"These People, Who Assemble Here To Worship Kangalim," Said Sham Rao,
"Do Not Actually Belong Either To Her Sect Or To Any Other.
They
are devil-worshippers.
They do not believe in Hindu gods, but live
in small communities; they belong to one of the many Indian races,
which usually are called the hill-tribes. Unlike the Shanars of
Southern Travancore, they do not use the blood of sacrificial animals;
they do not build separate temples to their bhutas. But they are
possessed by the strange fancy that the goddess Kali, the wife of
Shiva, from time immemorial has had a grudge against them, and
sends her favorite evil spirits to torture them. Save this little
difference, they have the same beliefs as the Shanars. God does
not exist for them; and even Shiva is considered by them as an
ordinary spirit. Their chief worship is offered to the souls of
the dead. These souls, however righteous and kind they may be in
their lifetime, become after death as wicked as can be; they are
happy only when they are torturing living men and cattle. As the
opportunities of doing so are the only reward for the virtues they
possessed when incarnated, a very wicked man is punished by becoming
after his death a very soft-hearted ghost; he loathes his loss of
daring, and is altogether miserable. The results of this strange
logic are not bad, nevertheless. These savages and devil-worshippers
are the kindest and the most truth-loving of all the hill-tribes.
They do whatever they can to be worthy of their ultimate reward;
because, don't you see, they all long to become the wickedest
of devils!.... "
And put in good humor by his own wittiness, Sham Rao laughed till his
hilarity became offensive, considering the sacredness of the place.
"A year ago some business matters sent me to Tinevelli," continued he.
"Staying with a friend of mine, who is a Shanar, I was allowed to be
present at one of the ceremonies in the honor of devils. No European
has as yet witnessed this worship - whatever the missionaries may say;
but there are many converts amongst the Shanars, who willingly describe
them to the padres. My friend is a wealthy man, which is probably
the reason why the devils are especially vicious to him. They poison
his cattle, spoil his crops and his coffee plants, and persecute his
numerous relations, sending them sunstrokes, madness and epilepsy,
over which illnesses they especially preside. These wicked demons
have settled in every corner of his spacious landed property - in
the woods, the ruins, and even in his stables. To avert all this,
my friend covered his land with stucco pyramids, and prayed humbly,
asking the demons to draw their portraits on each of them, so that
he may recognize them and worship each of them separately, as the
rightful owner of this, or that, particular pyramid. And what do
you think?.... Next morning all the pyramids were found covered
with drawings. Each of them bore an incredibly good likeness of
the dead of the neighborhood. My friend had known personally almost
all of them. He found also a portrait of his own late father amongst
the lot..... "
"Well? And was he satisfied?"
"Oh, he was very glad, very satisfied. It enabled him to choose
the right thing to gratify the personal tastes of each demon, don't
you see? He was not vexed at finding his father's portrait. His
father was somewhat irascible; once he nearly broke both his son's
legs, administering to him fatherly punishment with an iron bar,
so that he could not possibly be very dangerous after his death.
But another portrait, found on the best and the prettiest of the
pyramids, amazed my friend a good deal, and put him in a blue funk.
The whole district recognized an English officer, a certain Captain
Pole, who in his lifetime was as kind a gentleman as ever lived."
"Indeed? But do you mean to say that this strange people worshipped
Captain Pole also?"
"Of course they did! Captain Pole was such a worthy man, such an
honest officer, that, after his death, he could not help being
promoted to the highest rank of Shanar devils. The Pe-Kovil,
demon's house, sacred to his memory, stands side by side with the
Pe-Kovil Bhadrakali, which was recently conferred on the wife of
a certain German missionary, who also was a most charitable lady
and so is very dangerous now."
"But what are their ceremonies? Tell us something about their rites."
"Their rites consist chiefly of dancing, singing, and killing
sacrificial animals. The Shanars have no castes, and eat all
kinds of meat. The crowd assembles about the Pe-Kovil, previously
designated by the priest; there is a general beating of drums,
and slaughtering of fowls, sheep and goats. When Captain Pole's
turn came an ox was killed, as a thoughtful attention to the
peculiar tastes of his nation. The priest appeared, covered with
bangles, and holding a wand on which tinkled numberless little
bells, and wearing garlands of red and white flowers round his neck,
and a black mantle, on which were embroidered the ugliest fiends
you can imagine. Horns were blown and drums rolled incessantly.
And oh, I forgot to tell you there was also a kind of fiddle, the
secret of which is known only to the Shanar priesthood. Its bow
is ordinary enough, made of bamboo; but it is whispered that the
strings are human veins.... When Captain Pole took possession of
the priest's body, the priest leapt high in the air, and then rushed
on the ox and killed him. He drank off the hot blood, and then
began his dance. But what a fright he was when dancing! You know,
I am not superstitious.... Am I?... "
Sham Rao looked at us inquiringly, and I, for one, was glad, at
this moment, that Miss X - - was half a mile off, asleep in the howdah.
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