they usually hide away in their lairs.
At length we found ourselves actually at Seegoor, with the massive mountains, whose summits had caught our eye and cheered our way from time to time, towering high before us. To our great joy there, too, was a light ​bandy with four bullocks, waiting to carry us to the higher regions towards which we had so long been wearily journeying. It was two in the afternoon, and the thermometer stood at 93°; but, under the shelter of a little hut by the road-side, we changed our light garments for woollen clothing, to be ready for the cooler atmosphere above us. Transferring the luggage from our transit bandy to three coolies' heads, we gladly commenced the ascent.
The mountains rose eight thousand feet in height, clothed with wood and shrubbery, and broken by deep ravines, down which ran mountain streams. The hill-sides were on fire. Long lines of flame stretched hundreds of feet upwards, and columns of smoke rolled on high to mingle with the cloudless blue of the skies. It seemed a great altar sending up its incense before God its Creator.
The road, starting at the base of the hills, crept along the declivity awhile, then turning, zig-zagged its way up the face of the mountainside; reaching a deep-setting ravine, again it wound its upward course with a brawling brook far down the precipice on its right, and the steep mountain rising high on its left. Sunset found us about half-way up the pass. The road ​stretched its tortuous course before us, while behind us lay the country we had crossed, looking in the distance like a vast field, with the hills scarcely perceptibly raised above its surface, and its woods forming but a soft green carpet to the plain. Saturday night was closing upon us, and we must press on. The night air seemed cold, (it was forty degrees below that of the plain,) and our exhaustion was extreme. Never was a shelter more grateful than when, weary, sick, and faint, at ten o'clock, we reached the mountain-plain above, and received a warm welcome and sat down before a warm fire, surrounded by Christian friends in Ootacamund.
“In foreign realms and lands remote, Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I passed unhurt, And breathed in tainted air.”