On Either Side Of The Road The Ground Is Densely Carpeted With The
Sensitive Plant, Whose Lovely Tripartite Leaves Are Green Above And
Brown Below.
It is a fascinating plant, and at first one feels guilty
of cruelty if one does more than look at it, but I have already
learned, as all people do here, to take delight in wounding its
sensibilities.
Touch any part of a leaf ever so lightly, and as quick
as thought it folds up. Touch the centre of the three ever so lightly,
and leaf and stalk fall smitten. Touch a branch and every leaf closes,
and every stalk falls as if weighted with lead. Walk over it, and you
seem to have blasted the earth with a fiery tread, leaving desolation
behind. Every trailing plant falls, the leaves closing, show only their
red-brown backs, and all the beauty has vanished, but the burned and
withered-looking earth is as fair as ever the next morning.
After walking for four miles we came upon a glorious sight at a turn of
the road, a small lake behind which the mountains rise forest-covered,
with a slope at their feet on which stand the cocoa-nut groves, and the
beautiful Malay house of the exiled Mentri of Larut. I have written of
a lake, but no water was visible, for it was concealed by thousands and
thousands of the peltate leaves of the lotus, nearly round, attaining a
diameter of eighteen inches, cool and dewy-looking under the torrid
sun, with a blue bloom upon their intense green. Above them rose
thousands of lotus flowers, buds, and seed-vessels, each one a thing of
perfect beauty, and not a withered blossom was to be seen. The immense
corollas varied in color from a deep rose crimson to a pink as pale as
that of a blush rose. Some were just opening, others were half open,
and others wide open, showing the crowded golden stamens and the golden
disk in the centre. From far off the deep rose pink of the glorious
blossoms is to be seen, and their beauty carried me back to the castle
moats of Yedo, and to many a gilded shrine in Japan, on which the lotus
blooms as an emblem of purity, righteousness, and immortality. Even
here, where no such symbolism attaches to it, it looks a sacred thing.
It was delightful to see such a sociable flower rejoicing in a crowd.
Beyond is the picturesque kampong of Matang, with many good houses and
a mosque. Passing through a gateway with brick posts, we entered a
large walled inclosure containing a cocoa-grove, some fine trees, and
the beautiful dwellings of the Malay whom we have deported to the
Seychelles. This is one of the largest Malay houses on the peninsula.
It is built of wood painted green and white, with bold floral designs
on a white ground round some of the circular windows, and a very large
porch for followers to wait in, up a ladder of course. In a shed there
were three gharries, and behind the house several small houses for
slaves and others. A number of girls and children, probably mostly
slaves, mirthfully peeped at us from under the tasteful mat blinds.
Really the upper class of Malay houses show some very good work. The
thatch of the steep roof is beautifully put on, and between the sides
of finely woven checked matting interspersed with lattice work and
bamboo work, the shady inner rooms with their carved doorways and
portieres of red silk, the pillows and cushions of gold embroidery laid
over the exquisitely fine matting on the floors, the light from the
half-shaded windows glancing here and there as the breeze sways the
screens, there is an indescribable appropriateness to the region.
I waited for the elephant in a rambling empty house, and Malays brought
pierced cocoa-nuts, buffalo milk, and a great bouquet of lotus blossoms
and seed-vessels, out of which they took the seeds, and presented them
on the grand lotus leaf itself. Each seed is in appearance and taste
like a hazel-nut, but in the centre, in an oval slit, the future lotus
plant is folded up, the one vivid green seed leaf being folded over a
shoot, and this is intensely bitter.
The elephant at last came up and was brought below the porch. They are
truly hideous beasts, with their gray, wrinkled, hairless hides, the
huge ragged "flappers" which cover their ears, and with which they fan
themselves ceaselessly, the small, mean eyes, the hideous proboscis
which coils itself snakishly round everything; the formless legs, so
like trunks of trees; the piggish back, with the steep slope down to
the mean, bare tail, and the general unlikeness to all familiar and
friendly beasts. I can hardly write, for a little wah-wah, the most
delightful of apes, is hanging with one long, lean arm round my throat,
while with its disengaged hand it keeps taking my pen, dipping it in
the ink, and scrawling over my letter. It is the most winsome of
creatures, but if I were to oppose it there is no knowing what it might
do, so I will take another pen. The same is true of an elephant. I am
without knowledge of what it may be capable of!
Before I came I dreamt of howdahs and cloth of gold trappings, but my
elephant had neither. In fact there was nothing grand about him but his
ugliness. His back was covered with a piece of raw hide, over which
were several mats, and on either side of the ridgy backbone a shallow
basket, filled with fresh leaves and twigs, and held in place by ropes
of rattan. I dropped into one of these baskets from the porch, a young
Malay lad into the other, and my bag was tied on behind with rattan. A
noose of the same with a stirrup served for the driver to mount.
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