A Visit to the House of Baboo Ram Chunder.—His Wife.—Rajpoot Wrestlers.—Nautchnees, or Hindoo Ballet-Girls.—A Hindoo Drama.—Visit to a Nautchnees' School.—Bayahdiers, or Dancing-Girls, attached to the Hindoo Temples.—Profession, Education, Dress, Character, Fate in Old Age and after Death.—Cusbans, or Common Women.—Marked Differences between these three Classes of Public Women.

Among the most interesting of the rich Hindoos whose acquaintance we made during our long residence in Bombay was one Baboo Ram Chunder. A wealthy gentleman, educated in all the learning of the East as well as in English, possessing quite an appreciative intelligence on most English topics, but nevertheless a pure Hindoo in mind and character, clinging with peculiar affection to the manners, customs, and religion of his forefathers, and struggling to the last degree to counteract the vulgar and popular superstitions of modern Brahmanism, though not a member of the Brahmo-Somaj,[45] he left nothing undone to revive the pure and simple teachings of the VÈdas. It was his custom to give every year a grand entertainment at his residence, to which he occasionally invited his European friends.

One morning Ram Chunder called in person at the "Aviary" to invite us to one of these to take place on the following evening, and promised me if I would be present not only a rare treat in the performance of a newly-arranged Hindoo drama from the poem of "Nalopakyanama," but also an introduction to his wife and child.

Ram Chunder's house, though not far from the vicinity of the Bhendee Bazaar, stood apart, surrounded by a well-built wall. The building was a large white-stuccoed dwelling decorated with rich carvings. There were two courts—an inner and outer court. We were received by a number of richly-attired attendants, and conducted through several dimly-lighted passages into a spacious apartment. It was a circular hall or pavilion with a fountain, and a garden with gravel-walks and a large area in the centre. The pavilion itself was decorated in the Oriental style, hung with kinkaub (or gold-wrought) curtains and peacocks' feathers; the floors were inlaid with mosaics of brilliant colors; the roof and pillars were decorated with rich gold mouldings; and the whole would have been very effective but for the mÉlange of European ornaments that were disposed around on the walls, tables, and shelves—clocks, antique pictures, statues, celestial and terrestrial globes, and a profusion of common glassware of the most brilliant colors.

Ram Chunder, a young man not over thirty, with remarkably courteous manners, with that refinement and delicacy which are the distinguishing characteristics of a high-bred Hindoo, rose and bowed before us, touching his forehead with his folded hands, and then placed us on his right hand. In person he was rather stout, with peculiarly fine eyes and a benevolent expression of countenance, though he was darker in complexion than most of the Brahmans. His dress on this occasion was unusually rich and strikingly picturesque. He wore trousers of a deep crimson satin; over this a long white muslin "angraka," or tunic, reaching almost to the knees; over this again he wore a short vest of purple velvet embroidered with gold braid. A scarf of finest cashmere was bound around his waist, in the folds of which there shone the jewelled hilt of a dagger. On his head was a white turban of stupendous size encircled with a string of large pearls; on his feet were European stockings and a pair of antique Indian slippers embroidered with many-colored silks and fine seed-pearls.

Thus attired, he was a gorgeous figure, and, like a true high-born Hindoo, he sat quietly in his place, except that every now and then he rose and bowed with folded hands to each guest as he entered and pointed out their places, reseating himself quietly and simply. There was no sign of bustle or expectation, nor any conversation to speak of. In course of the evening about twenty native and two or three European gentlemen were assembled in the pavilion. The Europeans were on the right, the native gentlemen on the left, and Ram Chunder in the middle. No native ladies were visible, but from the sounds of female voices behind the curtain it was evident they were not far off.

Richly-dressed native pages, stationed at the back of each guest, waved to and fro perfumed punkahs of peacock and ostrich feathers. After the usual ceremony of passing around to the guests sherbet in golden cups and "paun suparee," or betel-leaf and the areca-nut done up in gold-leaf, the performance began.

A herald dressed like a Hindoo angel, with wings, tail, and beak of a bird and the body of a young boy, announced with a peculiar cry, half natural and half bird-like, the presence of the Rajpoot athletes; and in stepped some ten men, their daggers gleaming in the dim light of the pavilion, which flickered on the gravelled space in front and barely lighted the surrounding garden, in the centre of which stood a fountain. The Rajpoots were in the prime of life, displaying great symmetry of form and development of muscular power. Their heads were closely shaven, with the exception of a long lock of hair bound in a knot at the top of their heads; their dress consisted of a pair of red silk drawers descending halfway to the knee and bound tightly around the waist with a scarf of many colors.

The wrestlers advanced, performing a sort of war-dance; they disposed of their daggers by putting them in their topknots; they then salÂÂmed before the audience and began the contest. Each slapped violently the inside of his arms and thighs; then, at a given signal, each seized his opponent by the waist. One placed his forehead against the other's breast; they then struggled, twisted, and tossed each other about, showing great skill and adroitness in keeping their feet and warding off blows. Suddenly, with a peculiar jerk, one of the wrestlers almost at the same moment dashed his opponent to the ground, and drawing forth his dagger stood flourishing it over the fallen victim. At this juncture a strain of music wild but tender swept from the farther end of the pavilion, seemingly given forth to arrest the premeditated thrust of the exultant victor.

They listen with heads slightly turned to one side; presently their grim, bloodthirsty expressions give place to looks of delight and wonder. All at once their faces break into smiles; simultaneously they drop their uplifted daggers, release their knees from the breasts of their prostrate foes, stoop, and, taking a little earth from the gravelled walk, scatter it over their heads as a sign that the victor himself is vanquished, salÂÂam to the spectators, and retire amid deafening shouts of applause.

After this the musicians struck up some lively Hindoo airs, and at length the heavy curtains from one side of the pavilion curled up like a lotus-flower at sunset, and there appeared a long line of girls advancing in a measured step and keeping time to the music. They stood on a platform almost facing us. Some of them were extraordinarily beautiful, one girl in particular. The face was of the purest oval, the features regular, the eyes large, dark, and almond-shaped, the complexion pale olive, with a slight blush of the most delicate pink on the cheeks, and the mouth was half pouting and almost infantile in its round curves, but with an expression of dejection and sorrow lingering about the corners which told better than words of weariness of the life to which she was doomed. For my part, it was difficult for me to remove my eyes from that pensive and beautiful face. Every now and then I found myself trying to picture her strange life, wondering who she was and how her parents could ever have had the heart to doom her to such a profession.

The Nautchnees, or dancing-girls, of whom there were no less than eighteen, were all dressed in that exquisite Oriental costume peculiar to them, each one in a different shade or in distinct colors, but so carefully chosen that this mass of color harmonized with wonderful effect. First, they wore bright-colored silk vests and drawers that fitted tightly to the body and revealed a part of the neck, arms, and legs; a full, transparent petticoat attached low down almost on the hips, leaving an uncovered margin all around the form from the waist of the bodice to where the skirt was secured on the hips; over this a saree of some gauze-like texture bound lightly over the whole person, the whole so draped as to encircle the figure like a halo at every point, and, finally, thrown over the head and drooping over the face in a most bewitching veil. The hair was combed smoothly back and tied in a knot behind, while on the forehead, ears, neck, arms, wrists, ankles, and toes were a profusion of dazzling ornaments.

With head modestly inclined, downcast eyes, and clasped hands they stood silent for some little time, in strong relief against a wall fretted with fantastic Oriental carvings. The herald again gave the signal for the music to strike up. A burst of wild Oriental melody flooded the pavilion, and all at once the Nautchnees started to their feet. Poised on tiptoe, with arms raised aloft over their heads, they began to whirl and float and glide about in a maze of rhythmic movement, fluttering and quivering and waving before us like aspen-leaves moved by a strong breeze. It must have cost them years of labor to have arrived at such ease and precision of movement. The dance was a miracle of art, and all the more fascinating because of the rare beauty of the performers.

Then came the cup-dance, which was performed by the lovely girl who had so captivated my fancy. She advanced with slow and solemn step to the centre of the platform, and, taking up a tier of four or five cups fitting close into one another, she placed this tier on her head and immediately began to move her arms, head, and feet in such gently undulating waves that one imagined the cups, which were all the time balanced on her head, were floating about her person, and seemingly everywhere except where she so dextrously poised and maintained them. This dance was concluded by a cup being filled with sherbet and placed in the middle of the platform. Removing the cups from her head, the dancer, her eyes glowing, her breast heaving, swept toward the filled cup as if drawn to it by some spell, round and round, now approaching, now retreating, till finally, as if unable to resist the enchantment, she gave one long sweep around it, and, clasping her arms tightly behind her, lay full length on the pavement, and taking up with her lips the brimming cup drained its contents without spilling a drop. Then, putting it down empty, she rose with the utmost grace and bowed her head before us, her arms still firmly clasped behind her. The grace, beauty, and elegance of her movements were incomparable; the spectators were too deeply interested even to applaud her. She retired amid a profound and significant silence to her place.

Presently a tall, slim, graceful girl took her place on the platform with a gay smile on her face. An attendant fastened on her head a wicker wheel about three feet in diameter; it was bound firmly to the crown of her head, and all around it were cords placed at equal distances, each having a slipknot secured by means of a glass bead. In her left hand she held a basket of eggs. When the music struck up once more she took an egg, inserted it into a knot, and gave it a peculiarly energetic little jerk, which somehow fastened it firmly in its place. As soon as all the eggs were thus firmly bound in the slipknots round the wheel on her head, she gave a rapid whirl, sent them flying around, while she preserved the movement with her feet, keeping time to the music. Away she whirled, the eggs revolving round her. The slightest false movement would bring them together in a general crash. After continuing this about a quarter of an hour, she seized a cord with a swift but sure grasp, detached from it the inserted egg, managing the slipknot with marvellous dexterity, dancing all the while, till every egg was detached and placed in her basket; after which she advanced, and, kneeling before us, begged us to examine the eggs whether real or fictitious. Of course the eggs were real, and she was almost overwhelmed with shouts of "Khoup! khoup! Matjaka! matjaka!"—"Fine! fine! beautiful!" And then the Nautchnees vanished from the pavilion.

During the interval that followed the pages went round with goulab-dhanees, or bottles with rose-water, to sprinkle the guests.

Suddenly the cry of the herald announced a new scene. The heavy curtain slowly folded up and a long line of male actors, superbly attired as Oriental kings and princes from different parts of the East, entered and took their places on the divans ranged along the farther end of the pavilion. Ram Chunder approached us and informed me that the piece about to be represented was a pure Hindoo drama, a beautiful episode from the Sanskrit epic MahÂbhÂrata, called "Nalopakyanama, or, The Story of Nala."

After the kings and princes had seated themselves, in came a string of attendants arrayed in gold and gleaming armor, who took their places behind the royal personages on the divans. Then came twelve maidens attired in cloth of gold and fantastic head-gear, belonging to the ancient VÈdic period. Each of these girls had a cithara in her hands; they disposed themselves on seats to the left of the pavilion. After these a shrill cry of many voices announced the gods Indra, Agni, Varuna, and Yama, and in stalked four men splendidly robed, bearing gold wands, with serpents coiling around them, in their hands, and lotos-shaped crowns richly jewelled on their heads. Their raiment was one blaze of tinsel and glass jewels, made to shine with all the brilliancy of real gems.

Then came the hero Nala, with faded flowers on his tiara, dust on his garments, and looking picturesque enough with his bright scarf thrown across his shoulders, but travel-stained and very commonplace in the presence of so much gold and finery.

Nala was the hero to whom the matchless Damayanti, "whose beauty disturbed the souls of gods and men," had pledged her love, in spite of the proposition he brought her from the four gods to choose one of them and reign the unrivalled queen of the highest heaven. Damayanti, desirous of averting from her well-beloved Nala the vengeance of the gods, invites all her suitors to the "Swayamvara;" that is, a public choice of a husband by the lady, according to the custom of that age, assuring Nala that then there will be no cause of blame to him, as she will choose him in the presence of the gods themselves. Hence the presence of the four gods among the assembled princes suitors for the hand of the lovely Damayanti.

The herald once more gave the signal for the performance to begin. The musicians struck their citharas and recited in musical intonations the chief parts of the drama of Nala. At a certain part of the recitation the curtain descended, and in a few moments went up again. During this interval the gods were transformed into the likeness of Nala, presenting five Nalas instead of one; which the singers explained was a trick of the gods by which they hoped to bewilder poor Damayanti and perhaps induce her, in her ignorance of which were the gods and which Nala, to select one of their divine number as her future husband. The interest of the drama was centred among these four suitors of Damayanti, each the counterpart of the favored Nala.

The music at this point rose and fell, now vibrating in low tender accents, and anon rising in wild, startling emphasis of expression. At this moment the curtain parted and there stood the cup-dancer with her quiet yet entrancing beauty. Calmly she entered, looking down and meditating, as we were told, on the object of her affections. Her dress was exquisite of its kind and character; I never saw its counterpart on a Nautchnee before or after. It was a long gown without sleeves, falling from her shoulders to her feet, open at the throat, exposing a part of the neck and breast and the whole arm from the shoulder. It was very full, but of the most delicate texture, revealing the whole outline of a very lovely form. A bright border of variegated silk ran down the front and round the hem of this ancient VÈdic garment, and it was fastened at the waist by a rich silk scarf. Her hair fell back, flowing down to her feet; on her head was a curious crown of an antique pattern, and over it all was thrown a long veil that streamed on the floor, and was of such transparent texture that it looked like woven sunbeams.

Such was the impersonation of the VÈdic beauty Damayanti. When she reached the centre of the circular pavilion she lifted her eyes, and, seeing five Nalas instead of one, started backward, clasped her lovely arms on her bosom, and, rocking herself gently to and fro, moaned, "Alas! alas! there are five Nalas, all so like my own true sinless chief. How shall I discover the one to whom alone I have pledged my undying love?"

At this juncture the music ceased and a deep silence fell upon the audience. Every eye was riveted on that lovely creature seemingly overcome with the tide of sorrow and uncertainty that swept over her. Suddenly pausing in her moans, she turned up her fine eyes to the sky, and with some new inward light dawning as it were upon her troubled soul said audibly, "To the gods alone I will trust. If they are indeed gods, they will not deceive a poor mortal woman like me."

Then, quivering and trembling, with flushed cheeks and lustrous eyes, she folded her hands and knelt in reverence before the gods and prayed aloud, and said, "O ye gods, as in word or thought I swerve not from my love and faith to Nala, so I here adjure you to resume your immortal forms and reveal to me my Nala, that I may in your holy presence choose him for my pure and sinless husband."

Kneeling there with her face turned up, her hands folded, the outlines of her beautiful form made even more lovely by the half-softened halo of light shed over her from above, she seemed like some beautiful vision, and not a thing of flesh and blood. I never witnessed anything more truly exquisite and tender in its simple womanhood than this rendering of the beautiful VÈdic character of Damayanti.

Again the voices of the musicians were heard interpreting for us the thoughts and feelings of the gods: "We are filled with wonder at her steadfast love and peerless beauty," etc., etc. Once more the curtain is dropped, and presently it folds up again, revealing the forms of the four bright gods as at first in all the splendor of their robes, crowned and flashing with jewels, and fragrant with the garlands of fresh flowers that hang around their necks.

Damayanti rose from her bended knees. With pleased and childlike wonder she gazed at the gods one moment, then turned to her own true Nala, who stood before her in striking contrast to the gods, with moisture on his brow, dust on his garments, soiled head-dress and faded garland. But on recognizing him as the true Nala she folded her hands in sudden rapture and gave a cry of joy; then, removing from her own neck her garland of mohgree-flowers, moved with quiet grace toward her lover, knelt and kissed the hem of his dusty robe, arose and threw around his neck her own fresh, radiant wreath of flowers, saying, "So I choose for my lord and husband NishÁdah's noble king." At this speech a sound of wild sorrow burst from the rejected suitors, but the gods shouted, "Well done! well done!" Then the happy Nala, turning to the blushing Damayanti, said, "Since, O maiden, you have chosen me for your husband in the presence of the gods, know this, that I will ever be your faithful lover, delight in your words, your looks, your thoughts, and so long as this soul inhabits this body, so long as the moon turns to the sun till the sun grows cold and ceases to shine, so long shall I be thine, and thine only."

One more loud shout from the herald, the curtain dropped, the play and the day were over, for it was just twelve o'clock.

The Oriental and European guests took their leave of their amiable host with much salÂÂming and many expressions of delight, for the play had been arranged by Ram Chunder himself.

After a few minutes our host kindly conducted me to an inner apartment of his dwelling to introduce me, as he had promised, to his wife, who had already quitted her place behind the curtains, whence she and her maids had witnessed the performance, and had retired to her own rooms, which were (as in the case of all rich Hindoos or even Mohammedans) separate from those occupied by her husband. Traversing a long and narrow passage, we came to an arched doorway, with a dark silk curtain hanging before it, guarded by two women seated on either side. They rose and salÂÂmed to us, and Ram Chunder, instead of walking in as any ordinary European husband would have done, inquired of them if the lady KesinÈh had retired.

"No, your lordship," replied the ceremonious Hindoo maid-servant; "she waits yours and the English lady's presence."

On which Ram Chunder drew aside the heavy drapery and bade me enter, saying, "I will return for you in a quarter of an hour or so."

Left alone, I stepped into a dimly-lighted but spacious room, at the farther end of which I saw seated a Hindoo lady surrounded by several female attendants.

As far as I could observe in the dim light, she was dark, but handsome and dressed like the generality of Hindoo women, only that her veil, instead of being drawn over her head, was thrown back, and trailed on the floor beside her. She did not rise to greet me, but salÂÂmed to me from her place, and patted a cushion close by her as an invitation for me to be seated. This was, as I soon found, owing to the fact that her little daughter, lying half asleep in a little Hindoo cradle close by, was holding her hand, and she feared to disturb her. I sat down and looked over into the cradle; there lay a soft plump, brown child, a little girl of about two years of age, perfectly nude, with a string of gold coins around her neck and each of her arms. In the presence of such perfect innocence and trust the narrow distinctions of races and creeds seemed to fade away: I only felt here was another woman like myself, and she a mother; and, in truth, I could not have long felt otherwise, in spite of any prejudices I may have had; KesinÈh was too natural and simple a creature for one to feel anything but at home with her.

The first words that she said to me, after satisfying herself that little "Brownee" (as I always called her) was asleep, were, "How long have you been married?" Then, "What does your husband look like? How old are you? Where do you live?" etc., etc. My answers seemed to please her very much, for she patted my knee and laughed softly, and said, "Oh, heart! oh, heart! how happy you must be!"

We then talked about her own life. She told me that she had been married four years, that she had hoped "Brownee" was going to be a son, "but she turned out a daughter after all," said poor KesinÈh with a sigh. "Do you love her less for that?" I inquired. "Oh no, indeed," said KesinÈh quickly; "I think I love her more, but my lord would have been better pleased with me if she had been a son instead of a daughter." "But," said I, trying to comfort her for her disappointment, "it was not your fault that your child happened to be a daughter." "Oh yes," said the lady with great energy, "it was my own fault. I committed the sin of marrying my own brother in a former state of existence; thus I am now doomed to have a daughter for my first-born child in this." I did not know what to say to this odd explanation, and there was a pause, but at length I ventured to suggest that whether it was so or not she must admit that little "Brownee" was a treasure. "Oh yes," said KesinÈh with joyful emphasis—"a lovely, bewildering little thing;" and she leaned lovingly over the little sleeper.

I noticed that in everything this Hindoo lady said or did there was no affectation of voice or manner, no effort to please or entertain me, but a simple and natural expression of herself.

When it was time for me to go I put her one question which I longed most to have answered: "Who is that very beautiful Nautchnee who danced the cup-dance and performed the part of Damayanti this evening?"

"I do not know," said the lady KesinÈh with great interest in her manner. "Is she not beautiful? The Nautchnees were hired for this evening. I would like to know who she is too."

Then, turning to one of her attendants, who was listening to every word we said with a smile on her face, she inquired, "Ummah, do you know the owner of the Nautchnees who were here to-night?"

"Yes, my lady," replied the woman.

"If you hear anything about her you will let me know, for I have fallen in love with her," said I, half in jest and half in earnest. "Mah mi! mah mi!" laughed KesinÈh—"so have I. She is a heart-distracting creature. Every one who saw her dance and act will dream of her to-night. Mah mi! mah mi! how proud she must feel!"

I wished her good-night in the strictest Hindoo fashion, taught me by the pundit.

"Ram, Ram," said I, "dev Ram!"[46] Putting my folded hands to my brow and stooping, I lightly kissed the little sleeper in the cradle.

The very next moment KesinÈh had sprung up, and, putting her arms around my neck, she laid her brow against mine and repeated that tender Hindoo farewell than which there is nothing more exquisite in human language: "The gods send that neither sun nor wind, neither rain nor any earthly sorrow, brush by thee too roughly, my friend."

Content and pleased with my new acquaintance, we parted, but not without my promise to visit her again.

The dancing-girls of India may be divided into three classes: the Nautchnees, who are actresses, or ballet-girls, or both; the Bayahdiers, or Bhayadhyas, dedicated by their parents in childhood as votive offerings to certain temples, and consecrated to them at the age of womanhood; and the common "Cusban," a grade even lower than either of these, whose ranks are chiefly supplied from the abandoned Mohammedan women, the Purwarees, the lowest of all castes in Central India, as well as from the disaffected runaways of either of the two former and more reputable professions. The Cusban, therefore, is the scum and refuse of the lowest-caste females in India.

One day, accompanied by KesinÈh, I visited a Nautchnee establishment of which the beautiful dancing-girl who so much attracted me was an inmate. It was kept by a native man and his wife, named respectively Dhanut and Saineh Bebee. We drove to it in a Hindoo carriage, a round seat for two or more persons placed on wheels, drawn by a pair of milk-white bullocks, and covered with a curious conical structure of wickerwork hung with crimson silk curtains. We took our places on two cushions cross-legged; the driver sat in front, and with a sharp crack of the whip started the bullocks at a brisk trot and sent us bumping up and down. On our way we caught glimpses of a population even more strange than those to be met daily in the parts of the island more frequented by Europeans. The dirtiness of a low-caste, poverty-stricken Oriental street is inconceivable. Filth reigned supreme in some of the lanes and alleys through which we passed. A rank vegetation clothed everything; trees hung with many-colored festoons of leaves and flowers formed thick tapestries of foliage on the right and on the left.

There is no country in the world (save the beautiful island of Ceylon) that is kinder to the sluggard. The poorest soil will grow certain qualities of fruit and cocoanut palms. The native population in some parts here seemed almost too indolent to move out of the way of our carriage-wheels, but they were peaceful enough. Stones, old broken bits of earthenware, wheels, broken litters, impeded the way, and cows, dogs, hens, chickens, pigs, ducks, and children less clad than any of these, roamed idly about in the streets and gutters or narrow lanes. As a rule, no refuse or rubbish of any kind whatever is removed, but is left to accident and the action of natural chemistry. Burnt-down huts covered over with the ever-ready parasitic plants, old wells and tanks filled with stagnant water abounding in frogs, water-snakes, and all kinds of reptiles, add to the sluggish appearance of the place. Gayly-dressed native women, idle men—among whom may be seen some poor depraved British tars—and male and female hucksters of fruit and sweetmeats, complete the picture.

The Nautchnees' establishment was a curious building surrounded by a high wall. We entered through a gate, and were at once conducted by a couple of old women across a paved courtyard planted all around with the mohgree, oleander, and tall red and white rose trees. Passing this, we were introduced into a great bare hall, with low seats ranged around the walls, curtained all along the farther end of the room, into which inner chambers seemed to open. Here we took our places. One of the old women stayed by us, while the other went off to announce our visit to the head lady of the establishment.

The great slave-markets which we have all read so much about, where tender young girls are bought and sold as if they were cattle, no longer exist in British India, but the amount of traffic of the kind that is still carried on everywhere is incredible, although the fact is vigorously denied by both the buyer and the seller. In many cases these Nautchnees are not bought, but hired for a term of years, for money paid not to the girls themselves, but to parents or friends. In the course of time the parents die or move away, and the girl, after having given her best days to her employers, finds herself without money, friends, or social ties, and is glad enough to spend the remainder of her life in instructing the younger members of the establishment of which, with the fidelity so natural to Oriental women, she considers herself a member, and therefore bound for life to promote its interests.

After a few moments Sainah Bebee came in to greet the lady KesinÈh. She salÂÂmed most deferentially to us, and took her place on the floor. She was a woman about fifty and a native of Afghanistan, tall and finely formed. She spoke of difficulty in procuring respectable young girls to fill the places of those who ran away, were sold to certain rich admirers for wives or concubines, or died. It would appear that the lowest, or Cusban, class was largely increasing, whereas that of the Nautchnees was fast diminishing. On my questioning the old lady about the average life of the Nautchnees, she could give me no clear estimate, but intimated very decidedly that they generally died young.

At my especial request we were shown into the exercising-room and almost over the entire establishment. There were over a hundred girls, of all ages, and all shades of complexion from dark-brown to a pale delicate olive, going through their exercises at the time. The hall was composed of bamboo trellis-work, and was light, spacious, and airy enough. From the roof hung all sorts of gymnastic apparatus, rude but curious—ropes to which the girls clung as they whirled round on tiptoe; wheels on which they were made to walk in order to learn a peculiar circular dance called "chakranee" (from "chak," a wheel); slipknots into which they fastened one arm or one leg, thus holding it motionless while they exercised the other; cups, revolving balls, which they sprang up to catch; and heaps of fragile cords, with which they spin round and round, and if any one of these snap under too great a pressure, they are punished, though never very severely.

Altogether, it was a strange sight. Most of the girls from ten to fourteen had nothing on but a short tight pair of drawers; the older ones had tight short-sleeved bodices in addition to the drawers; and those under ten were naked. They were all good-looking; a few here and there were beautiful. The delicate and refined outline of their features, the soft tint of their rich complexions, the dreamy expression of their large, dark, quiet eyes, added to great symmetry of form, made them strangely fascinating.

The teachers were all middle-aged women, some of whom looked prematurely old. The girls are taught to repeat poems and plays, but no books are used.

The dormitories in this establishment were bare rooms; the girls all slept on mats or cushions on the floor. Each had a lota, or drinking-cup, a little mirror, and a native box in which to keep her clothes. The more finished and accomplished Nautchnees had rooms to themselves. I went into one of these. It was matted, and was very simply furnished. A tier of boxes in which her jewels and robes were kept, a cot, a few brass lotas, fans, cojas, or water-holders, with some tiny looking-glasses ranged along the wall,—and this was all.

I inquired for the beautiful Nautchnee who had interested me. Her name was Khangee; she was a Soodahnee by birth. The Soodahs are a military race or tribe inhabiting parts of the province of Cutch; they find their chief wealth in the beauty of their daughters, and for one of the Soodahnees a rich Mohammedan will pay from a thousand to ten thousand rupees.[47] Rajahs, wealthy Mohammedan merchants, and proprietors of dancing-girls often despatch their emissaries to Cutch, Cabool, Cashmere, and Rajpootana in search of beautiful women. The fame of the Cashmerian and Soodah women has spread far and wide, and often some beautiful creature is picked up out of the hovels of Thur, Booly, or Cashmere and transplanted to the gorgeous pomp of a royal harem. The Rajpoots intermarry with the Soodah and Cashmerian women, and, being naturally a handsome race, they have preserved by this means that physical beauty of which they are so justly proud.

Very little was known of Khangee's history beyond the fact that she was a Soodahnee by birth. She was bought at an early age from her parents, who were poor and occupied a hovel in the village of Thur in Cutch, and sold to this establishment when in her seventh year, and was almost as ignorant of her parentage as a newly-born babe. At the time of our visit she had been hired with a party of Nautchnees to assist in the marriage-celebration which was to take place at the house of a rich BunyÂh, or Hindoo grain-merchant.

These Nautchnees often marry well, and become chaste wives and mothers of large families. The four requisites for a Nautchnee are bright eyes, fine teeth, long hair, and a perfect symmetry of form and feature. A small black mole between the eyebrows or on either cheek will enhance her value to an extraordinary degree.

The utter friendlessness, the quiet submission, expressed in the actions and faces of the young girls, and even of the little children, we had seen exercising and acquiring their different parts that morning, were very pathetic. There was none of the impetuosity of youth nor of the joyousness of childhood. It is a sad and dreary picture, these parentless children of the East living for some rich man's pleasure, and dying as they live, often unloved and uncared for by any relative or friend.

"Bayahdier" is the name generally applied by the French and Portuguese to the dancing-girls attached to temples.[48] They are distinct from the Nautchnees, and are held sacred as priestesses. In case of sickness, famine, or other individual or social calamity Hindoo parents will repair to the temple and there vow to dedicate a daughter, sometimes yet unborn, to the service of Siva, provided the gods avert the threatened danger. Such vows are also made by barren women, who promise, if the curse of barrenness be removed, to dedicate to Siva their first-born daughter; and all such vows are religiously performed. When the child thus consecrated is born, the first thing that is necessary is for the father to repair to the temple and register her name as a devotee of the temple, break a cocoanut at the shrine of Siva, and take from the hand of the Brahman priest a little holy oil, shaindoor, a sort of red paint, and mud obtained from the Ganges; with which he returns to mark the newly-born child. From this moment she is looked upon as a priestess, and is exempt from all household or any other employment. At the age of five she attends the temple daily, where she is taught by the priests to read, chant, sing, and dance in the schools attached to it. When the girl has reached womanhood she undergoes certain purifications. Holy oil and grated sandal-wood are rubbed over her person; she is then bathed, perfumed, fumigated, dressed in a robe peculiar to these priestesses—a full petticoat with a handsome border, short enough to show her feet and ankles, which are covered with jewels; a very short boddice, and over this is thrown a spotted muslin veil; the hair is ornamented with jewels of gold and silver, as are the neck, arms, and throat. She then enters the temple, takes her place near the stone image of Siva; generally her right hand is bound to that of the holy image, her forehead is marked with his sign, and she confirms the vow made by her parents to dedicate her body to the service and maintenance of the temple. With some few advantages of education, this temple-service may be regarded as one of the most corrupt and depraving institutions of the Hindoos—injurious alike to the moral and physical welfare of the community at large, and moreover debasing to the character of the Brahman priests themselves in their open recognition and encouragement of vice. These poor devotees often accept their fate with that stolid indifference peculiar to the Orientals, and are taught to believe that their immoralities are sacred to the god to whom they are dedicated.

The services on the death of one of these priestesses are peculiar. When at the point of death a mud idol of Siva is placed in her arms. Her mouth, eyes, nose, and ears are rubbed with holy oil, and then touched with flame obtained from a sacrificial fire, to purify from the taint of her impure life; in her hands are placed the toolsi[49] flowers, and her body is robed in pure white; after which she is made to repeat a hymn praying that as she has consecrated her body to the service of the gods, so may her soul be freed from rebirth and reunited to the Infinite Soul. If she is too feeble to repeat this prayer, the priests chant it in her dying ear. When life becomes extinct she is carried to a quiet spot in the vicinity of the temple, burned, and her ashes buried then and there. Sometimes a fellow-sister will plant a toolsi or moghree tree on the site, but no monument ever marks the spot where these poor priestesses of passion are cremated.

These devotees are never taken in marriage; they are looked upon as the brides of their various deities; they are generally childless. If a woman happens to have a child, however, she is sole arbitress of its fate, and in no instance has she ever been known to dedicate it to the life to which she has been doomed. She generally hands it over to her parents or nearest relatives as a substitute for herself.

There are hospitals and asylums for the sick, infirm, and aged of this class of women, though from all I could learn very few arrive at old age.

The Cusban, or lowest class of dancing-women, is very largely recruited from runaways from these Hindoo temples, and it is said that in course of time they become the most abandoned and desperate of the native community.

Even the most intelligent people, unless they have made a special study of India, can have no idea of the marked differences that exist between the Brahmans and these different classes of women. The pure Brahman, with the three other Aryan castes in so far as they have not intermarried with the aborigines, are of Caucasian type. In the northern provinces they are not brown, but of a complexion almost as fair as that of many dark Europeans. Both the men and women are distinguished by symmetry of form, fine soft hair, and beautiful eyes. Their ideal of beauty is similar to ours, with this exception: that they have adhered more closely in matters of dress to the original simplicity of form than Europeans have done.

Theatrical representations, such as that of Ram Chunder, are much in vogue. The dramatic art in Hindostan about the period of the Christian era was of a high and lofty character. It was the great school wherein kings, warriors, and soldiers were taught the purest ideals of chivalry and manly and womanly purity of character; but at the present time it has greatly degenerated, although in many parts of India the more enlightened Hindoos are trying to restore it once more to its true and original place among the high arts. Everywhere theatrical exhibitions are held, often in the open air or under temporary sheds. The actresses are the Nautchnees, and a respectable Hindoo woman will rarely attend these public places. The native Roman Catholics in Southern India and Ceylon have also religious dramas, in no way superior to those of the Hindoos; the overshadowing of the Virgin, the birth of Christ, the crucifixion, and so forth, are very similar to the scenes represented of Krishna and the Hindoo incarnation.

Social dancing does not exist among the nations of the East, and it is considered highly indecorous for a Hindoo woman of pure character to dance. Even the Nautchnees, if they become wives or even concubines to rich men, as often happens, abandon all such practices; and their children are never allowed to know their mother's early profession, so deep is the national sentiment with regard to the domestic relations of a wife and mother.

Public reading of popular poems, histories, and dramas as a source of amusement is very common all through Northern and Southern Hindostan. The reading is always performed in parts. A wealthy Hindoo will engage a number of professional readers to perform the task, and every one who wishes to hear may do so. The readers always take their places in an open verandah, and the people in large numbers seat themselves around within hearing distance. The recitation is given; each person performs his or her part in the prescribed order with a musical cadence. The expositor gives a free translation for the benefit of the people, who are thus made acquainted with the most celebrated Hindoo works.

Chess is a favorite game among the Hindoos, and it is one of the most ancient, alluded to even in their earliest productions, and quite common among all classes and grades of society. This game is peculiarly adapted to the Hindoo mind, in which quiet thought, perspicacity, and shrewdness are so strongly marked. Cards with the figures of their gods and goddesses are a source of great amusement; the women are much given to this indoor recreation. The Ashta-Kasti is a game played on a board of twenty-five squares with sixteen cowries or small shells. It is played by four persons, and is finished when one of the pieces, traversing the length and breadth of the board, enters first into the central square. Mohgali[50] Patan is a favorite game among the superior classes of Hindoo women. It is a representation of a battle between the Mohgals and Patans. The battle-field is accurately drawn; on one side is the Mohgal army, and on the other the Patan. Hindoo ladies play it with great skill. Another military game, the PÀshÀ, played on ninety-six squares and with sixteen pieces, is played with great vigor and amid peals of laughter. The moves are regulated by the throws of dice. Among the outdoor sports are kite-flying, throwing the sling, bat-and-ball, croquet on horseback, wrestling, running, boating, boxing, and hunting. Itinerant jugglers are everywhere patronized.

Musical recreations are most popular of all, and not only from the temples and palaces, but from the humblest hut of the poorest peasant, sweet sounds everywhere greet the ear. When an instrument cannot be had the voice is substituted; men seated in clusters under trees by the wayside beguile the evening hours with song after song. The common bhistee at the water's edge, the farmer at the plough, the cart-driver, the boatman, the shepherd, the warrior, the spinner at her wheel, and the mother beside the cradle, all delight in song, giving great effect to tender or spiritual sentiments by the measured or animated tones of chant, psalm, or song as it may happen to be.

Instrumental, and even vocal music, though held among the fine arts, has not attained great eminence, yet no people are more susceptible to its peculiar charms than the Hindoos. The word "sang-gheeta," or symphony, implies not only the union of voices and instruments, but suitable action.

Musical treatises always combine "gÁna," the measure of poetry, "vadya," instrumental sound, and "uritya," dancing. The most remarkable of their musical compositions are The Ragar Navah, "The Sea of Passion;" Sabha-Vinodah, "The Delight of the Assemblies;" Sang-gheeta-Derpana, "The Mirror of Song;" Raga Nibhoda, "The Doctrine of Musical Modes." All these works explain more or less the laws of harmony, the division of musical sounds into scales, etc., enunciation, cadence, rising and falling variations, long and short accentuations, and rules for playing the vina and other musical instruments. The vina is the most common; it is not unlike a guitar, five or six feet long, with seven or more strings, and a large gourd at each end of the finger-board.

Music, like almost everything else in India, is thought to be of divine origin. The gamut is called swaragrama, and is uttered as Sa, ri, ga, ma, pa, dha, ne. Little circles, ellipses, crescents, chains, curves, lines, straight, horizontal, or perpendicular, are employed as notes. The close of each strain is always marked by a flower, especially the rose and lotus.

The mode of dress of the Hindoo is both simple and suitable to the climate. The men wear a cloth called dhotee bound round the loins, with an upper vest, of cotton or silk according to the wealth of the wearer, over it. This angraka, or coat, is very graceful, generally of pure white, and descending to the ankles; it is bound around the waist by a colored shawl or scarf called cumberbund. A white muslin turban artistically wound around the head and sandals complete the attire. On festive occasions a gay handkerchief is thrown over the right shoulder, which adds very much to the picturesqueness of the dress.

The women wear a cloth, or saree, some yards in length, often edged with a rich and delicate embroidery of gold or silver, descending to the feet. They gather this into a point in front, and fasten it around their waists with or without belts, as the case may be. They then twist the rest most gracefully around the entire person, after which it is thrown over the head and made to serve both as a bonnet and a veil. It is very becoming, and, wrought over with delicate Oriental devices of fine texture, lends a peculiar charm to the most ordinary features. A bright silk boddice is worn under the saree, and the whole dress accords well with the sweet, modest grace and beauty which characterize the pure Hindoo woman.

They also wear a profusion of jewels, and ears, nose, arms, wrists, ankles, toes, and fingers are often bedecked with them. In some instances all their wealth is thus preserved. The hair, which is often very luxuriant, is combed back in the ordinary European style, and is tied in a knot behind. Rich women often fasten it with a band of gold bound around the entire head and very expensive ornamental gold pins. The Hindoo women possess in a far greater degree than Europeans an eye for color. The most ignorant of them have the peculiar art of selecting strong and brilliant contrasts in color, and so disposing them on their persons as to make a perfect harmony.

There is a marked difference between the moral and social character of the Hindoo and the Mohammedan women of India. The Hindoo woman does not occupy that position in society which she is so eminently fitted to grace, and which is accorded to women in Europe and America; but she is by no means as degraded as is so frequently represented by travellers, who are apt to mistake the common street-women with whom they are brought into contact for the wife and mother of an ordinary Hindoo home. It is difficult for a stranger to find out what an Indian woman is at home, though he may have encountered many a bedizened female in the streets which he takes for her.

The influence of the Hindoo woman is seen and felt all through the history of India, and is very marked in the annals of British rule. Though the political changes, the invasion, and despotism of Mohammedan rule may have forced upon them the seclusion now so general, it is evident that they once occupied a very different position in society, from the testimony of their earliest writers and the dramatic representations of domestic life and manners still extant.

One of the most startling facts is, that among the Asiatic rulers of India who have heroically resisted foreign invasion the women of Hindostan have distinguished themselves almost as much as the men. Lakshmi Baiee, the queen of Jahnsee, held the entire British army in check for the space of twenty-four hours by her wonderful generalship, and she would probably have come off victorious if she had not been shot down by the enemy. After the battle Sir Hugh Rose, the English commander, declared that the best man on the enemy's side was the brave queen Lakshmi Baiee. Another courageous and noble woman, Aus Khoor, was placed by the British government on the throne of Pattiala, an utterly disorganized and revolted state in the Panjaub. In less than one year she had by her wise and effective administration changed the whole condition of the country, subjugated the rebellious cities and villages, increased the revenues, and established order, security, and peace everywhere. Alleah Baiee, the Mahratta queen of Malwah, devoted herself for the space of twenty years with unremitting assiduity to the happiness and welfare of her people, so that Hindoos, Buddhists, Jains, Parsees, and Mohammedans united in blessing her beneficent rule; and of so rare a modesty was this woman that she ordered a book which extolled her virtues to be destroyed, saying, "Could I have been so infamous as to neglect the welfare and happiness of my subjects?"

In the historical notices of the rule of HindÓstanee women nothing is more conspicuous than their fine, intuitive sense of honor and justice. Clive, Hastings, Wellesley, and other governors-general of India, have all acknowledged their high appreciation of the character of the Hindoo women they have known, declaring that in many instances, under the administration of Ranees and Begums, India has been more prosperous and better governed than under the rule of the native rajahs.

The present ruler of Bhopal is a lady of high moral and intellectual attainments; both she and her mother, who preceded her as head of the state, have displayed the highest capacity for administration. Both have been appointed knights of the Star of India by the empress of India, Queen Victoria, and their territory is the best governed native state in India.

Very recently the queen of England created her Asiatic sisters, the queens of Oude and Pattiala, knights of the Star of India in appreciation of their wise and beneficent rule over their respective kingdoms.

During the dreadful ravages of the French and English, or the Carnatic War, the Hindoo women administered to the wounded and suffering European soldiers of both nations with equal tenderness and impartiality, causing one of the English generals to report to head-quarters, "But for the Indian women, who better understand the qualities of love and tenderness than we Europeans, I should have left half of my wounded soldiers to die on the battle-field. They washed the toiling feet of the poor tired soldiers, stanched their flowing wounds, and bore them in their united arms from the strife of the battle-field to the quiet and shelter of their own little huts."

In that interesting narrative of occurrences at Benares during the latter days of the month of June, 1857, furnished by a soldier of the Seventy-eighth Highlanders, are several incidents characteristic of the devotion and self-abnegation of the Hindoo women. This regiment or company of soldiers, in its work of retaliation upon the Indian mutineers, often set fire to whole villages in order to punish the rebel sepoys sheltered by them. On one of these occasions a humane Highlander, after having rescued several persons from the fire, rushed into the flames to save a young woman seated calmly by a dying man, whose lips she was wetting with some siste[51] while the fire was raging around her. No inducement of self-preservation could prevail with her to quit his side till they were both carried out.

Tenderness and self-devotion, as I said before, are the chief characteristics of the pure Hindoo woman. Her love for her offspring amounts to a passion, and she is rarely known to speak hastily, much less to strike or ill use her child. Her devotion as a wife has no parallel in the history of the world. Marriage is a sacred, indissoluble bond, which even death itself cannot destroy, and the patient, much-enduring women of India took the terrible yoke of sutteeism upon them in becoming wives as calmly as the young English or American girl puts on her bridal veil, and have gone to the funeral pile for centuries without a murmur.

In the purer and more ancient period of Indian civilization it was not customary to force a widow upon the funeral pyre of her husband. But the fearful prospects of Hindoo widowhood, which made her future existence appear to her a long, wearisome, and distasteful series of sad duties, made her gladly choose death rather than life. Besides which, she died honored and happy, having by her death redeemed her husband from a thousand years of penance. By degrees, this fearful practice, fostered by the priests and poets of India, became a sacred tradition carefully handed down from mother to daughter, and at last came to be regarded as a sublime sacrifice on the marriage altar. The practice of sutteeism has been virtually abolished by the British government on British-Indian soil, but to this day women will perform painful journeys to places still governed by native princes in order to burn themselves alive.

In 1834, while Dr. Burnes was residing at Cutch, a very remarkable case of sutteeism took place in that province. The only wife of Bhooj-Rhai, a wealthy and intimate friend of the rao or king, had, during her husband's illness, declared her intention of performing suttee at his death. When the time arrived the rao, at the instance of the British resident, expostulated with her, but all in vain. Protection was also offered her in the name of the British government, but her determination remained firm and unshaken. On the morning appointed for the burning of Bhooj-Rhai's body a funeral pyre was erected immediately in front of Rao Lakka's tomb. A spot was enclosed with a circle of bamboos, the tops of which were bound together in the form of a beehive, covered with dried grass and thorns; the entrance was a small aperture on the left side. Crowds of gayly-dressed people flocked to the spot. The moment the victim, a remarkably handsome woman about thirty, and most superbly dressed, appeared, accompanied by the Brahman priests, her relatives, and the dead body of her husband, the people greeted her with loud exclamations of praise and delight, poured forth benedictions on her head for her constancy and virtue, and showered flowers on her path as she was borne along; women pressed to touch the hem of her garments, hoping thereby to be absolved from all sin and preserved from all evil influences.

Dr. Burnes addressed the woman, desiring to know whether the act she was about to perform was voluntary or enforced by the priests, and offered her again, on the part of the British government, a guarantee for the protection of her life and property. Her answer was calmly heroic, and she could not be dissuaded from her purpose: "I die of my own free will," said she; "give me back my husband and I will consent to live." Seeing that nothing could move her from her resolution, Dr. Burnes despatched a message to the rao requesting his interference. He returned answer that it was beyond his power to arrest the ceremony. Everything was done, but in vain, to save the life of this infatuated woman, and at length the ceremony began. Accompanied by the officiating Brahmans, the widow walked seven times round the pyre, repeating the usual mantras or prayers, strewing rice and cowries (small shells) on the ground, sprinkling holy water over her friends and relatives and on the bystanders. She then removed her jewels and presented them to her nearest relations with a glad smile. The Brahman priest then presented her with a lighted torch; taking it from his hand, she stepped through the fatal entrance and calmly seated herself within the pile. The body of her husband, wrapped in rich kinkaub (gold cloth), was then carried seven times round the pile, and finally laid across her knees. The door was left unclosed, in the hope that the deluded woman might yet repent and escape. Not a sigh, not a whisper, broke the death-like silence of the crowd. The intrepid woman held up her torch and ignited the pile. Presently a slight smoke, curling from the summit of the pyre, gave notice that the fiery ordeal had begun; then came a tongue of flame darting with lightning rapidity toward the clear blue sky, announcing that the sacrifice was completed, though not a sound betrayed that a living victim was within holding a dead corpse in her arms. So far as courage and silent, resolute determination went, she was more immovable than the dead clay she held in her last fiery embrace. At the sight of the ascending crackling flames wild shouts of exultation rent the air, the drums beat, the people clapped their hands in delighted applause, while the English spectators of the scene withdrew, bearing deep compassion in their hearts.

After the fiery consummation had taken place, on the ground where the sadhwee, or "pure one," had expired three chatties, or earthen vessels, full of consecrated balls of rice, were placed as offerings to the gods.

The Bombay government notified the rao at once that the repetition of such inhuman atrocities would not again be overlooked.[52] This had no doubt some effect on His Highness, but nevertheless some time after this sacrifice the beautiful mother of the rao suddenly fell ill and died, and one of her female attendants voluntarily buried herself alive near her mistress, in order that she should be in readiness to attend her in a future state.

It is very difficult for the Western mind to comprehend this utter self-abnegation on the part of Hindoos, and it can only be accounted for by their deep faith in the universal metamorphosis of life and the unreality of form. Maya[53] is illusion, the evanescent dream of life, which is only a "sleep between a sleep," the constant flow of form into form, of thought into thought, of life into other life. Even Brahm does not recognize himself in the second person: "I know when I am I, but who am I when I am thou?" It renders individuality illusive, intangible, and uncertain, so that to the Hindoos life and possession assume a meaning entirely different from that with which we are disposed to regard them. It is true that life loses half its charms, but death is robbed of its terrors. Life is valued only in so far as they are prepared to lay it aside, or rather to change it for some other form; for life and death are but the perpetual ebb and flow, the advance or retrograde, of soul toward "the Soul." Under this ardent faith, that everything above, below, beyond, God himself, is illusion, change, metamorphosis, is hidden the secret that helps them to endure suffering not only without a murmur, but with joy, and to count death itself a positive gain in the presence of the eternal, immutable, and solid fact of life to be found at last in the final reunion of the human with the divine life. This faith so potent, so absorbing, so far reaching, has stamped a character hereditary and almost ineffaceable on the Hindoo mind.

To-day Brahmanism is so expansive in character that it takes in every form and peculiarity of religious sentiment. The more earnest and spiritual have grand and magnificent theories of God that supply ample food for the imagination; the tender have laws that reach down almost to vegetable life; the ignorant and vulgar have attractive festivals and endless ceremonials suited to engage their attention; the vicious and degraded have the loves and frivolities of the gods and heroes, whose lives encourage pursuit of sensual gratifications; the devotee who abandons all that is sensual for spiritual insight has text upon text and example upon example, taken from the Puranas[54] and from the actual lives of saints, to support him in the effort of finding God at last. The self-sacrificing only quits an illusion for a reality, and the idolater who bows down before wood and stone believes that he sees before him only the form of a divine life hidden everywhere in matter. Thus highest religious thought and life and lowest sensual indulgence meet together in the theology of the Brahmans.