SCENES IN SOUTHERN INDIA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 9, 28 February 1891, Page 3

SCENES IN SOUTHERN INDIA.

'vKr T was in the beautiful hall of the Public IW. Library at Kolhapur. The place was crowded with white-robed, white-tur-■lit — baned, barefooted men. The floor was spread with white; the walls were "’bite; everything was white. On a yKL low platform squatted three musicians, sCBMMHffIy one with a drum, another with a pecu- ]}' It - ’2 liar kind of a violin, and a third with an ■ instrument, one part of which was like a gourd. — The music of the drum was very much like the banging of a tin pan, that of the violin like a gigantic mosquito, while the third instrument gave a kind of clatter. The singing seemed interminable and consisted of episodes from the Mahabarratta, greatly enjoyed by the audience present, though I sought in vain for those exquisite notes said to exist in Hindu music. A triend near me whispered that it required much practice to appreciate and understand it, and thought of Wagner’s great compositions, which so many find difficult to understand, and ‘ held my soul in patience.’ From a group at the left came singer after singer, native instruments were put aside, and I was treated to an organ accompaniment as they sang. Something lay hidden under a covering of crimson silk and cloth-of-gold among those who squatted at the left, and finally a lithe, dark man, whom I recognised as a Mussulman by his dress, came forward. Sitting down, d Z« Buddha, upon the white platform, he sang, and oh ! how he did sing, as though his very soul were on fire and the flames seemed to lighten up his eye and to quiver in every portion of his sinewy frame I It was a long recital, but in the midst of it the splendid covering was lifted from the hidden instruments and they brought forth, tenderly and reverently, two gourdshaped drums, seemingly of copper, and united by a long bridge on which were strung four golden wires. Now we had music that was music—a concourse of sweet sounds that seemed to have been caught from the great symphonies of the past, and to come to us as echoes from olden times, their sweetness enhanced by the silences in which they had been embalmed. We sat entranced, no longer wondering at the enthusiasm of the educated Hindu for his music. The deft fingers, steel capped, sped over the golden strings so rapidly that their motion could scarcely be seen, and reminded one of the humming-bird’s wing, while the fragrance of unseen flowers filled the room. This man was a bard, a minne-singer, a minstrel, earning his bread by going from State to State, from city to city and singing the epics of the people. He used no notes, but sung and played from memory, and I was told that these travelling musicians usually carried from five to eight hundred musical compositions in their memory. His instrument, perhaps the choicest of all in India, bears the name of the Rudra vina or Veen. Sir William Hunter says that Hindu music passed at one time through a period of excessive elaboration, but after the Mohamedan conquest sank into a state of arrested development, of which to day there is an attempted revival. While it may be true that the European condemns as discord much that passes under the name of music among this people, no one could listen to the Rudra-vina in the hands of a skilful musician and be otherwise than charmed. They say that it is the parent of the guitar and it, with other musical suggestions, passed through Persia and Arabia int Europe in the beginning of the Eleventh century. We owe much to the Orient, and perhaps our whole musical system might ultimately be traced back to the development made in this great ana shining land in those hoary centuries before the Moghulus entered upon their careers of conquest and ultimate suppression of the liberties of a people. Opposite the library is the Rajautram College, where young men are educated to within one year of a degree. This independent state has done much for learning, and the college is a noble monument to what has been accomplished. It is said, however, that when its present principal first appeared before his students caste prejudices were so strong, and fear of contamination so great, that he always entered his class- room shoeless and stood or sat some fourteen feet away from his pupils. Even now, a bath must follow the shaking of hands of an orthodox Hindu with a Christian, and though many, both men a.rd women, come cordially foiward to shake hands, yet one well knows what must follow—a cleansing from our pollution. Entering through a massive gateway with lofty pointed arch, and the most elaborate group of temples south of

Benares is before one. They were built by the Janis, a sect that branched off from the Brahmins about the time that BudJishism arose. They were neatly but not quite exterminated by the opposing Brahmins, into whose hands fell their sumptuous temples and statue - lined, rock-hewn caves. The Brahmins straightway converted them int > temples for their own worship and placed therein their own deities. Here is a great central temple, with columns of elaborate and beautiful workmanship, mostly in horizontal patterns, with a multiplicity of grotesquely formed men ami animals in frieze and niche, while around this shrine is a great variety of smaller temples, with domes filled with row upon row of carving. Many cloisters and ‘resthouses' line the great inclosing walls, while from one of the gate-

ways rings out at stated times the peal of a bell taken fiom the Portuguese and dedicated to a far holier service than that at the shrine of the goddess Amba Bai. Broken bulls and elephants lie about; sacred trees cast a shade over the great inclosure ; tanks permit the necessary baths ; pilgrin.s ami worshippers are at all the shrines, for a man here may have his choice of the gods of the Hindu Founthead, and someone you know may tell you most earnestly that Kolhapur was once weighed in the scales against Benares, the holy city, and was found one grain of wheat the heavier, and hence more important and sacred. As you linger here, the great songs in the music hall of the palace

yard sound forth, you bear the tramping of horses and you hasten back to find that the widower! Ramis are going out for their accustomed drive. There is the tiring of cannon, the presentation of arms, a deafening clatter, as the veiled figures come down the broad stair and are obsequiously helped bv their attendants into closed carriages. They may eatch glimpses of the world through which they pass, out no low caste eye must gaze upon the countenances of ‘their highnesses.' A band of scarlet-rolled palace guards accompanies them and ‘state’ is preserver!, royalty honoured, though comfort may not exist. The ‘ new palace' is a sumptuous building just now being prepared as a residence for the corpulent young Maharajah with his 200 pounds of flesh. This boy is only sixteen, good-natured, but rather dull. The palace is beautiful, built aiound a court, through its great balls ; rich with carved screens and pillars ; its deep corridors, both above ami lielow, enclosing the many-roomed interior, and upon the open floor of the roof among a forest of towers, with open halls and balconies on the side toward the windy west. Hither will come in ayearor so theyoung child bride, to be chosen by Diwan and Political Resident from some ‘ good family,’ not necessarily of rank, and the boy andgirl will not see each other until they are made man and wife. Then he will go to England to pay his respects to the Sovereign Lady, the Empress of India, and at the age of eighteen, the fat boy will be crowned in the Dhurbar Hall of the New Palace. He had come to Kolhapur from one of the neighbouring States, where he was prosecuting nis studies, for the purpose of celebrating a feast of the goddess, a festival which occuts once a year on the occasion of her conquest over a demon. Her shrine was in a distant field, and thither went the whole population and a most brilliant procession was that which accompanied the heir to the throne. There were soldiers in scarlet and blue,, horsemen and footmen ; fifty or more feuda tory chieftains in carriages, their children, weighted down with golden garments and gems, were borne before them in gilded palanquins, and more conspicuous than all were proudly stepping elephants, richly caparisoned, and lofty camels, some of their patient cbsequiousness lost beneath their gay-coloured trappings. Each State keeps its elephants for important occasions. The Orientals are fond of display, and though they may care little for the religious meaning in any great occasion like the festival at a dirty little shrine outside the city, yet they all go up in holiday attire—Rajah, chiefs, State oilicialsand the people, and the seeming to be religious may be to them as important as the reality.