SIDDOO. A PLAIN TALE FROM THE HILLS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2168, 12 September 1895, Page 40

SIDDOO. A PLAIN TALE FROM THE HILLS.

By Colonel Mobris, Siddoo was the best beloved in the village. Siddoo was an orphan, but every house in the village was his home, every wpman his mother, every man his father, and Gungadara Mahanty, the Head, the Bissoy, the High Priest of the village, his grandfather 1 Nowgudda was out a small hamlet perched among the lofty mountains of the Eastern Ghauts. The people were Sivaras, a tribe kindred to the Khonds— a harmless, peaceful people, who lived by hunting and the produce of a few email fields which with infinite labour they had formed in terraces on the mountain side. If these crops failed it meant semi-starvation, as they were then reduced to live on such roots or jangle produce as they could find. Their religion was simple in the extreme. They knew of no benefloent Deity, but they believed in demons. Who else could send the storms and hurricanes which tear down the giant trees of the jungle, unroof their huts, and j destroy their crops 7 Who else could send murrain into their flooks and herds, and decimate their goats and buffaloes? Who else could cause their crops to fail and reduce them to starvation, send fever into their bones, enlarge their spleen, and make tottering old men of them in a few short weeks 1 Why, demons of course, and they must be propitiated with blood. Of all these demons, the cruellest, the most bloodthirsty, and consequently the most powerful, was Ohnoman, and hie altar, a little pile of stones situated under a large flourishing moawa tree just outside the village, constantly flowed with Hood— the blood of goats and buffaloes generally. Every marriage, every burial, at seed time and at harvest, something must be sacrificed, and a libation of blood poured out to Ohnoman, who was supposed to snuff the faint siokly odour with delight. But they all knew that, like K*li, the bloodthirsty wife of Seeva, the dread Destroyer, known also as Bowani, the goddees of the Thugs, to whom they offered their human victims, Chnoman craved for human blood, and if they wanted a particularly prosperous year and bumper crops, they must at seed time sacrifice a human being as a Meriah offering to the dread demon. These people I have said were Savaras, but Siddoo was no Savara. His bright, pale, bamboo-ooloured skin, clear complexion, and large dark eyes, full of light and intelligence, was in string contrast to the ugly black countenances, with heavy brows, low foreheads, and heavy, almost brutish, expressions, of the hill men around him. This was how Siddoo first appeared among them. Some 10 years before the time of my tale, after a period of unwonted distress .in the village from stormß, sickness, and drought, a deputation was despatched into the plains for a ohild. Money they took with them to tempt some poor parent to sell his or her offspring, but if they could not buy a child — why, then they would steal one, for a child they must have, and the more beautiful the better. They returned bearing with them little Siddoo, then an infant of about a year old. Whether he was purchased or stolen cannot be said, but as he evidently belonged to high caste parents, either Brahmin or Kshatria, and as such parents do not sell their children, the probability is that he was stolen. From the day of his arrival Siddoo was treated with the greatest love and affection. Bach woman vied in nur*ing and tending him, forsaking even their own children so that he should want for nothing. As he grew up this fostering care was redoubled, the old Bissoy keeping a jealous eye upon the whole vill^g*. bo that if even another boy should in anger strike him or oause a tear, he was at ouce smacked. Under this treatment Siddoo grew up like a little prince or rajah. He had no work to do, and a dozen eager bands were always ready to carry out bis wishes. He was never permitted to run or jump— such violent exertion would tend to make him thin ; and *s the dull monotony of the life pressed upon him, and be wished to accompany the village bojs who went into the bueh to feed the goats and buffaloes, he was prevented from doing so. " Why, did be not know that many a boy — aye, and man, .too— when out woodcutting was carried off by a sneaking panther or wandericg tiger, and would they allow him to run such risks 7 No ! he belonged to the great Ohnoman, and if any harm came to him Chnoman would revenge himoelf on the whole village 1 " Thus spoke old Gungadara Mahanty, the Bissoy and High Priest, who, too old now to work, would devote himself to Siddoo, would tell him tales of Chnoman, of his power and revengeful spirit — how he was consecrated to the god, and until the god called him to come to him he must be most carefully p.uarded from harm by the villagers, if they would avoid the vengeance of the god. "So I belong to Ohnoman," cried little Siddoo, " and some day he will take me to live with him." " Ye*, Sinna Dora," replied the Bissoy, "and when you see him you must speak up for us, your eervanta, who have treated you so well." . " I will, baba, I will ; but I wish the time was come. I want to go. I have nothing to do here, and it is dull." "AH in good time, my son. The god will not forget to call you." In this way Sfddoo lived on until he was about 11 years of age— a flue handsome lad, towering like a king over the stunted, potbellied village boys ; his ekin, clear and bright, well rubbed with oil ; his bonea well covered ; his oye like a hawk's, and his form Hhapc-ly. But he grew more and more discontented w^tb his lot. The oH«>r h-i grow tho more careful and particular thn r>]ft mnn became of bi.n. and lie whs v w n-ver allowed to quit the villi go. "Oh! when will the great Ohnoman call for me 7" he would fc'gb. It was seed time once more. The tiny little terraced fields were onca more ready for sowing, but the village was gloomy. Three seasons running there had been a failure of the crop. Wi was the good of 80 wing again T It was just throwing away good seed that bad been saved from con-

sumption only by the greatest resolution and self-denial. Should they now cast it into the soil only to lose it ? Ohnoman must be angry with them. What could they do ? Should they sacriiics two buffaloes as Meriah this season 7 The men were colleoted together outside the village talking the matter over when the Bissoy approaohed and addressed them : " The great Obnoman appeared to me last night. He is aDgry with you. When you sacrifice to him you pick out the oldest and most worthless of your goats or buffaloes for him. Last Beed time you sacrificed an old she-buff Uo with a broken leg. No wonder you had no crop I Now it is too late to think of appeasing him with the blood of goats and buffaloes. He will not accept the best yon have now. No 1 he muat be appeased with tr*u Meriah. No more shamsnothing but a human sacrifice will save you nil from the wrath of the god." For a moment there was an oppressive sileace, and then the BLssoy went on : "The child who was provided 10 years ago to meet an emergency like this — he will go to Ohnoman and make peace for the village." It was arranged that the ceremony shonld come off the next day, at noon. That evenirjg Gungadara Mahanty said to Siddoo: ; " My son, Ohnoman came to me last night, and he is coming to fetch you to-morrow." "Tomorrow, baba? Oh joy! Then I shall go with Ohnoman to-morrow 1 " When the morrow was come the whole village ttfrned out in their best. The huts were decorated with long garlands of youDg l'ght-green mango Uaves, festoons hanging across the village street. The men, with their quaint topknots, tied with bits of red cloth, standing some six inches above the crowns of their heads, and their bamboo bows ornamented with peacock feathers, gathered into a body and marched out together. Then came Siddoo, his bright bamboo body glistening with oil, thick heavy garlands of yellow marigold twisted round his loins, another wreath of white jasmine bound round his head, and two or three of the came kind hung round his neck and over bis chest. Close behind him, with his hand on Siddoo's head, walked tha High Priest, clothed in a blood-red cloth to the loins, but with the upper part of his body naked and smeared with ashes,his hnir unbound and also powdered with ashes. The women followed behind, whilst leading the prooession walked two men blowing discordant blasts through huge Sshaped horns, on either side of whom were two others, each carrying enormous earthenware pots open at each end, one orifice being covered with tightly-Btrained snake skin — the war drums of the Savara. Upon arrival at the little altar under the sacred moawa tree, the priest lifted Siddoo on to the altar and stood behind him. The boy leaned against him, with his right arm thrown around the man's neck, whilst the priest encircled him with his left arm. The villagers formed themselves into a semicircle some distance in front of the altar. The two drummers, sitting down in the centre of the semicircle, began a slow monotonous ohant, to whioh a circle of women behind them kept time by striking together Bticks which they held in their hand*, whilst the men joined with their voices in a hymn in honour of Chuoman. When this concluded with a blast from the two horns, the women gathered in front and went through a sort of danco, keeping up all the time a rhythmical olatter with their sticks. At the close of the dance they approached the altar, and, throwing themselves on their knees, they addressed Siddoo : " Oh, Siddoo I beloved of Ohnoman 1 hear us 1 We have loved you, we nursad you at our breasts, we took the food from our young ones that you should not want. Remember us thqn when you Bee Ohnoman. Stand between us and harm. Let him not send his storms that tear the roof from our h«ids Let not our' milk be soured before we can turn it to butter. Let not bis holy snake crawl into our huts and slay us in our sleep. Let him not send fever into our bonea or destroy us in childbirth. Remember our kindnesses and protect us, oh Siddoo 1" Rising to bis feet, Siddoo replied : " Ob, mothers, I will not forget. All your kindness will I ttll Ohnoman, and I will ever keep him in remembrance of them." And, with a wave of the band in farewell, he fell back upon the old priest. Then came forward the men, each with his peacock-feathered bow in his hand, except some four or five who were armed with long matchlocks. They divided into two parties, and advanced and retired, twanging their bows and going through a war d-ince to the warlike notes of the horns and drumming of the tom-toms,, and then they too formed up before the alfcar and shouted : "Oh, Siddoo I friend of Chnoinan 1 hear us! We have supported you for 10 years; we have not allowed you to work ; we have worked for you and slaved for you. Now remember us. Let not the god send storms upon ns to destroy our crop 3. Let him give us a bountiful harvest. Lot not tigers caich us when we cut wood in the jungle, nor trees fall upon us and kill us. Keep from us the fever fiend", which racks our limbs and takes our strength from us. Befriend us, oh Siddoo I as we have befriended you." Once more Siddoo arose and replied : " Oh, my fathers 1 I will remember ; I will not forget. I will stand between you and harm ; and if Chnoman forgets you, I will remind him of your goodnosß to me, his cMld." And then, as he sank back once more with his arm round the old priest's neck, he whispered : " Oh, baba 1 when will he come ? The sun is high, and yet he comes not." " He is near, my son — nearer than you think. Remember me, too, oh Siddoo 1 when in tha land of the blest. Think of me when Obnoman is angry, and stand between me and evil. Now 1 now 1 Siddoo I he is herel He comes ! he ewes 1" " Where, baba 7 — whew 7 " " Here, my son 1 " And as he speaks the priest brings his right hand from behind his back, and the next instant Siddoo falls on the altar, his life blood gashing from a deep gayh in bis throat I There is a rush from the men, and in a moment each one is flying towards his field, I bearing in his hand a lump of the at ill quivering flesh of the IMb fiotim of Meriab.