The Pearl of India - Maturin Murray Ballou (readict .txt) 📗

In olden times, as already intimated, Ceylon was known in the East by the name of Naga-dwipa,—"Snake Isle,"—and it would seem not without good reason, for until quite lately there was a snake-temple on the island of Naiwativoe, which lies just off the shore, west of Jaffna, where many serpents were nourished and cared for, including a number of deadly cobras, by an organized corps of priests. There is, or was very lately, a cobra-temple upon what is known as the Twin Isle, twenty miles further south, and eastward of Ramisseram. It is therefore plain enough that there were once plenty of serpent-worshiping tribes in various parts of Ceylon.

We know that the worship of the snake is a very ancient creed. Mexicans, Egyptians, Hindus, Babylonians, and Buddhists have been devotees to this idea. All stories or legends of the creation contain some reference to the serpent, which also, according to Biblical lore, played its part in the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden.

We have failed to mention heretofore that the remains of certain Druidical circles of stone are occasionally found in both the northern and southern portions of Ceylon, indicating that the Druidical form of worship, which is supposed to be that of the Phœnicians, must have once prevailed upon this island. These tokens belong to a period a thousand years prior to the founding of the "buried cities" which we have described.

On leaving Jaffna, the coasting steamer steers southward through the Gulf of Manaar, following the Paumben Channel, past Adam's Bridge. A call is made at the "holy" island of Ramisseram, where a visit may be made to the great Hindu temple situated on the east end of the island. Ramisseram is fourteen miles long by about five in width. The dimensions of the temple upon the ground are eight hundred and sixty-eight feet by six hundred and seventy-two in width, far exceeding any other shrine or building in the island of Ceylon. Like the temples of Tanjore, Madura, and Trichinopoly in continental India, it is massive and tawdry, but still is the annual resort of hosts of devout pilgrims from vast distances, who have impoverished themselves, probably, to perform this pilgrimage. They expect by such an exhibition of reverence to be freed from all sin with the punishment it entails, and to fully merit Paradise. The ceiling of the great temple consists of vast masses of granite slabs supported by carved stone pillars twelve feet high, each of which is a monolith. This Hindu temple of Ramisseram is unique; as to its age, it is between four and five hundred years old. The fables one hears relating to this shrine are legion, all thoroughly tinctured with gross absurdities; still, the place is well worth a visit, and careful study.

The island of Manaar, close at hand, off the west coast, and from which Adam's Bridge extends towards the continent of India, is eighteen miles long, and but three or four wide. There is nothing here to invite a visit from the casual traveler. The soil is sandy and poorly adapted to agriculture. It has, however, large groves of cocoanut and palmyra palms, with very good pasturage. Goats and cattle are bred here to a considerable extent, and a peculiar hard cheese is an article of export. The island is a hundred and forty miles by water from Colombo. There is a fort at the town of Manaar, situated on the southeastern extremity of the island. The harbor is too shallow to admit vessels drawing over eight or ten feet of water, but is completely sheltered. There are some twenty villages on this comparatively barren slip of land, but the people seem to be thrifty and healthy. There is no malaria here. It is a Roman Catholic centre, and most of the people are of that faith.

Again taking the steam packet, we proceed southward by Aripo, the famous pearl-fishing grounds of the Gulf of Manaar, about one hundred and fifty miles from the capital. If we pass near enough to the west coast of the island to observe the shore in this vicinity, it will be found that nothing can exceed the desolation which it presents. It is barren, low, and sandy, with here and there a scrubby jungle and an occasional reach of stunted herbage. It is difficult to realize that such a locality can be the source of wealth of any sort, and particularly that it is the natal place of that loveliest and purest of gems, the oriental pearl.

Still sailing southward, we find ourselves in due time opposite Negombo, seven or eight leagues north of Colombo. This little seaport is the outlet to a fine agricultural country, where cattle and garden products are raised for the support of the capital, with which it has an inland water connection. This place is famous for its fruit gardens,—exotic fruits, originally introduced from Java and the Malacca peninsula. It is one of the most rural spots in the island, famous for its cinnamon estates. The traveler's attention is sure to be called to a noble specimen of the banian-tree at this attractive seaside place, and also to an old and most curious, many-headed cocoanut-tree. The town has a fine esplanade bordering the sea, and a very comfortable rest-house for the stranger. After passing the Bight of Negombo, we soon enter the harbor of Colombo, and as we do so, an English mail steam packet is passed whose decks are crowded with coolies bound for Tuticorin, a port two hundred miles away, across the Gulf of Manaar. The planters of Ceylon import these dusky laborers from southern India at harvest time, when the tea and coffee fields yield their annual product. The poor creatures are very glad to earn a small sum of money in this service, wherewith to eke out their necessary home expenses. When the Ceylon harvest is over, they return to their humble homes in this manner, the planters paying for their transportation both ways.

From our standpoint on the bridge of the coasting steamer, we overlook the forward deck of the mail packet, where the homeward bound coolies form strangely picturesque groups in their rags and nakedness, mingled with occasional bits of highly colored clothing. A white turban, a red fez, a bandana kerchief bound about a woman's head, whose infant is lashed to her back in sleepy unconsciousness, all combine to produce a striking kaleidoscopic effect.

A southwest monsoon is coming on, and there will presently be a fierce downpour of rain. The coolies will have but one night to pass on the troubled sea, but it will be for them a wretched one,—seasick, ill-fed, and poorly sheltered creatures. Their small annual pittance is insignificant compensation for what they have to perform and what they endure. There are two or three hundred of them, herded like cattle; there is no cabin,—deck passage is all that is paid for; and such is considered quite good enough accommodations for these very humble Tamils. There is said to be compensation in the life of every living being, but it is difficult to point out wherein the principle applies to these low caste Indians.

Before leaving Colombo, an earnest desire possessed the author to see the town from the bay, under the charm imparted by an equatorial moon and starlight. A couple of native oarsmen and a comfortable boat afforded the means of gratifying this wish, all the stronger from the fresh memory of a like experience, not long ago, off the historic island of Malta. The view of Colombo, it must be acknowledged, was a disappointment. It is too thickly embowered with palms to form a pleasing picture of itself: but ah, the tropical night, luxurious and calm, with its wonderful brilliancy above, and its dark, mysterious shadows below! The molten silver on which we idly floated had just ripple sufficient to double its reflective power, lit by an occasional flash of phosphorescence when the oars were dipped. The hoarse murmur of the outside sea beating against the stout breakwater; the head and stern lights of the shipping at anchor, distributed here and there; the flashing eye of fire from the lighthouse, casting its long golden wake seaward; the dancing lamps on the low-lying shore of the Singhalese capital, with the soft strains of music from an English bungalow in the half-moon bend of the beach,—all together formed a delightful picture, leaving a typical scene deeply engraved on the memory.

Land, sea, and star-illumined sky, everything charmingly bright with the tender kiss of moonlight, how absolutely perfect was our farewell vision of this "utmost" Indian isle.