Foreign Parts
Kandy, Ceylon

Foreign Parts.

On Tour from New South Wales.

[By H. Rieck.]

II.—Ceylon.

Kandy, 8th February, 1899.

To see life in India, I am told, one need not tramp over all the immense Indian Empire; but it suffices to wander through the streets and promenades, markets, temples, church yards, ruins, over the mountains, through the jungles, along rice fields, rhea, cocoa, bean and cocoa-nut, etc., plantations, and especially through the really paradisian walks and drives of the Botanical Gardens at Paradeniya. At Ceylon we have in the last three weeks done so diligently, and have seen most all nations, manners and habilaments of the Singhalese, Tamils, Hindoo, Moormen, Parsees, Malays, Afghans, Burmese, Siamese, Chinese, etc., by thousands and thousands in all their different trades, caste, etc. They all keep the Queen’s peace pretty well; are very cleanly dressed, walk and drive in their small perambulator-like little bullock-buggies and rickshaws, dragged by Zebu bullocks, small horses, and half-naked, bare-shanked, brown men. We are told this is the kind of life all over India and inhabited senile, over-populated Asia.

All the ancient temples and ruins, the eternal quiet giant mountains around, the partly jungle-covered, partly cultivated, highly beautiful gentle slopes and plains under the sultry atmosphere (in spite of the hilarious nature of the population), breathe a deep melancholy quite unlike our bright, free, hearty, jolly, Australian land-scape. In spite of all the majestic beauty, we miss a certain something here. Is it the absence of an own elected Parliament in Ceylon? And are the countries and the peoples mourning over the loss of their ancient kingdoms, or are they craving for self-government? or is it the presence of a militia, composed out of Europeans not of high moral character?—some of such are said to have a few days ago murdered a brave Ceylonese civilian, in defence of his newly married wife and lady companion against the indecency of these “heroes” in a crowded public street of this town. Or is it the old Asiatic prejudice of numerous social “castes” prevalent here. All so unlike Australia.

In conversing about these topics here with some straight-thinking moral men of sound judgment, I suggested the introduction of our Australian “Laughing Jackass” bird, and also of our Eucalypti trees. The hearty laughter of the former might lift the melancholy, sad thoughts of these people; while the latter would consume the superfluous, obnoxious, too fertile swamp air, etc., and give to the people healthy blood and humorous elevated souls; and help to pull their minds out of the ditches, filled with “holy” turtles, toads, and other creatures of stagnant mud.

But my well-meant proposal was only met with a kind, but sad and dubious smile, and I was informed that the “free, jolly, democratic, equal socialistic air” was quite natural to, and an outcome of, the fact that the people of Australia hitherto were living in the “golden century” of Paradise—quite unlike India, which had gone since many thousands of years through all kinds of necessary natural developments. But, also in young Republican states, like Australia and America, the proud plant of aristocracy was said to be developing in its wonderful and manifold stages, and blossoms of different flavour were ripening their fruits, which were opening and sending their seed-molecules, flying all over the globe with their blessings and also their—curses.

India, my informers proceeded, was in a state of moulting and out-growing like Europe—the old withering scales of the ancient Radscha times of Thugs and Juggernaut, etc. The English militia (still a necessary evil in India) was greatly reduced, and—in the same degree as the Christian white and coloured Burgher element (through good schools, guided by brave scientific pedagogues) was increasing—the batallions of native volunteers would be left in charge of the “peace of the Queen,” and later on might arrive a time when Ceylon, like the Australian colonies, would be able to raise a claim for self-government, etcetera.

But, in the writer’s opinion, the whole population here at present are very far from such an epoch, which, although on highest place, might honestly be endeavoured for, is by other powerful agencies, for mercenary reasons, in a sly and artfully dodging style procrastinated and delayed; for there is here begging and thieving going on everywhere. Native and white police, and Government officers, merchants, publicans and sinners swindle the people, and their often proudly dressed small children—imitating the poor, naked, pariah children—beg from the visiting stranger, as persistently and disagreeably as the street dogs and crows, money for the purchase of lollies, etc.

The treasury case, in the form of a Dagobah monument (exactly like a Prussian military helmet), of which I wrote in my last letter, has the officially stated value of £60,000, and is at present embedded for ever in the walled up temple of the “Sacred Tooth of Buddah,” the Dalada Maligawa. I send you here with a photo of this treasure case, called The Casket. The Ceylon Custom authorities charged the importing donors the entrance duty of £550 for this Casket, and the surrounding golden and richly jewelled shrine or canopy. Since grey antiquity have the rich of Burma (the queen of which country thinks such a great deal of the holiness of the Budha temple in Kandy, that she has brought this rich present here to Budha) been in the habit, urged by the clergy, to bequeath to this shrine and treasure case their wealth, for the sake of their “everlasting souls.”

Now is this accumulated wealth at rest at the feet of that stone idol, said to represent not only that good and well-meaning man, Budha Gautama, who died about 3000 years ago, but to represent also the eternal creating spirit of the Universe itself; and now, as this “dross” is buried, hundreds of poor, half-naked, and apparently starving Burmese pilgrims squat with their stupid Mongolian flat faces in the long galleries of this old, moss-overgrown granite temple, with bowls before them, in which the good, hospitable and poor Singalese and Tamil lovers of Budha pour in each cup a few grains of rice for the “evening meal of the pilgrim.” As the passing crowd of rice donors is very large, the pilgrims are said to gather such quantities of rice that they sell it, and are able not only to have good square meals of all good things Ceylon produces, but also have sufficient pocket-money on their journey to Burmah.

We have also visited the ancient Buddhist library in this Temple, where not books in our modern language sense, but neat packages, with gold, diamond, ruby, pearl, etc., decorated sparkling cover, two inch broad and two feet long stripes of the Papyrus-like leaves of the beautiful Ceylon Taliput palm are tied together. On both sides of these white silk-like stripes are in wonderful characters ancient manuscripts, in old Sanscrit down to Singalese and Tamil of our present time, written and kept for the inspection of gaping globe trotters like us, as well as for the instruction of the growing Buddhist theologians and monks, living even in our times like bats in these musty halls here in the precincts of this holy but unhomely temple, perseveringly working on ossified word forms, before mechanically carved, ugly, demoniacal stone forms of a spirit; whose simple, childlike friendliness is still new around them and us, and all invisible in the visible life.

These smooth shaven monks, clad in yellow silk, are busily occupied, with bent backs and dim eyes, with the ancient “stylus” scratching their clumsy hieroglyphs neatly on new Taliput palm leaves, afterwards rubbing a black substance in the scratches, whereupon the writings show clearly from the white leaf. I think if these ancient minded (however deeply studied) men would have a chance to see how nowadays the “rotation printing machine” works, they would give up in despair their copying of old manuscripts of pre and past Buddha times; or is there perhaps a trade in existence to sell such copies as originals for curiosity mongers and manuscript collectors? Well, as long as such antiquity monger businesses flourish, the scratching of such new Taliput palm leaves with old hieroglyphs will (like the manufacturing of used foreign postage stamps) pay and be carried on.

We ought to make our compliment to a Government which tolerates the doings also of such antidiluvian bats, as well as the ways and actions of all other persuasions, as long as they do not bar public thoroughfares and do not disturb the night rest of tired workers with drumming and howling, and not do an illicit trade of collecting the public moneys without laying an account of them before the Government authorities.

Toumba Pasha (his real title is Tewfiky Ismail Effendi), who was, together with Arabi Pasha, prisoner of the English Government there in Kandy (Ceylon), is now pardoned, and travels by the North German Lloyd s.s. “Königin Luise” to Cairo (Egypt). We are informed that also the Governor of Ceylon, Sir Joseph West Ridgeway, sails with one of the boats of this company the “Barbarossa,” to the old country. The “Königin Luise” starts on the 17th inst., and we will also leave this our temporary domicile, situated midway between Kandy and the Paradeniya Gardens, on our journey to Italy and other foreign and homely parts.

H.R. and F.R.