CHAPTER 61
Peasantry of India attached to no existing Government—Want of Trees in Upper India [1]—Cause and Consequence—Wells and Groves.
What strikes one most after crossing the Chambal is, I think, the improved size and bearing of the men; they are much stouter, and more bold and manly, without being at all less respectful. They are certainly a noble peasantry, full of courage, spirit, and intelligence; and heartily do I wish that we could adopt any system that would give our Government a deep root in their affections, or link their interests inseparably with its prosperity; for, with all its defects, life, property, and character are certainly more secure, and all their advantages more freely enjoyed under our Government than under any other they have ever heard of, or that exists at present in any other part of the country. The eternal subdivision of the landed property reduces them too much to one common level, and prevents the formation of that middle class which is the basis of all that is great and good in European societies—the great vivifying spirit which animates all that is good above it in the community.[2] It is a singular fact that the peasantry, and, I may say, the landed interest of the country generally, have never been the friends of any existing government, have never considered their interests and that of their government the same; and, consequently, have never felt any desire for its success or its duration.[3]
The towns and villages all stand upon high mounds formed of the debris of former towns and villages, that have been accumulating, most of them, for thousands of years. They are for the most part mere collections of wretched hovels built of frail materials, and destined only for a brief period.
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.[4]
And certainly there is no climate in the world where man wants less than in this of India generally, and Upper India particularly. The peasant lives in the open air; and a house to him is merely a thing to eat and sleep in, and to give him shelter in the storm, which comes upon him but seldom, and never in a pitiless shape. The society of his friends he enjoys in the open air, and he never furnishes his house for their reception or for display. The peasantry of India, in consequence of living and talking so much in the open air, have all stentorian voices, which they find it exceedingly difficult to modulate to our taste when they come into our rooms.
Another thing in this part of India strikes a traveller from other parts—the want of groves of fruit-trees around the villages and along the roads. In every other part of India he can at every stage have his tents pitched in a grove of mango-trees, that defend his followers from the direct rays of the sun in the daytime, and from the cold dews at night; but in the district above Agra, he may go for ten marches without getting the shelter of a grove in one.[5] The Sikhs, the Marāthās, the Jāts, and the Pathāns destroyed them all during the disorders attending the decline of the Muhammadan empire; and they have never been renewed, because no man could feel secure that they would be suffered to stand ten years. A Hindoo believes that his soul in the next world is benefited by the blessings and grateful feelings of those of his fellow creatures who unmolested eat the fruit and enjoy the shade of the trees he has planted during his sojourn in this world; and, unless he can feel assured that the traveller and the public in general will be permitted to do so, he can have no hope of any permanent benefit from his good work. It might as well be cut down as pass into the hands of another person who had no feeling of interest in the eternal repose of the soul of the planter. That person would himself have no advantage in the next world from giving the fruit and the shade of the trees to the public, since the prayers of those who enjoyed them would be offered for the soul of the planter, and not for his—he, therefore, takes all their advantage to himself in this world, and the planter and the public are defrauded. Our Government thought they had done enough to encourage the renewal of these groves, when by a regulation they gave to the present lessees of villages the privilege of planting them themselves, or permitting others to plant them; but where they held their leases for a term of only five years, of course they would be unwilling to plant them. They might lose their lease when the term expired, or forfeit it before; and the successor would have the land on which the trees stood, and would be able to exclude the public, if not the proprietor, from the enjoyment of any of their advantages. Our Government has, in effect, during the thirty-five years that it has held the dominion of the North-Western Provinces,[6] prohibited the planting of mango groves, while the old ones are every year disappearing. On the resumption of rent-free lands, even the ground on which the finest of these groves stand has been recklessly resumed, and the proprietors told me that they may keep the trees they have, but cannot be allowed to renew them, as the lands are become the property of Government. The lands of groves that have been the pride of families for a century and a half have been thus resumed. Government is not aware of the irreparable mischief they do the country they govern by such measures.[7]
On my way back from Meerut, after the conversation already related with the farmer of a small village (ante, chapter 58, text at [7]), my tents were one day pitched, in the month of December, amidst some very fine garden cultivation in the district of Alīgarh;[8] and in the evening I walked out as usual to have some talk with the peasantry. I came to a neighbouring well at which four pair of bullocks were employed watering the surrounding fields of wheat for the market, and vegetables for the families of the cultivators. Four men were employed at the well, and two more in guiding the water into the little embanked squares into which they divide their fields.
I soon discovered that the most intelligent of the four was a Jāt; and I had a good deal of conversation with him as he stood landing the leather buckets, as the two pair of bullocks on his side of the well drew them to the top, a distance of forty cubits from the surface of the water beneath.
'Who built this well?' I began.
'It was built by one of my ancestors, six generations ago.'
'How much longer will it last?'
'Ten generations more, I hope; for it is now just as good as when first made. It is of 'pakkā' bricks without mortar cement.'[9]
'How many waterings do you give?'
'If there should be no rain, we shall require to give the land six waterings, as the water is sweet; had it been brackish four would do. Brackish water is better for wheat than sweet water; but it is not so good for vegetables or sugar-cane.'
'How many "bīghās" are watered from this well?'
'We water twenty "bīghās", or one hundred and five "jarībs", from this well.'[10]
'And you pay the Government how much?'
'One hundred rupees, at the rate of five rupees the bīghā. But only the five immediately around the well are mine, the rest belong to others.'
'But the well belongs to you; and I suppose you get from the proprietors of the other fifteen something for your water?'
'Nothing. There is more water for my five bīghās, and I give them what they require gratis; they acknowledge that it is a gift from me, and that is all I want.'
'And what does the land beyond the range of your water of the same quality pay?'
'It pays at the rate of two rupees the bīghā, and it is with difficulty that they can be made to pay that. Water, sir, is a great thing, and with that and manure we get good crops from the land.'[11]
'How many returns of the seed?'
'From these twenty bīghās with six waterings, and cross ploughing, and good manure, we contrive to get twenty returns; that is, if God is pleased with us and blesses our efforts.'
'And you maintain your family comfortably out of the return from your five?'
'If they were mine I could; but we had two or three bad seasons seven years ago, and I was obliged to borrow eighty rupees from our banker at 24 per cent., for the subsistence of my family. I have hardly been able to pay him the interest with all I can earn by my labour, and I now serve him upon two rupees a month.'
'But that is not enough to maintain you and your family?'
'No; but he only requires my services for half the day, and during the other half I work with others to get enough for them.'
'And when do you expect to pay off your debt?'
'God only knows; if I exert myself, and keep a good "nīyat" (pure mind or intentions), he will enable me or my children to do so some day or other. In the meantime he has my five bīghās of land in mortgage, and I serve him in the cultivation.'
'But under those misfortunes, you could surely venture to demand something from the proprietors of the other fifteen bīghās for the water of your well?'
'Never, sir; it would be said all over the country that such an one sold God's water for his neighbours' fields, and I should be ashamed to show my face. Though poor, and obliged to work hard, and serve others, I have still too much pride for that.'
'How many bullocks are required for the tillage of these twenty bīghās watered from your well?'
'These eight bullocks do all the work; they are dear now. This was purchased the other day on the death of the old one, for twenty- six rupees. They cost about fifty rupees a pair—the late famine has made them dear.'[12]
'What did the well cost in making?'
'I have heard that it cost about one hundred and twenty rupees; it would cost about that sum to make one of this kind in the present day, not more.'
'How long have the families of your caste been settled in these parts?'
'About six or seven generations; the country had before been occupied by a peasantry of the Kalār caste. Our ancestors came, built up mud fortifications, dug wells, and brought the country under cultivation; it had been reduced to a waste; for a long time we were obliged to follow the plough with our swords by our sides, and our friends around us with their matchlocks in their hand, and their matches lighted.'
'Did the water in your well fail during the late seasons of drought?'
'No, sir, the water of this well never fails.'
'Then how did bad seasons affect you?'
'My bullocks all died one after the other from want of fodder, and I had not the means to till my lands; subsistence became dear, and to maintain my family, I was obliged to contract the debt for which my lands are now mortgaged. I work hard to get them back, and, if I do not succeed, my children will, I hope, with the blessing of God.'[13]
The next morning I went on to Kākā, fifteen miles; and finding tents, people, and cattle, without a tree to shelter them, I was much pleased to see in my neighbourhood a plantation of mango and other fruit-trees. It had, I was told, been planted only three years ago by Hīrāman and Mōtīrām, and I sent for them, knowing that they would be pleased to have their good work noticed by any European gentleman. The trees are now covered with cones of thatch to shelter them from the frost. The merchants came, evidently much pleased, and I had a good deal of talk with them.
'Who planted this new grove?'
'We planted it three years ago.'
'What did your well cost you, and how many trees have you?'
'We have about four hundred trees, and the well has cost us two hundred rupees, and will cost us two hundred more.'
'How long will you require to water them?'
'We shall require to water the mango and other large trees ten or twelve years; but the orange, pomegranate, and other small trees will always require watering.'
'What quantity of ground do the trees occupy?'
'They occupy twenty-two "bīghās" of one hundred and five "jarībs". We place them all twelve yards from each other, that is, the large trees; and the small ones we plant between them.'
'How did you get the land?'
'We were many years trying in vain to get a grant from the Government through the collector; at last we got him to certify on paper that, if the landholder would give us land to plant our grove upon, the Government would have no objection. We induced the landholder, who is a constituent of ours, to grant us the land; and we made our well, and planted our trees.'
'You have done a good thing; what reward do you expect?'
'We hope that those who enjoy the shade, the water, and the fruit, will think kindly of us when they are gone. The names of the great men who built the castles, palaces, and tombs at Delhi and Agra have been almost all forgotten, because no one enjoys any advantage from them; but the names of those who planted the few mango groves we see are still remembered and blessed by all who eat of their fruit, sit in their shade, and drink of their water, from whatever part of the world they come. Even the European gentlemen remember their names with kindness; indeed, it was at the suggestion of a European gentleman, who was passing this place many years ago, and talking with us as you are now, that we commenced this grove. "Look over this plain," said he, "it has been all denuded of the fine groves with which it was, no doubt, once studded; though it is tolerably well cultivated, the traveller finds no shelter in it from the noonday sun—even the birds seem to have deserted you, because you refuse them the habitations they find in other parts of India." We told him that we would have the grove planted, and we have done so; and we hope God will bless our undertaking.'
'The difficulty of getting land is, I suppose, the reason why more groves are not planted, now that property is secure?'
'How could men plant without feeling secure of the land they planted upon, and when Government would not guarantee it? The landholder could guarantee it only during the five years of lease;[14] and, if at the end of that time Government should transfer the lease of the estate to another, the land of the grove would be transferred with it. We plant not for worldly or immediate profits, but for the benefit of our souls in the next world—for the prayers of those who may derive benefit from our works when we are gone. Our landholders are good men, and will never resume the lands they have given us; and if the lands be sold at auction by Government, or transferred to others, we hope the certificate of the collector will protect us from his grasp.'[15]
'You like your present Government, do you not?'
'We like it much. There has never been a Government that gave so much security to life and property; all we want is a little more of public service, and a little more of trade; but we have no cause to complain; it is our own fault if we are not happy.'
'But I have been told that the people find the returns from the soil diminishing, and attribute it to the perjury that takes place in our courts occasionally.'
'That, sir, is no doubt true; there has been a manifest falling off in the returns; and people everywhere think that you make too much use of the Korān and the Ganges water in your courts. God does not like to hear lies told upon one or other, and we are apt to think that we are all punished for the sins of those who tell them. May we ask, sir, what office you hold?'
'It is my office to do the work which God assigns to me in this world.'
'The work of God, sir, is the greatest of all works, and those are fortunate who are chosen to do it.'
Their respect for me evidently increased when they took me for a clergyman. I was dressed in black.
'In the first place, it is my duty to tell you that God does not punish the innocent for the guilty, and that the perjury in courts has nothing to do with the diminution of returns from the soil. Where you apply water and manure, and alternate your crops, you always get good returns, do you not?'
'Very good returns; but we have had several bad seasons that have carried away the greater part of our population; but a small portion of our lands can be irrigated for want of wells, and we had no rain for two or three years, or hardly any in due season; and it was this deficiency of rain which the people thought a chastisement from heaven.'
'But the wells were not dried up, were they?'
'No.'
'And the people whose fields they watered had good returns, and high prices for produce?'
'Yes, they had; but their cattle died for want of food, for there was no grass any where to be found.'
'Still they were better off than those who had no wells to draw water from for their fields; and the only way to provide against such evils in future is to have a well for every field. God has given you the fields, and he has given you the water; and when it does not come from the clouds, you must draw it from your wells.'[16]
'True, sir, very true; but the people are very poor, and have not the means to form the wells they require.'
'And if they borrow the money from you, you charge them with interest?'
'From one to two per cent. a month according to their character and circumstances; but interest is very often merely nominal, and we are in most cases glad to get back the principal alone.'[17]
'And what security have you for the land of your grove in case the landholder should change his mind, or die and leave sons not so well disposed.'
'In the first place, we hold his bonds for a debt of nine thousand rupees which he owes us, and which we have no hopes of his ever paying. In the next, we have on stamped paper his deed of gift, in which he declares that he has given us the land, and that he and his heirs for ever shall be bound to make good the rents, should Government sell the estate for arrears of revenue. We wanted him to write this document in the regular form of a deed of sale; but he said that none of his ancestors had ever yet sold their lands, and that he would not be the first to disgrace his family, or record their disgrace on stamped paper—it should, he was resolved, be a deed of gift.'
'But, of course, you prevailed upon him to take the price?'
'Yes, we prevailed upon him to take two hundred rupees for the land, and got his receipt for the same; indeed, it is so mentioned in the deed of gift; but still the landlord, who is a near relation of the late chief of Hatrās, would persist in having the paper made out as a deed, not of sale, but of gift. God knows whether, after all, our grove will be secure—we must run the risk now we have begun upon it.'
Notes:
1. This phrase is misleading. There is no want of trees in Upper India generally; only certain limited areas are ill wooded. Most of the districts in the plains of the Ganges and Jumna are well wooded.
2. This is a favourite doctrine of the author, often reiterated. The absence of a powerful middle class is a characteristic, not of India only, but of all Oriental despotisms, and the subdivision of landed property is only one of the causes of the non-existence of such a class.
3. This is quite true. The rural population want two things, first a light assessment, secondly the minimum of official interference, They do not care a straw who the ruler is, and they like best that ruler, be his name or nationality what it may, who worries them least, and takes least money from them.
4. Goldsmith, 'The Hermit' (in chapter 8 of The Vicar of Wakefield).
5. Groves are still scarce in the Agra country, but much planting has been done on the roads.
6. Gorakhpur, Azamgarh, and some other districts, forming half of the old province of Oudh, ceded by the ruler of Oudh in 1801, were long known as the Ceded Provinces. The western districts of the North- Western Provinces, known as the Conquered Provinces, were taken from the Marāthās in 1803-5. The Province of Benares became British territory in 1775. The hill districts of the Kumaun Division were annexed in 1816, at the close of the war with Nepal. All the regions named are now included in the Agra Province of the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh, in which the editor served for twenty- nine years.
7. The author's remarks are not readily intelligible to readers unversed in the technicalities of Indian revenue administration. The author writes on the assumption that Government was the proprietor of the soil. While he was writing, the settlements under Regulation IX of 1833 were in progress. Those settlements, or revenue contracts, were ordinarily sanctioned for periods of thirty years, and the landholders, whom the author calls 'lessees', have gradually changed into 'proprietors', with full power over their land, subject only to the State lien for the 'land revenue' (Crown rent, or State share of the produce), and to the laws of inheritance and succession. The 'resumption of rent-free lands' simply means the subjection of those lands to the payment of 'land revenue'. It is inaccurate to say that the lands are become 'the property of Government' by reason of their being assessed. Even when land generally was regarded as the property of the State, and the landholders were considered to be only lessees, no objection would have been made to the planting of groves if payment of the 'land revenue' had been continued for the planted area as for cultivated land. Now that landholders have been recognized as proprietors, there is nothing to prevent them from planting as much land as they like with trees, although the State has not always been willing to exempt the whole planted area from assessment. No one ever objected to the renewal of trees except on the ground that the area under trees might be excluded from assessment. For many years past the Government of India has been most anxious to encourage tree- planting, and has sanctioned liberal rules respecting the exemption of grove land from assessment to 'land revenue', or 'rent', as the author calls it. The Government of the United Provinces certainly is not now liable to reproach for indifference to the value of groves. Enormous progress in the planting of road avenues has also been made. The deficiency of trees in the country about Agra is partly due to nature, much of the ground being cut up by ravines, and unfavourable for planting.
8. The Alīgarh district lies to the north and east of the Mathurā district. The fort of Alīgarh is fifty-five miles north of Agra, and eighty-four miles south-east of Delhi.
9. 'pakkā' here means 'burned in a kiln', as distinguished from 'sun-dried'.
10. The 'bīghā' is the unit of superficial land measure, varying, but often taken as five-eighths of an acre. The 'jarīb' is a smaller measure.
11. The rules now in force require assessing officers to make allowance for permanent improvements, such as the well described in the text, so as to give the fair benefit of the improvement to the maker. In the early settlements this important matter was commonly neglected.
12. Tolerable bullocks, fit for use at the well and in the plough, would now cost much more. This conversation appears to have taken place in the year 1839, The famine alluded to is that of 1837- 8.
13. This conversation gives a very vivid and truthful picture of rural life in Northern India. Most revenue officers have held similar conversations with rustics, but the author is almost the only writer on Indian affairs who has perceived that exact notes of casual chats in the fields would be found interesting and valuable.
14. The early settlements were made for short terms.
15. The certificate would not be of much avail in a civil court.
16. The Alīgarh district is now irrigated by canals.
17. This is the lender's view of his business; the borrowers might have a different story.
CHAPTER 62
Public Spirit of the Hindoos—Tree Cultivation and Suggestions for extending it.
I may here be permitted to introduce as something germane to the matter of the foregoing chapter a recollection of Jubbulpore, although we are now far past that locality.
My tents are pitched where they have often been before, on the verge of a very large and beautiful tank in a fine grove of mango- trees, and close to a handsome temple. There are more handsome temples and buildings for accommodation on the other side of the tank, but they are gone sadly out of repair. The bank all round this noble tank is beautifully ornamented by fine banyan and pīpal trees, between which and the water's edge intervene numerous clusters of the graceful bamboo. These works were formed about eighty years ago by a respectable agricultural capitalist who resided at this place, and died about twenty years after they were completed. No relation of his can now be found in the district, and not one in a thousand of those who drink of the water or eat of the fruit knows to whom he is indebted. There are round the place some beautiful 'bāolīs', or large wells with flights of stone steps from the top to the water's edge, imbedded in clusters of beautiful trees. They were formed about the same time for the use of the public by men whose grandchildren have descended to the grade of cultivators of the soil, or belted attendants upon the present native collectors, without the means of repairing any of the injury which time is inflicting upon these magnificent works. Three or four young pīpal-trees have begun to spread their delicate branches and pale green leaves rustling in the breeze from the dome of this fine temple; which these infant Herculeses hold in their deadly grasp and doom to inevitable destruction. Pigeons deposit the seeds of the pīpal-tree, on which they chiefly feed, in the crevices of buildings.
No Hindoo dares, and no Christian or Muhammadan will condescend, to lop off the heads of these young trees, and if they did, it would only put off the evil and inevitable day; for such are the vital powers of their roots, when they have once penetrated deeply into a building, that they will send out their branches again, cut them off as often as you may, and carry on their internal attack with undiminished vigour.[1] No wonder that superstition should have consecrated this tree, delicate and beautiful as it is, to the gods. The palace, the castle, the temple, and the tomb, all those works which man is most proud to raise to spread and to perpetuate his name, crumble to dust beneath her withering grasp. She rises triumphant over them all in her lofty beauty, bearing high in air amidst her light green foliage fragments of the wreck she has made, to show the nothingness of man's greatest efforts.
While sitting at my tent-door looking out upon this beautiful sheet of water, and upon all the noble works around me, I thought of the charge, so often made against the people of this fine land, of the total want of public spirit among them, by those who have spent their Indian days in the busy courts of law, and still more busy commercial establishments of our great metropolis.
If by the term public spirit be meant a disposition on the part of individuals to sacrifice their own enjoyments, or their own means of enjoyment for the common good, there is perhaps no people in the world among whom it abounds so much as among the people of India. To live in the grateful recollections of their countrymen for benefits conferred upon them in great works of ornament and utility is the study of every Hindoo of rank and property.[2] Such works tend, in his opinion, not only to spread and perpetuate his name in this world, but, through the good wishes and prayers of those who are benefited by them, to secure the favour of the Deity in the next.
According to their notions, every drop of rain-water or dew that falls to the ground from the green leaf of a fruit-tree, planted by them for the common good, proves a refreshing draught for their souls in the next [world]. When no descendant remains to pour the funeral libations in their name, the water from the trees they have planted for the public good is destined to supply its place. Everything judiciously laid out to promote the happiness of their fellow creatures will in the next world be repaid to them tenfold by the Deity.
In marching over the country in the hot season, we every morning find our tents pitched on the green sward amid beautiful groves of fruit-trees, with wells of 'pakkā' (brick or stone) masonry, built at great expense, and containing the most delicious water; but how few of us ever dream of asking at whose cost the trees that afford us and our followers such agreeable shade were planted, or the wells that afford us such copious streams of fine water in the midst of dry, arid plains were formed! We go on enjoying all the advantages which arise from the noble public spirit that animates the people of India to benevolent exertions, without once calling in question the truth of the assertion of our metropolitan friends that 'the people of India have no public spirit'.
Mānmōr, a respectable merchant of Mirzapore, who traded chiefly in bringing cotton from the valley of the Nerbudda and Southern India through Jubbulpore to Mirzapore, and in carrying back sugar and spices in return, learning how much travellers on this great road suffered from the want of water near the Hiliyā pass, under the Vindhya range of hills, commenced a work to remedy the evil in 1822. Not a drop of wholesome water was to be found within ten miles of the bottom of the pass, where the laden bullocks were obliged to rest during the hot months, when the greatest thoroughfare always took place. Mānmōr commenced a large tank and garden, and had laid out about twenty thousand rupees in the work, when he died. His son, Lalū Mānmōr, completed the work soon after his father's death, at a cost of eighty thousand rupees more, that travellers might enjoy all the advantages that his good old father had benevolently intended for them. The tank is very large, always full of fine water even in the driest part of the dry season, with flights of steps of cut freestone from the water's edge to the top all round. A fine garden and shrubbery, with temples and buildings for accommodations, are attached, with an establishment of people to attend and keep them in order.[3]
All the country around this magnificent work was a dreary solitude—there was not a human habitation within many miles on any side. Tens of thousands who passed this road every year were blessing the name of the man who had created it where it was so much wanted, when the new road from the Nerbudda to Mirzapore was made by the British Government to descend some ten miles to the north of it. As many miles were saved in the distance by the new cut, and the passage down made comparatively easy at great cost, travellers forsook the Hiliyā road, and poor Mānmōr's work became comparatively useless. I brought the work to the notice of Lord William Bentinck, who, in passing Mirzapore some time after, sent for the son, and conferred upon him a rich dress of honour, of which he has ever since been extremely proud.[4]
Hundreds of works like this are undertaken every year for the benefit of the public by benevolent and unostentatious individuals, who look for their reward, not in the applause of newspapers and public meetings, but in the grateful prayers and good wishes of those who are benefited by them; and in the favour of the Deity in the next world, for benefits conferred upon his creatures in this.[5]
What the people of India want is not public spirit, for no men in the world have more of it than the Hindoos, but a disposition on the part of private individuals to combine their efforts and means in effecting great objects for the public good. With this disposition they will be, in time, inspired under our rule, when the enemies of all settled governments may permit us to divert a little of our intellect and our revenue from the duties of war to those of peace.[6]
In the year 1829, while I held the civil charge of the district of Jubbulpore, in this valley of the Nerbudda, I caused an estimate to be made of the public works of utility and ornament it contained. The population of the district at that time amounted to 500,000 souls, distributed among 4,053 occupied towns, villages, and hamlets. There were 1,000 villages more which had formerly been occupied, but were then deserted. There were 2,288 tanks, 209 'bāolīs', or large wells with flights of steps extending from the top down to the water when in its lowest stage; 1,560 wells lined with brick and stone, cemented with lime, but without stairs; 860 Hindoo temples, and 22 Muhammadan mosques. The estimated cost of these works in grain at the present price, had the labour been paid in kind at the ordinary rate, was R86,66,043 (£866,604 sterling).[7]
The labourer was estimated to be paid at the rate of about two- thirds the quantity of corn he would get in England if paid in kind, and corn sells here at about one-third the price it fetches in average seasons in England. In Europe, therefore, these works, supposing the labour equally efficient, would have cost at least four times the sum here estimated; and such works formed by private individuals for the public good, without any view whatever to return in profits, indicate a very high degree of public spirit.
The whole annual rent of the lands of this district amounts to R650,000 (£65,000 sterling), that is, 500,000 demandable by the Government, and 150,000 by those who hold the lands at lease immediately under Government, over and above what may be considered as the profits of their stock as farmers. These works must, therefore, have cost about thirteen times the amount of the annual rent of the whole of the lands of the district, or the whole annual rent for above thirteen years.[8]
But I have not included the groves of mango and tamarind, and other fine trees with which the district abounds. Two-thirds of the towns and villages are imbedded in fine groves of these trees, mixed with the banyan (Ficus Indica) and the pīpal (Ficus religiosa). I am sorry they were not numbered; but I should estimate them at three thousand, and the outlay upon a mango grove is, on an average, about four hundred rupees.
The groves of fruit-trees planted by individuals for the use of the public, without any view to a return in profit, would in this district, according to this estimate, have cost twelve lākhs [12,00,000] more, or about twice the amount of the annual rent of the whole of the lands. It should be remarked that the whole of these works had been formed under former governments. Ours was established in the year 1817.[9]
The Upper Doāb and the Delhi Territories were denuded of their trees in the wars that attended the decline and fall of the Muhammadan empire, and the rise and progress of the Sikhs, Jāts, and Marāthās in that quarter. These lawless freebooters soon swept all the groves from the face of every country they occupied with their troops, and they never attempted to renew them or encourage the renewal. We have not been much more sparing; and the finest groves of fruit-trees have everywhere been recklessly swept down by our barrack-masters to furnish fuel for their brick-kilns; and I am afraid little or no encouragement is given for planting others to supply their place in those parts of India where they are most wanted.
We have a regulation authorizing the lessee of a village to plant a grove in his grounds, but where the settlements of the land-revenue have been for short periods, as in all Upper and Central India, this authority is by no means sufficient to induce them to invest their property in such works. It gives no sufficient guarantee that the lessee for the next settlement shall respect a grant made by his predecessors; and every grove of mango-trees requires outlay and care for at least ten years. Though a man destines the fruit, the shade, and the water for the use of the public, he requires to feel that it will be held for the public in his name, and by his children and descendants, and never be exclusively appropriated by any man in power for his own use.
If the lands were still to belong to the lessee of the estate under Government, and the trees only to the planter and his heirs, he to whom the land belonged might very soon render the property in the trees of no value to the planter or his heirs.[10]
If Government wishes the Upper Doāb, the Delhi, Mathurā, and Agra districts again enriched and embellished with mango groves, they will not delay to convey this feeling to the hundreds, nay, thousands, who would be willing to plant them upon a single guarantee that the lands upon which the trees stand shall be considered to belong to them and their heirs as long as these trees stand upon them.[11] That the land, the shade, the fruit, and the water will be left to the free enjoyment of the public we may take for granted, since the good which the planter's soul is to derive from such a work in the next world must depend upon their being so; and all that is required to be stipulated in such grants is that mango tamarind, pīpal, or 'bar' (i.e. banyan) trees, at the rate of twenty-five the English acre, shall be planted and kept up in every piece of land granted for the purpose; and that a well of 'pakkā' masonry shall be made for the purpose of watering them, in the smallest, as well as in the largest, piece of ground granted, and kept always in repair.
If the grantee fulfil the conditions, he ought, in order to cover part of the expense, to be permitted to till the land under the trees till they grow to maturity and yield their fruit; if he fails, the lands, having been declared liable to resumption, should be resumed. The person soliciting such grants should be required to certify in his application that he had already obtained the sanction of the present lessee of the village in which he wishes to have his grove, and for this sanction he would, of course, have to pay the full value of the land for the period of his lease. When his lease expires, the land in which the grove is planted would be excluded from the assessment; and when it is considered that every good grove must cost the planter more than fifty times the annual rent of the land, Government may be satisfied that they secure the advantage to their people at a very cheap rate.[12]
Over and above the advantage of fruit, water, and shade for the public, these groves tend much to secure the districts that are well studded with them from the dreadful calamities that in India always attend upon deficient falls of rain in due season. They attract the clouds, and make them deposit their stores in districts that would not otherwise be blessed with them; and hot and dry countries denuded of their trees, and by that means deprived of a great portion of that moisture to which they had been accustomed, and which they require to support vegetation, soon become dreary and arid wastes. The lighter particles, which formed the richest portion of their soil, blow off, and leave only the heavy arenaceous portion; and hence, perhaps, those sandy deserts in which are often to be found the signs of a population once very dense.
In the Mauritius, the rivers were found to be diminishing under the rapid disappearance of the woods in the interior, when Government had recourse to the measure of preventing further depredations, and they soon recovered their size.
The clouds brought up from the southern ocean by the south-east trade wind are attracted, as they pass over the island, by the forests in the interior, and made to drop their stores in daily refreshing showers. In many other parts of the world governments have now become aware of this mysterious provision of nature; and have adopted measures to take advantage of it for the benefit of the people; and the dreadful sufferings to which the people of those of our districts, which have been the most denuded of their trees, have been of late years exposed from the want of rain in due season, may, perhaps, induce our Indian Government to turn its thoughts to the subject.[13]
The province of Mālwā, which is bordered by the Nerbudda on the south, Gujarāt on the west, Rājputāna on the north, and Allahabad on the east, is said never to have been visited by a famine; and this exemption from so great a calamity must arise chiefly from its being so well studded with hills and groves. The natives have a couplet, which, like all good couplets on rural subjects, is attributed to Sahadēo, one of the five demigod brothers of the Mahābhārata, to this effect: 'If it does not thunder on such a night, you, father, must go to Mālwā, and I to Gujarāt', meaning, 'The rains will fail us here, and we must go to those quarters where they never fail'[14]
Notes:
1. The Archaeological Survey is engaged in unceasing battle with the pīpal seedlings.
2. This proposition is too general.
3. The Hiliyā, or Haliyā, Pass is near the town of the same name in the Mirzāpur district, thirty-one miles south- west of Mirzāpur. A bilingual inscription, in English and Hindī, on a large slab on the bank of the river, records the capture of the fort of Bhōpārī in 1811 by the 21st Regiment Native Infantry. The tank described in the text is at Dibhōr, twelve miles south of Haliyā, and is 430 feet long by 352 broad. The full name of the builder is Srīmān Nāyak Mānmōr, who was the head of the Banjāra merchants of Mirzāpur. The inscription on his temple is dated 23 February, 1825, A.D. 'I suppose', remarks Cunningham, 'that the vagrant instinct of the old Banjāra preferred a jungle site. No doubt he got the ground cheap; and from this vantage point he was able to supply Mirzāpur with both wood and charcoal.' (A.S.R., vol. xxi, pp. 121-5, pl. xxxi.)
4. The new road passes through the Katrā Pass. The pass via Dibhōr and Haliyā, which the author calls the Hiliyā Pass, is properly called the Kerahi (Kerāi) Pass. Both old and new roads are now little used. The construction of railways has altogether changed the course of trade, and Cawnpore has risen on the ruins of Mirzāpur. Lalū, Nāyak's 'grandson, died in comparative obscurity some years ago, and only a few female relatives remain to represent the family—a striking example, if one were needed, of the instability of Oriental fortunes.' (A.S.R., vol. xxi, p. 124, quoting Gazetteer.)
5. Within a few miles of Gosalpur, at the village of Talwā, which stands upon the old high road leading to Mirzapore, is a still more magnificent tank with one of the most beautiful temples in India, all executed two or three generations ago at the expense of two or three lakhs of rupees for the benefit of the public, by a very worthy man, who became rich in the service of the former Government. His descendants, all save one, now follow the plough; and that one has a small rent-free village held on condition of appropriating the rents to the repair of the tank. [W. H. S.]
The name Talwā is only the rustic way of pronouncing 'tāl', meaning the tank. Gosalpur is nineteen miles north-east of Jabalpur. Two or three lakhs of rupees were then (in eighteenth century) worth about £22,000 to £33,000 sterling.
6. India, except on the frontiers, has been at peace since 1858, and much revenue has been spent on the duties of peace, but the power of combination for public objects has developed among the people to a less degree than the author seems to have expected, though some development undoubtedly has taken place.
7. In the original edition these statistics are given in words. Figures have been used in this edition as being more readily grasped. The Central Provinces Gazetteer (1870) gives the following figures: Area of district, 4,261 square miles; population, 620,201; villages, 2,707; wells in use, 5,515. The Gazetteer figures apparently include wells of all kinds, and do not reckon hamlets separately. Wells are, of course, an absolute necessity, and their construction could not be avoided in a country occupied by a fixed population. The number of temples and mosques was very small for so large a population. Many of the tanks, too, are indispensably necessary for watering the cattle employed in agriculture. The 'bāolīs' may fairly be reckoned as the fruit of the public spirit of individuals. This chapter is a reprint of a paper entitled 'On the Public Spirit of the Hindoos'. See Bibliography, ante, No. 10.
8. The C.P. Gazetteer (1870) states that in 1868-9 the land- revenue was R5,70,434, as compared with R500,000 in the author's time. It has since been largely enhanced. The lessees (zamīndārs) have now become proprietors, and the land- revenue, according to the rule in force for many years past, should not exceed half the estimated profit rental. The early settlements were made in accordance with the theory of native Governments that the land is the property of the State, and that the lessees are entitled only to subsistence, with a small percentage as payment for the trouble of collection from the actual cultivators. The author's estimate gives the zamīndārs only 15/80ths, or 3/16ths of the profit rental.
9. The people of the Jubbulpore district must have been very different from those of the rest of India if they planted their groves solely for the public benefit. The editor has never known the fruit, not to mention the timber and firewood, of a grove to be available for the use of the general public. Universal custom allows all comers to use the shade of any established grove, but the fruit is always jealousy guarded and gathered by the owners. Even one tree is often the property of many sharing, and disputes about the division of mangoes and other fruits are extremely frequent. The framing of a correct record of rights in trees is one of the most embarrassing tasks of a revenue officer.
10. Under the modern System it often happens that the land belongs to one party, and the trees to another. Disputes, of course, occur, but, as a rule, the rights of the owner of the trees are not interfered with by the owner of the land. In thousands of such cases both parties exercise their rights without friction.
11. This sentence shows clearly how remote from the author's mind was the idea of private property in land in India. Government has long since parted with the power of giving grants such as the author recommends. The upper Doāb districts of Meerut, Muzaffarnagar, and Sahāranpur now have plenty of groves.
12. The cost of establishing a grove varies much according to circumstances, of which the distance of water from the surface is the most important. Where water is distant, the cost of constructing and working a well is very high. Where water is near, these items of expense are small, because the roots of the trees soon reach a moist stratum, and can dispense with irrigation.
13. The author, in his appreciation of the value of arboriculture and forest conservancy, was far in advance of his Anglo-Indian contemporaries. A modern meteorologist might object to some of his phraseology, but the substance of his remarks is quite sound. His statement of the ways in which trees benefit climate is incomplete. One important function performed by the roots of trees is the raising of water from the depths below the surface, to be dispersed by the leaves in the form of vapour. Trees act beneficially in many other ways also, which it would be tedious to specify.
The Indian Government long remained blind to the importance of the duty of saving the country from denudation. The first forest conservancy establishments were organized in 1852 for Madras and Burma, and, by Act vii of 1865, the Forest Department was established on a legal basis. Its operations have since been largely extended, and trained foresters are now sent out each year to India. The Department at the present time controls many thousand square miles of forest. The reader may consult the article 'Forests' in Balfour, Cyclopaedia, 3rd ed., and sundry official reports for further details.
A yearly grant for arboriculture is now made to every district. Thousands of miles of roads have been lined with trees, and multitudes of groves have been established by both Government and private individuals. The author was himself a great tree-planter. In a letter dated 15th December, 1844, he describes the avenue which he had planted along the road from Maihar to Jubbulpore in 1829 and 1830, and another, eighty-six miles long, from Jhānsī Ghāt on the Nerbudda to Chāka. The trees planted were banyan, pīpal, mango, tamarind, and jāman (Eugenia jambolana). He remarks that these trees will last for centuries.
14. 'In 1899-1900 Mālwā suffered from a severe famine, such as had not visited this favoured spot for more than thirty years. The people were unused to, and quite unprepared for, this calamity, the distress being aggravated by the great influx of immigrants from Rājputāna, who had hitherto always been sure of relief in this region, of which the fertility is proverbial. In 1903 a new calamity appeared in the shape of plague, which has seriously reduced the agricultural population in some districts' (I.G., 1908, xvii. 105).