I The Wonderland "THIS is India, the land of dreams and of romance, of fabulous wealth, of fabulous poverty, of splendor and of rags, of palaces and hovels, of tigers and elephants. Cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech; mother of religion; grandmother of history; great-grandmother of tradition. The land of a hundred nations and of a hundred tongues; of a thousand religions and of three million gods, and she worships them all. All other countries in religion are paupers; India is the only millionaire. The one sole land under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for all men; rich and poor, bond and free; alien prince and alien peasant; all men want to see India, and having seen it once even by a glimpse, would not give up that glimpse for all the rest of the shows of the earth combined." So says Mark Twain in Following the Equator.1 I invite you to come with me and see for yourselves this wonderland of India. Who could refuse a chance to do anything so fascinating? There is always room for several more in our bungalows, or on the verandas, and we shall be delighted to see you and show you the real India-and learn from you the latest home styles and slang. Heat and hardship? Oh, yes, I suppose so. Have you ever heard of anything that 1 Vol. 2, Chap. II. Quoted by permission of Estate of Samuel L. Clemens, The Mark Twain Company, and Harper & Brothers. 1 was really worth doing where there wasn't a certain amount of heat and hardship to be endured? The best time for the trip is during the "cold season,” say, in December or January. Then, if "the rains" have not failed, the river valleys and great upland fields will be covered with waving grain-millet and sorghum, wheat and rice and sugar-cane. Then, at this time, too, her climate is ideally cool. Yes, cool! Perhaps when we go to some northern hill station we shall have a snow-storm-and a snowball fight. Even down on the plains you may some day find a little ice on the water in the early morning. So bring a fairly warm coat along with you. I advise you to take passage from Marseilles to Bombay in one of the boats of the staid old Peninsular and Oriental Company. Second-class will be all right and is really far less stiff and formal than first class. You will find plenty of English captains and majors and government officials "going second" with you on their way back to their jobs. There will be a foretaste of what is to come, as these people tell you some of their tiger stories and as you talk to your very courteous Indian fellow-passengers or when the barefooted Indian table steward, imposing in his great turban and white robe, brings you, with silent steps, an Indian curry. As you slowly steam into Bombay's mighty harbor, you will take in the tropical beauties of islet and shore and the imposing array of mountains that lie back of the long, narrow island. Yet I think that you will look with keenest interest at the tall buildings and smoking factory chimneys of this great modern city. We shall be awaiting you, but shall not expect to receive much attention when you first come ashore. You have seen plenty like us before, while all around you on the great wharf, some shouting, some laughing, some moving with stately tread, are such folk as you have never seen. The show that has the center of the stage at first is the landing of a native prince who was a fellow-passenger of yours. He is a Maharajah," or "great king," and holds personal sway in true Oriental style over a principality as big as New England. Soon a salute of twenty-two guns in his honor will boom out from the fort. He is the first to step down the gang-plank and is greeted by a group of European officials, some in ordinary civilian costume, but one, at least-a police officer -in pure white, standing stiff and straight. It looks as if he himself must have been starched and ironed right in the suit he wears. But it is the Maharajah's retainers, drawn up to receive him, who attract most of your attention. With their strange curved swords and their gorgeous gold-fringed turbans, they are like a picture out of the Arabian Nights. However, even the picturesque costumes and ancient accoutrements of the Maharajah's men cannot hold your eye long in that crowd. A group of men and women waving to a passenger who is about to come ashore attract your attention next. Their complexion is light and their features are regular. Some of the men have on long black coats and queer stiff hats like stovepipes which have been chopped off on a slant. The women wear beautiful embroidered silk saris or flowing draperies and do not seem at all troubled, as most India 2 Every "a" long. 3 Pronounce "is" like "ees." 3 women would be, by being seen in the jostling crowd. They are Parsis-Persian fire-worshippers whose ancestors came to India centuries ago. The men are now for the most part successful merchants of Bombay and other Indian cities. They seem three-quarters European, yet they are very much at home in India. A fellow-passenger has told you that this particular Parsi is a multimillionaire, a member of the famous Tata family that owns the greatest steel works in India besides great cotton mills and many other enterprises. Look at these two rough, muscular fellows with dark faces who are waiting to carry the heavy boxes which will soon be raised from the ship's hold. See how they are pushing and hitting and shouting and laughing at each other like a pair of great overgrown boys. That man with the long white robe and red beard? He is a Mohammedan who has done what is the ambition of every devout Mohammedan to do. He has made the long pilgrimage to Mecca and proudly wears his beard stained red as a badge of his accomplishment. But we must fairly carry you away by force. We have arranged with the efficient and willing agents of Thomas Cook to bring up your trunks and have hired for ourselves garis, or open victorias. In time we start out for the mission compound in the heart of the Indian city where ten o'clock "breakfast" awaits us. The streets are full; other victorias with shouting drivers and poor, thin horses, queer, lurching, two-wheeled bullock carts, heaped high, automobiles,-we almost feel at home when we see how many of them are flivvers, -tram cars, and a stream of barefooted brown people. At first we go through wide streets and between many storied buildings which are almost European in appearance. You exclaim with surprise when we come out into a great open space and see on our right the beautiful Victoria Terminus, the principal railroad station of Bombay, and one of the largest in the world. Soon, however, we plunge into narrow streets lined with queer little shops piled high with interesting things. The crowds are so dense that we have to drive very slowly to avoid running over someone. How striking the people are with their brilliantly colored costumes and their strange speech! Doubtless before we reach the mission compound we shall have passed people who are talking every one of India's twelve great languages as well as many others both foreign and Indian. We are now in the heart of the Indian city in one of the most densely peopled areas in the world, and it doesn't seem possible that we have been only a short time before driving down a wide thoroughfare between great Western buildings. Yet everywhere we see automobiles waiting in front of native shops, we hear graphophones playing, and presently we pass a moving picture palace. We are having a taste of the strange mingling of West and East which is one of the fascinations and problems of modern India. At last we turn in at a gateway and find ourselves in a most attractive compound. Right before us rises a beautiful church building, and to our left is an Indian bungalow with ample verandas and many doors and windows. In the entrance stands a little group of our fellow-countrymen who have gathered to give you the warmest sort of welcome. They have arranged that we shall have a breakfast to celebrate your coming, and |