Port Royal standard and commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-06-15
Devil / ancing in India.

It is an extremely difficult thing, says
traveller, for European to witness
devil dance. As rule, he must 60 dis
guised, and he must be able to speak the
language like native before he is likely
to be admitted without suspicion into
the charmed circle of fascinated devo-
tees, each eager to press near the pos
sessed priest to ask him questions about
the future while the divine aft1atus Is In
it's full force upon him. Let me try
once more to bring the whole scene
vividly before the reader. Night, starry
and beautiful, with broad low moon
seen through palms. A still, solemn
night, with few sounds to mar the
silence, save the deep, mufHed boom OF
breakers bursting on the coast full eight
miles distant. A lonely hut, a huge
solitary banyan tree, grim and gloomy.
All round spread interminable sands,
the only vegetation on which is COM
posed of lofty palmyran and few stunt
ed thorn trees and wild figs. In the
midst of this wilderness rises, specter
like, that agel enormous tree, the ban
yam, haunted by a most ruthless she
devil. Cholera is abroad in the land,
and the natives know it is she who has
sent them the dreaded pestilence. The
whole neighborhood wakes to the deter
mination that the malignant power must
be Immediately propitiated in the most
solemn and efectual manner. The ap-
pointed night arrives; out of village and
hamlet and hut pours the wild crowd of
men and women and children. In vain
the Brahmins tinkle their bells at the
neighboring temple; the people know
what they want, and the deity which
they must reverence as supreme just
now. On flows the crowd to that gloomy
island in the star-lit waste-that weird,
hoary banyan. The circle is formed;
the fire is Lit; the offerings are got
ready-goats and fowls, and rice and
pulse and sugar, and ghee and honey,
and white ohaplets of oleander blossoms
and jasmine buds. The toIn-toms are
beaten more loudly and rapidly, the
hum of rustic converse is stilled, and a
deep hush of awe-stricken expectancy
holds the motley assemblage. Now the
low, rickety door of the hut is quickly
dashed open. The devil dancer staggers
out. Between the hut and the ebon
shadow of the sacred banyan lies strip
of moonlit sand, and as he passes this
the devotees can plainly see their priest.
He is tall, haggard, pensive man, with
deep sunken eyes and matted hair. His
forehead is smeared with ashes and
there are streaks of vermillion and
saffron over his face. He wears high,
conical cap, white, with red tassel. A
long white robe, or angi, shrouds him
from neck to ankle. On it are worked in
red silk representations of the goddesses
of smallpox, murder and cholera.
Round his ankles are massive silver
bangles. In his right hand he holds a
staff or spear that iingles harshly every
time the ground is struck by it. The
same hand also holds bow, which,
when the strings are pulled or struck,
emits dull, booming sound. In his
left hand the devil priest carries his
sacrificial knife, shaped like sickle,
with quaint devices engraved on its
blade. The dancer, with uncertain,
staggering motion, reels slowly into the
center of the crowd, and then seats
himself. The assembled people show
him the offerings they intend to present,
but he appears wholly unconscious. he
croons an Indian lay in low, dreamy
voice, with dropped eyelids and head
sunken on his breast. He sways slowly
to and fro, from side to side. Look
You can see his fingers twitch nervously.
His head begins to wag in a strange,
uncanny fashion. His sides heave and
culver, and huge drops of perspiration
exude from his skin. The tom-toms are
beaten faster, the pipes and reeds wall
out more loudly. There is sudden
yell, a stunning cry, an ear piercing
shrek, q hideous, abominable gobble,
gobble of hellish laughter, and the
devil dancer has sprung to his feet, with
eyes protruding, mouth foaming, chest
heaving, muscles quivering, and out
stretched arms swollen and straining as
if they were crucifed. Now, ever and
anon, the quick, sharp words are jerked
out of the saliva choked mouth" I am
Godl I am the true Godw Then all
around him, since he and no idol is re-
garded as the present deity, reeks the
blood of sacrifice. The devotees crowd
round to offer oblations and to solicit
answers to their questions. Shall I
die of cholera during this visitation ?"
asks gray haired farmer of the neigh
borhood. "Oh, God, bless this child,
and heal it," cries poor mother from
the adjoining hamlet, as she holds forth
her diseased babe toward the gyrating
priest. Shrieks, VOWS, imprecations,
prayers and ordinations of thankful
praise rise up, all blended together in
one Internal hubbub. Above all rise the
ghastly cultural laughter of the devil
dancer, and his stentorian howls-" I
am God I am the only true God !"
He cuts and hacks and hews himself, and
not very unfrequently kills himself there
and then. His answer to the queries put
to him are generally incoherent. Some
times he is suIlenly silent, and some
times, while the blood from his self-in-
ficted wounds mingles freely with that
of his sacrifice, he is most benign, and
showers his divine favors of health and
prosperity all round him. Hours pass
by. The trembling crowd stand rooted
to the spot. Suddenly the dancer gives
a great bound in the air; when he de-
scends he is motionless. The fisndish
look has vanished from his eyes. His
demoniacal laughter is still. He speaks
to this and to that neighbor quietly and
reasonably. He lays aside his garb,