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Observations on the Mussulmauns of India by Ali, Mrs. Meer Hassan - LETTER XXI

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Observations on the Mussulmauns of India

LETTER XXI

Nat­ural Pro­duc­tions of In­dia.--Trees, shrubs, plants, fruits, &c.--Their dif­fer­ent us­es and medic­inal qual­ities.--The Rose.--Na­tive med­ical prac­tice.--An­ti­dote to Hy­dropho­bia.--Rem­edy for the ven­om of the Snake.--The Chitcher­ah (In­vert­ed thorn).--The Neam-​tree.--The Hur­rundh (Cas­tor-​tree).--The Umul­tass (Cas­sia-​tree).--The Myr­tle.--The Pomegranate.--The Tamarind.--The Jah­mun.--The Man­go.--The Sher­refah.--White and red Guavers.--The Dam­as­cus Fig.--The Peach, and oth­er Fruits.--The Mahd­haar (Fire-​plant).--The Sir­ra­kee and Sain­turh (Jun­gle-​grass).--The Bam­boo, and its var­ious us­es enu­mer­at­ed.

In Eu­rope we are ac­cus­tomed to cul­ti­vate the rose mere­ly as an or­na­ment of the gar­den. This is not the case with my In­di­an ac­quain­tance; they cul­ti­vate the rose as a use­ful ar­ti­cle, es­sen­tial to their health, and con­ducive to their com­fort.

The on­ly rose I have ev­er seen them so­lic­itous about is the old-​fash­ioned 'hun­dred-​leaf' or cab­bage-​rose'.[1] Where-​ev­er a Mus­sul­maun pop­ula­tion con­gre­gate these are found plant­ed in en­closed fields. In the month of Septem­ber, the rose trees are cut down to with­in eight inch­es of the sur­face of the earth, and the cut­tings care­ful­ly plant­ed in a shel­tered sit­ua­tion for strik­ing, to keep up a suc­ces­sion of young trees. By the first or sec­ond week in De­cem­ber the ear­li­est ros­es of the sea­son are in bloom on the new wood, which has made its way from the old stock in this short pe­ri­od. Great care is tak­en in gath­er­ing the ros­es to pre­serve ev­ery bud for a suc­ces­sion. A gar­den­er in In­dia is dis­tressed when the Bee­by Sahibs[2] (En­glish ladies) pluck ros­es, aware that buds and all are sac­ri­ficed at once. I shall here give a brief ac­count of the sev­er­al pur­pos­es to which the rose is ap­plied.

Rose-​wa­ter is dis­tilled in most Mus­sul­maun fam­ilies as a medicine and an in­dis­pens­able lux­ury. For medicine, it is ad­min­is­tered in all cas­es of in­di­ges­tion and pains of the stom­ach or bow­els,--the old­er the rose-​wa­ter the more ef­fec­tu­al the rem­edy. I have been ac­cus­tomed to see very old rose-​wa­ter ad­min­is­tered in dos­es of a wine-​glass full, re­peat­ed fre­quent­ly, in cas­es of cholera mor­bus and gen­er­al­ly with good ef­fect, when the pa­tient has ap­plied the rem­edy in time and due care has been ob­served in pre­vent­ing the af­flict­ed per­son from tak­ing any oth­er liq­uid un­til the worst symp­toms have sub­sid­ed. This method of treat­ment may not ac­cord with the views of pro­fes­sion­al men gen­er­al­ly; how­ev­er, I on­ly as­sert what I have re­peat­ed­ly seen, that it has been ad­min­is­tered to many mem­bers of my hus­band's fam­ily with the best pos­si­ble ef­fect. On one oc­ca­sion, af­ter eat­ing a hearty din­ner, Meer Had­jee Shaah was at­tacked with cholera; rose-​wa­ter was ad­min­is­tered, with a small por­tion of the stone called za­hur morah. In his agony, he com­plained of great thirst, when rose-​wa­ter was again hand­ed to him, and con­tin­ued at in­ter­vals of half-​an-​hour dur­ing the day and part of the night. In the morn­ing, the pain and symp­toms had great­ly sub­sid­ed; he was, notwith­stand­ing, re­strained from tak­ing any liq­uid or food for more than forty-​eight hours, ex­cept oc­ca­sion­al­ly a lit­tle rose-​wa­ter; and when his Na­tive doc­tors per­mit­ted him to re­ceive nour­ish­ment, he was kept on very lim­it­ed por­tions of ar­row-​root for sev­er­al days to­geth­er. At the end of about eight days (the fever hav­ing been en­tire­ly re­moved) chick­en-​broth was al­lowed, and at first with­out bread; solids, in­deed, were on­ly per­mit­ted when all fears of a re­lapse had ceased, and even then but par­tial­ly for some time, fear­ing the con­se­quences to the ten­der state of the bow­els. Such per­sons as are ab­stemious and re­gard the qual­ity of their dai­ly food are most like­ly to re­cov­er from the at­tack of this aw­ful scourge. Very young chil­dren are rarely amongst the suf­fer­ers by cholera; the adults of all class­es are most sub­ject to it in In­dia; in­deed, I do not find the aged or the youth­ful, ei­ther male or fe­male, pre­pon­der­ate in the num­ber at­tacked; but those who live lux­uri­ous­ly suf­fer most. Amongst the Na­tives, it is dif­fi­cult to pre­vail on them to forego their usu­al meals, par­tic­ular­ly amongst the low­er or­ders: if they feel rather in­con­ve­nienced by heart­burns or oth­er in­di­ca­tions of a dis­or­dered stom­ach, they can­not re­sist eat­ing again and again at the ap­point­ed hours, af­ter which strong symp­toms of cholera usu­al­ly com­mence. I nev­er heard of one case oc­cur­ring af­ter a good night's rest, but in­vari­ably af­ter eat­ing, ei­ther in the morn­ing or the evening.

My re­marks have drawn me from my sub­ject, by ex­plain­ing the sup­posed medic­inal ben­efits of rose-​wa­ter, which as a lux­ury is high­ly val­ued in In­dia. It is fre­quent­ly used by the Na­tives in prepar­ing their sweet dish­es, is added to their sher­bet, sprin­kled over favoured guests, used to cleanse the mouth-​piece of the hookha, and to cool the face and hands in very hot weath­er. Al­though they ab­stain from the use of rose-​wa­ter, ex­ter­nal­ly and in­ter­nal­ly, when suf­fer­ing from a cold,--they fan­cy smelling a rose will pro­duce a cold, and I have of­ten ob­served in In­dia, that smelling a fresh rose in­duces sneez­ing,[3]--yet, at all oth­er times, this ar­ti­cle is in gen­er­al use in re­spectable Mus­sul­maun fam­ilies. Dried rose-​leaves and cas­sia added to in­fu­sions of sen­na, is a fam­ily medicine in gen­er­al re­quest.

The fresh rose-​leaves are con­vert­ed by a very sim­ple pro­cess in­to a con­serve, which is al­so used as a medicine; it is like­wise an es­sen­tial ar­ti­cle, with oth­er in­gre­di­ents, in the prepa­ra­tion of to­bac­co for their lux­uri­ous hookha.

A syrup is ex­tract­ed from the fresh rose, suit­ed ad­mirably to the cli­mate of In­dia as an ape­ri­ent medicine, pleas­ant to the taste and mild in its ef­fects. A ta­ble-​spoon full is con­sid­ered a suf­fi­cient dose for adults.

The seed of the rose is a pow­er­ful as­trin­gent, and of­ten brought in­to use in cas­es of ex­treme weak­ness of the bow­els. The green leaves are fre­quent­ly ap­plied pound­ed as a cold poul­tice to in­flamed places with much the same ef­fect as is pro­duced in Eng­land from go­lard-​wa­ter.[4]

The oil or ot­ta of ros­es is col­lect­ed from the rose-​wa­ter when first dis­tilled. Per­sons in­tend­ing to pro­cure the ot­ta, have the rose-​wa­ter poured in­to dish­es while warm from the still: this re­mains undis­turbed twen­ty-​four hours, when the oily sub­stance is dis­cov­ered on the sur­face as cream on milk; this is care­ful­ly tak­en off, bot­tled, the mouth closed with wax, and then ex­posed to the burn­ing rays of the sun for sev­er­al days. The rose-​wa­ter is kept in thin white glass bot­tles, and placed in bas­kets for a fort­night, ei­ther on the roofs of hous­es or on a grass-​plot; or wher­ev­er the sun by day and the dew by night may be cal­cu­lat­ed on, which act on the rose-​wa­ter and in­duce that fra­grant smell so pe­cu­liar to that of In­dia.

I have else­where re­marked that the Na­tive med­ical prac­tice is strict­ly herbal; min­er­als are strong­ly ob­ject­ed to as per­ni­cious in af­ter con­se­quences, al­though they may prove ef­fec­tu­al in re­mov­ing present in­con­ve­nience. Quick­sil­ver[5] is some­times re­sort­ed to by in­di­vid­uals, but with­out the sanc­tion of their med­ical prac­ti­tion­ers. They have no no­tion of the anato­my of the hu­man body, be­yond a few ideas sug­gest­ed in the old Gre­cian school of medicine, in favour of which they are strong­ly prej­udiced. They, how­ev­er, are said to per­form ex­traor­di­nary cures by sim­ple treat­ment, many cas­es of se­vere fever oc­curred un­der my own ob­ser­va­tion, which were re­moved, I re­al­ly be­lieve, by strict at­ten­tion to di­et, or rather starv­ing the en­emy from its strong hold, than by any of the medicines ad­min­is­tered to the pa­tients. If any one is at­tacked by fever, his med­ical ad­vis­er in­quires the day and the hour it com­menced, by which he is guid­ed in pre­scrib­ing for the pa­tient. On the bore­haun[6] (crit­ical days) as the third, fifth, and sev­enth, af­ter the fever com­mences, noth­ing could in­duce the med­ical doc­tor to let blood or ad­min­is­ter ac­tive medicines; there on­ly re­mains then for the pa­tient to be de­barred any kind of food or nour­ish­ment, and that du­ly ob­served, the fever is of­ten thrown off with­out a sin­gle dose of medicine. By three or four days of most strict ab­sti­nence, and such sim­ple nour­ish­ment as the thinnest gru­el or bar­ley wa­ter,--the lat­ter made from the com­mon field bar­ley, very spar­ing­ly al­lowed, the pa­tient is ren­dered con­va­les­cent.

The Na­tives of In­dia pro­fess to have found an an­ti­dote to, and cure for, hy­dropho­bia in the reetah[7] berry, de­scribed as a sapona­ceous nut. I have nev­er seen a case of hy­dropho­bia, but it is by no means un­com­mon, I un­der­stand. They al­ways ad­vise that the per­son bit­ten by a ra­bid an­imal, should have the limb prompt­ly tied up with a ban­dage above and be­low the bite; the wound, as speed­ily as pos­si­ble, to be seared with a red-​hot iron, and a few dos­es of the reetah berry with a por­tion of soap ad­min­is­tered. The berry is well known for its good prop­er­ty in cleans­ing and soft­en­ing the hair, for which pur­pose it is gen­er­al­ly found in the bathing-​rooms both of the Eu­ro­pean and Na­tive ladies.

The Na­tive rem­edy for snake bites, is called neel­lah tootee[8] (blue vit­rol): if from eight to twelve grains be ad­min­is­tered in ghee or but­ter im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter the bite is re­ceived, the hap­pi­est re­sults will fol­low. A per­son in our fam­ily was bit­ten by a snake, but ne­glect­ed to ap­ply for the rem­edy for more than half an hour af­ter the ac­ci­dent, when his own ex­pres­sions were, that 'he suf­fered great un­easi­ness in his body, and his fac­ul­ties seemed dark­ened;' half a masha, about eight grains of blue stone, was now giv­en in ghee. In a few hours he was ap­par­ent­ly quite well again, and for sev­er­al days he found no oth­er in­con­ve­nience than a slight numb­ness in the hand which had been bit­ten by the snake.

This per­son had oc­ca­sion soon af­ter to leave home, and had ex­ert­ed him­self un­usu­al­ly by walk­ing, when he found the same symp­toms of un­easi­ness re­turn; he hur­ried to a house where he was known, and re­quest­ed to be sup­plied with a cer­tain quan­ti­ty of blue stone with­out de­lay. He had sense enough re­main­ing to ex­plain for what pur­pose he re­quired it, when the per­son ap­plied to ob­ject­ed to fur­nish him with the poi­sonous ar­ti­cle. The rem­edy, how­ev­er, was ul­ti­mate­ly pro­cured, tak­en, and in a few hours he was re­cov­ered suf­fi­cient­ly to re­turn home. He nev­er found the symp­toms re­turn again to my rec­ol­lec­tion.

The chitcher­ah[9] (in­vert­ed thorn), is a shrub com­mon to In­dia, which bears small grains not un­like rice; these seeds are poi­sonous in their nat­ural state, but when prop­er­ly pre­pared with a por­tion of urzeez[10]--(tin), it be­comes a use­ful medicine; and in par­tic­ular cas­es of scro­fu­la, which have re­sist­ed all oth­er reme­dies of­fered by the med­ical prac­ti­tion­ers, the Na­tives tell me this has proved an ef­fec­tu­al rem­edy; and my in­for­mant, a Na­tive doc­tor, as­sures me that three dos­es, of three grains each, is all he finds nec­es­sary to give his pa­tient in scro­fu­la cas­es.

The chitcher­ah in its green state is re­sort­ed to as a rem­edy for the sting of scor­pi­ons: when ap­plied to the wound, which is of­ten much in­flamed and very painful, the cure is prompt. The scor­pi­on runs from this shrub when held to it, as if it were fright­ened: many peo­ple de­clare scor­pi­ons are nev­er met with in the grounds where the chitcher­ah grows.

The neam-​tree[11] is cul­ti­vat­ed near the hous­es of Na­tives gen­er­al­ly, in the Up­per Provinces, be­cause, as they af­firm, it is very con­ducive to health, to breathe the air through the neam-​trees. This tree is not very quick of growth, but reach­es a good size. When it has at­tained its full height, the branch­es spread out as lux­uri­ant­ly as the oak and sup­plies an agree­able shel­ter from the sun. The bark is rough; the leaves long, nar­row, curved, point­ed, and with saw teeth edges; both the wood and leaves par­take of the same dis­agree­able bit­ter flavour. The green leaves are used medic­inal­ly as a rem­edy for biles; af­ter be­ing pound­ed they are mixed with wa­ter and tak­en as a draught; they are al­so es­teemed ef­fi­ca­cious as poul­tices and fo­men­ta­tions for tu­mours, &c. The young twigs are pre­ferred by all class­es of the Na­tives for tooth-​brush­es.

The hur­rundh,[12] or cas­tor-​tree, is cul­ti­vat­ed by farm­ers in their corn-​fields through­out Hin­doost­aun. This tree sel­dom ex­ceeds in its growth the height of an En­glish shrub. The bark is smooth; the leaf, in shape, re­sem­bles the sycamore, but of a dark­er green. The pods con­tain­ing the seed grow in clus­ters like grapes, but of a very dif­fer­ent ap­pear­ance, the sur­face of each pod be­ing rough, thorny, and of a dingy red cast when ripe. The seed pro­duces the oil, which is in com­mon use as a pow­er­ful medicine, for men and an­imals. In re­mote sta­tions, where any dif­fi­cul­ty ex­ists in procur­ing co­coa-​nut oil, the cas­tor oil is of­ten ren­dered use­ful for burn­ing in lamps; the light, how­ev­er, pro­duced by it is very in­fe­ri­or to the oil of co­coa-​nut. The green leaves are con­sid­ered cool­ing to wounds or in­flamed places, and there­fore used with oint­ment af­ter the blis­ter-​plas­ter is re­moved.

As I have seen this tree grow­ing in corn-​fields, I may here re­mark that the farmer's mo­tives for cul­ti­vat­ing it orig­inate in the idea that his crops are ben­efit­ed by a near vicin­ity to the hur­rundh. It is al­so very com­mon to ob­serve a good row of the plant called ulsee[13](lin­seed), bor­der­ing a plan­ta­tion of wheat or bar­ley: they fan­cy this herb pre­serves the blade healthy, and the corn from blight.

The umul­tass[14] (cas­sia) is a large and hand­some for­est tree, pro­duc­ing that most use­ful drug in long dark pods, sev­er­al inch­es long, which hang from the branch­es in all di­rec­tions, giv­ing a most ex­traor­di­nary ap­pear­ance to the tree. The seed is small and mixed with the pulp, which dis­solves in wa­ter, and is in gen­er­al use with the Na­tives as a pow­er­ful and ac­tive medicine in bil­ious cas­es. I am not, how­ev­er, aware that the seed pos­sess­es any medic­inal prop­er­ty: it cer­tain­ly is not ap­pro­pri­at­ed to such cas­es in Hin­doost­aun.

Myr­tle-​trees,[15] un­der many dif­fer­ent names, and of sev­er­al kinds, are met with in In­dia, of an im­mense size com­pared with those grown in Eu­rope. They are cul­ti­vat­ed for their known prop­er­ties, rather than as mere or­na­ments to the gar­den. The leaves, boiled in wa­ter, are said to be of ser­vice to the hair; the root and branch­es are con­sid­ered medic­inal.

The pomegranate-​tree[16] may be ranked amongst the choic­est beau­ties of Asi­at­ic hor­ti­cul­ture; and when its ben­efits are un­der­stood, no one won­ders that a tree or two is to be seen in al­most ev­ery gar­den and com­pound of the Mus­sul­maun pop­ula­tion in In­dia.

The finest fruit of this sort is brought, how­ev­er, from Per­sia and Cab­ul, at a great ex­pense; and from the gen­er­al es­ti­ma­tion in which it is held, the mer­chants an­nu­al­ly im­port the fruit in large quan­ti­ties. There are two sorts, the sweet and the acid pomegranate, each pos­sess­ing medic­inal prop­er­ties pe­cu­liar to it­self. Sher­bet is made from the juice, which is pressed out, and boiled up with sug­ar or hon­ey to a syrup; thus pre­pared it keeps good for any length of time, and very few fam­ilies omit mak­ing their year­ly sup­ply, as it con­sti­tutes a great lux­ury in health, and a re­al ben­efit in par­tic­ular dis­or­ders. The Na­tives make many va­ri­eties of sher­bet from the juices of their fruits, as the pine-​ap­ple, fal­sah,[17] man­go, or any oth­er of the same suc­cu­lent na­ture, each hav­ing prop­er­ties to rec­om­mend it be­yond the mere pleas­ant­ness of its flavour.

An ad­mir­er of Na­ture must be struck with the sin­gu­lar beau­ty of the pomegranate-​tree, so com­mon­ly cul­ti­vat­ed in In­dia. The leaves are of a rich dark green, very glossy, and adorned at the same time with ev­ery va­ri­ety of bud, bloom, and fruit, in the sev­er­al stages of veg­eta­tion, from the first bud to the ripe fruit in rich lux­uri­ance, and this in suc­ces­sion near­ly through­out the year. The bright scar­let colour of the buds and blos­soms sel­dom vary in their shades; but con­trast­ed with the glossy dark green fo­liage, the ef­fect ex­cites won­der and ad­mi­ra­tion. There is a medic­inal ben­efit to be de­rived from ev­ery part of this tree from its root up­wards, each part pos­sess­ing a dis­tinct prop­er­ty, which is em­ployed ac­cord­ing to the Na­tive knowl­edge and prac­tice of medicine.

Even the falling blos­soms are care­ful­ly col­lect­ed, and when made in­to a con­serve, are ad­min­is­tered suc­cess­ful­ly in cas­es of blood-​spit­ting.

The tamarind-​tree may of­ten be dis­cov­ered shel­ter­ing the tomb of revered or saint­ed char­ac­ters; but I am not aware of any par­tic­ular ven­er­ation en­ter­tained to­wards this tree by the gen­er­al pop­ula­tion of In­dia, be­yond the ben­efit de­rived from the medic­inal prop­er­ties of the fruit and the leaves.[18]

The ripe fruit, soaked in salt and wa­ter, to ex­tract the juices, is strained, and ad­min­is­tered as a use­ful ape­ri­ent; and from its qual­ity in cleans­ing the blood, many fam­ilies pre­fer this fruit in their cur­ries to oth­er acids. From the tamarind-​tree, pre­serves are made for the af­flu­ent, and chat­nee for the poor, to sea­son their coarse bar­ley un­leav­ened cakes, which form their dai­ly meal, and with which they seem thor­ough­ly con­tent­ed.

From what cause I know not, but it is gen­er­al­ly un­der­stood that veg­eta­tion does not thrive in the vicin­ity of the tamarind-​tree. In­deed, I have fre­quent­ly heard the Na­tives ac­count for the tamarind be­ing so of­ten plant­ed apart from oth­er trees, be­cause they fan­cy veg­eta­tion is al­ways re­tard­ed in their vicin­ity.

The jah­mun-​tree[19] is al­so held in gen­er­al es­ti­ma­tion for the ben­efit of the fruit, which, when ripe, is eat­en with salt, and es­teemed a great lux­ury, and in ev­ery re­spect prefer­able to olives. The fruit, in its raw state, is a pow­er­ful as­trin­gent, and pos­sess­es many prop­er­ties not gen­er­al­ly known out of Na­tive so­ci­ety, which may ex­cuse my men­tion­ing them here. The fruit, which is about the size and colour of the dam­son-​plum, when ripe is very juicy, and makes an ex­cel­lent wine, not in­fe­ri­or in qual­ity to port. The Na­tives, how­ev­er, are not per­mit­ted by their law to drink wine, and there­fore this prop­er­ty in the fruit is of no ben­efit to them; but they en­cour­age the prac­tice of ex­tract­ing the juice of jah­mun for vine­gar, which is be­lieved to be the most pow­er­ful of all veg­etable acids. The Na­tive med­ical prac­ti­tion­ers de­clare, that if by ac­ci­dent a hair has been in­tro­duced with food in­to the stom­ach, it can nev­er di­gest of it­self, and will pro­duce both pain and nau­sea to the in­di­vid­ual. On such oc­ca­sions they ad­min­is­ter jah­mun vine­gar, which has the prop­er­ty of dis­solv­ing any kind of hair, and the on­ly thing they are aware of that will. Sher­bet is made of this vine­gar, and is of­ten tak­en in wa­ter ei­ther im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter din­ner, or when di­ges­tion is tardy.

The skin of the jah­mun pro­duces a per­ma­nent dye of a bright lilac colour, and with the ad­di­tion of urzeez (tin), a rich vi­olet. The ef­fect on wool I have nev­er tried, but on silks and muslins the most beau­ti­ful shades have been pro­duced by the sim­plest pro­cess pos­si­ble, and so per­ma­nent, that the colour re­sist­ed ev­ery at­tempt to re­move it by wash­ing, &c.[20]

The man­go-​tree stands pre-​em­inent­ly high in the es­ti­ma­tion of the Na­tives, and this is not to be won­dered at when the var­ious ben­efits de­rived from it are brought un­der con­sid­er­ation. It is mag­nif­icent in its growth, and splen­did in its fo­liage, and where a plan­ta­tion of man­go-​trees, called 'a tope', is met with, that spot is pre­ferred by trav­ellers on which to pitch their tent. The sea­son of bloom­ing is about Febru­ary and March; the aro­mat­ic scent from the flow­ers is de­light­ful, and the beau­ti­ful clus­ter­ing of the blos­soms is not very un­like the horse-​chest­nut in ap­pear­ance and size, but branch­ing hor­izon­tal­ly. The young man­goes are gath­ered for pre­serves and pick­les be­fore the stone is formed; the full-​grown un­ripe fruit is peeled, split, and dried, for sea­son­ing cur­ries, &c. The ripe fruit spo­ken of in a for­mer Let­ter re­quires no fur­ther com­men­da­tion, nei­ther will it ad­mit of com­par­ison with any Eu­ro­pean fruits. The ker­nels, when ripe, are of­ten dried and ground in­to flour for bread in sea­sons of scarci­ty. The wood is use­ful as tim­ber for doors, rafters, &c., and the branch­es and leaves for fu­el; in short, there is no part of the whole tree but is made use­ful in some way to man.

The sher­refah[21] (cus­tard-​ap­ple) is pro­duced on a very grace­ful tree, not, how­ev­er, of any great size; the blos­som near­ly re­sem­bles that of the or­ange in colour and shape; the fruit ripens in the hottest months, and is sim­ilar in flavour to well-​made cus­tards. The skin is of a dusky pea-​green rough sur­face, in reg­ular com­part­ments; each di­vi­sion or part con­tain­ing a glossy black seed cov­ered with the cus­tard. This seed is of some util­ity amongst the low­er or­der of Na­tives who have oc­ca­sion to rid them­selves of ver­min at the ex­pense of lit­tle labour; the seed is pound­ed fine and when mixed in the hair de­stroys the liv­ing plague al­most in­stant­ly. The same ar­ti­cle is of­ten used with a hair-​pen­cil to re­move a cataract of the eye (they have no idea of sur­gi­cal op­er­ations on the eye). There is one thing wor­thy of re­mark in this tree and its fruit, that flies are nev­er known to set­tle on ei­ther; ants of ev­ery de­scrip­tion feed on the fruit with­out in­jury, so that it can­not be imag­ined there is any­thing poi­sonous to in­sects, gen­er­al­ly, in the qual­ity of the fruit; yet, cer­tain it is, the sher­refah is equal­ly ob­nox­ious to flies as the seed is de­struc­tive to ver­min. The leaves and ten­der twigs are con­sid­ered detri­men­tal to health, if not ac­tu­al­ly poi­sonous to cat­tle.

The guaver,[23] white and red, are pro­duced in the Up­per Provinces; but the fruit is sel­dom so fine as in the Ben­gal dis­trict. The strong aro­mat­ic smell and flavour of this fruit is not agree­able to all tastes; in size and shape it re­sem­bles the quince.

The Dam­as­cus fig ripens well, and the fruit is su­pe­ri­or to any I have met with in oth­er coun­tries. The in­dige­nous fig-​tree of Hin­doost­aun is one of the ob­jects of Hin­doo ven­er­ation. It has al­ways been de­scribed to me by those Na­tives, as the sa­cred bur­but,[24]--why? they could not ex­plain. The fruit is very in­fe­ri­or.

The peach is cul­ti­vat­ed in many va­ri­eties, and ev­ery new in­tro­duc­tion re­pays the care­ful gar­den­er's skill by a rich and beau­ti­ful pro­duce. They have a flat peach,[24] with a small round ker­nel (a na­tive of Chi­na), the flavour of which is de­li­cious, and the tree pro­lif­ic.

I may here re­mark, that all those trees we are ac­cus­tomed in Eu­rope to des­ig­nate wall-​fruit, are in In­dia pruned for stan­dards. The on­ly fruit al­lowed to trail on frames is the vine, of which they have many choice va­ri­eties; one in par­tic­ular, of late in­tro­duc­tion from Per­sia, has the re­mark­able pe­cu­liar­ity of be­ing seed­less, called 'Ba daanah'[25] (with­out seeds); the fruit is pur­ple, round, and sweet as hon­ey.

Peach, nec­tarine, and apri­cot trees, are cut down ear­ly in Febru­ary, much in the same way as wil­lows are docked in Eng­land: the new wood grows rapid­ly, and the fruit is ready for the ta­ble in the month of June. A tree ne­glect­ed to be pruned in this way an­nu­al­ly, would the first year yield but lit­tle, and that in­dif­fer­ent fruit, the tree be­come un­healthy, and, in most cas­es, nev­er again re­stored to its for­mer vigour.

Ap­ple-​trees are found chiefly in the gar­dens of Eu­ro­peans; they are not per­haps as yet un­der­stood by Na­tive gar­den­ers, or it may be the cli­mate is not favourable to them; cer­tain it is, that the ap­ples pro­duced in Hin­doost­aun are not to be com­pared with those of oth­er coun­tries. Sin­gu­lar as it may seem, yet I have nev­er met with more than one species of ap­ple in my vis­its to the gar­dens of In­dia. I have of­ten fan­cied a fresh im­por­ta­tion of En­glish ap­ple-​trees would be worth the trou­ble of the trans­fer.[26]

The ap­ple-​trees grow tall and slen­der, the blos­soms break out on the top of each branch in a clus­ter; the fruit, when ripe, is about the size of small crabs, and shaped like gold­en-​pip­pins, with­out any acid­ity, but the sweet­ness rather re­sem­bles turnips than the well-​flavoured ap­ple. In the bazaars are to be met with what is called ap­ple-​pre­serve, which, how­ev­er, is of­ten a de­cep­tion,--turnips sub­sti­tut­ed for ap­ples.

Mul­ber­ries are in­dige­nous, and of sev­er­al va­ri­eties. The Na­tive gar­den­ers, how­ev­er, take so lit­tle pains to as­sist or im­prove the op­er­ations of Na­ture, that the mul­ber­ry here is sel­dom so fine as in oth­er coun­tries. The com­mon sort is pro­duced on an im­mense tree with small leaves; the berry is long, and when ripe, of a yel­low-​green, very much re­sem­bling cater­pil­lars in colour and form.

Plum-​trees would thrive in Hin­doost­aun if in­tro­duced and cul­ti­vat­ed,[27] since the few, chiefly the bul­lace-​plum, I have seen, pro­duce tol­er­ably good fruit.

Cher­ries, I have nev­er ob­served; they are known, how­ev­er, by the name of 'glass'[28] to the trav­el­ling Na­tives, who de­scribe them as com­mon to Cash­mire, Cab­ul, and Per­sia.

Goose­ber­ries and cur­rants are not known in In­dia, but they have many good sub­sti­tutes in the fal­sah, Amer­ican sor­rel, pup­payah,[29] and a great va­ri­ety of Chi­nese fruits--all of which make ex­cel­lent tarts, pre­serves, and jel­lies. Straw­ber­ries and rasp­ber­ries re­pay their cul­ti­va­tion in the Up­per Provinces: they thrive well with prop­er care and at­ten­tion.

The mel­on I have de­scribed else­where as an in­dige­nous fruit great­ly val­ued by the Na­tives, who cul­ti­vate the plant in the open fields with­out much trou­ble, and with very lit­tle ex­pense; the va­ri­eties are count­less, and ev­ery year adds to the num­ber amongst the cu­ri­ous, who pride them­selves on nov­el­ty in this ar­ti­cle of gen­er­al es­ti­ma­tion.

The pine-​ap­ple re­quires very lit­tle pains to pro­duce, and lit­tle de­mand on art in bring­ing it to per­fec­tion. The Ben­gal cli­mate, how­ev­er, suits it bet­ter than the dry soil of the Up­per Provinces. I have fre­quent­ly heard a su­per­sti­tious ob­jec­tion urged by the Na­tives against this fruit be­ing plant­ed in their reg­ular gar­dens; they fan­cy pros­per­ity is checked by its in­tro­duc­tion, or to use their own words,--'It is un­for­tu­nate to the pro­pri­etor of the gar­den.'

There is a beau­ti­ful shrub, called by the Na­tives, mahd­haar, or arg,[30]--lit­er­al­ly, fire-​plant,--met with in the Up­per Provinces of In­dia, in­hab­it­ing ev­ery wild spot where the soil is sandy, as gen­er­al­ly as the this­tle on ne­glect­ed grounds in Eng­land.

The mahd­haar-​plant sel­dom ex­ceeds four feet in height, the branch­es spread out wide­ly, the leaves are thick, round, and broad; the blos­som re­sem­bles our dark au­ric­ula. When the seed is ripe, the pod presents a re­al treat to the lover of Na­ture. The mahd­haar pod may be des­ig­nat­ed a veg­etable bag of pure white silk, about the size of large wal­nuts. The skin or bag be­ing re­moved, flat seeds are dis­cov­ered in lay­ers over each oth­er, re­sem­bling scales of fish; to each seed is af­fixed very fine white silk, about two inch­es long; this silk is de­fend­ed from the air by the seed; the tex­ture great­ly re­sem­bles the silky hair of the Cash­mire goat. I once had the mahd­haar silk col­lect­ed, spun, and wove, mere­ly as an ex­per­iment, which an­swered my full ex­pec­ta­tion: the ar­ti­cle thus pro­duced might read­ily be mis­tak­en for the shawl stuff of Cash­mire.[31]

The stalks of mahd­haar, when bro­ken, pour out a milky juice at all sea­sons of the year, which falling on the skin pro­duces blis­ters. The Na­tives bring this juice in­to use both for medicine and alchymy in a va­ri­ety of ways.

The mahd­haar, as a rem­edy for asth­ma, is in great re­pute with the Na­tives; it is pre­pared in the fol­low­ing way:--The plants are col­lect­ed, root, stalks, and leaves, and well dried by ex­po­sure to the sun; they are then burnt on iron plates, and the ash­es thrown in­to a pan of wa­ter, where they re­main for some days, un­til the wa­ter has im­bibed the saline par­ti­cles; it is then boiled in an iron ves­sel, un­til the mois­ture is en­tire­ly ab­sorbed, and the salt on­ly left at the bot­tom. The salt is ad­min­is­tered in half-​grain dos­es at the first, and in­creas­ing the quan­ti­ty when the pa­tient has be­come ac­cus­tomed to its in­flu­ence: it would be dan­ger­ous to add to the quan­ti­ty sud­den­ly.[32]

An­oth­er ef­fi­cient rem­edy, both for asth­ma and ob­sti­nate con­tin­uance of a cough, is found in the salt ex­tract­ed from to­bac­co-​leaves, by a sim­ilar pro­cess, which is ad­min­is­tered with the like pre­cau­tion, and in the same quan­ti­ties.

The sir­ra­kee and sain­turh[33] are two spec­imens of one genus of jun­gle-​grass, the roots of which are called se­cun­dah,[34] or khus-​khus,[35] and are col­lect­ed on ac­count of their aro­mat­ic smell, to form thatch tat­ties, or screens for the doors and win­dows; which be­ing kept con­stant­ly wa­tered, the strong wind rush­ing through the wet khus-​khus is ren­dered agree­ably cool, and pro­duces a re­al lux­ury at the sea­son of the hot winds, when ev­ery puff re­sem­bles a fur­nace-​heat to those ex­posed to it by out-​of-​door oc­cu­pa­tion.

This grass presents so many proofs of the benef­icent care of Di­vine Prov­idence to the crea­tures of His hand, that the heart must be un­grate­ful­ly cold which ne­glects praise and thanks­giv­ing to the Cre­ator, whose pow­er and mer­cy be­stows so great a ben­efit. The same might be just­ly urged against our in­sen­si­bil­ity, if the mean­est herb or weed could speak to our hearts, each pos­sess­ing, as it sure­ly does, in its na­ture a ben­efi­cial prop­er­ty pe­cu­liar to it­self. But here the bless­ing is brought home to ev­ery con­sid­er­ate mind, since a sub­sti­tute for this ar­ti­cle does not ap­pear to ex­ist in In­dia.

I have seen the sain­turh stalks, on which the bloom grace­ful­ly moves as feath­ers, six­teen feet high. The sir­ra­kee has a more del­icate blos­som, fin­er stalk, and sel­dom, I be­lieve, ex­ceeds ten feet; the stalk re­sem­bles a reed, full of pith, with­out a sin­gle joint from the shoot up­wards; the colour is that of clean wheat straw, but even more glossy. The blos­som is of a silky na­ture pos­sess­ing ev­ery va­ri­ety of shade, from pure white to the rain­bow's tints, as viewed in the dis­tance at sun­rise; and when plucked the sep­arat­ed blos­soms have many va­ri­eties of hue from brown and yel­low, to pur­ple.

The head or blos­som is too light to weigh down the firm but flex­ible stalk; but as the wind press­es against each patch of grass, it is moved in a mass, and re­turns to its erect po­si­tion with a dig­ni­ty and grace not to be de­scribed.

I have watched for the ap­proach­ing sea­son of the bloom­ing sir­ra­kee with an anx­iety al­most child­ish; my at­ten­tion nev­er tired with ob­serv­ing the pro­gres­sive ad­vances from the first show of blos­som, to the pe­ri­od of its ar­riv­ing at full per­fec­tion; at which time, the rude sick­le of the in­dus­tri­ous labour­er lev­els the ma­jes­tic grass to the earth for do­mes­tic pur­pos­es. The ben­efits it then pro­duces would take me very long to de­scribe.

The sir­ra­kee and sain­turh are stripped from the out­ward shel­ter­ing blades, and wove to­geth­er at the ends; in this way they are used for bor­der­ing tat­ties, or thatched roofs; some­times they are formed in­to screens for doors, oth­ers line their mud-​huts with them. They are found use­ful in con­struct­ing ac­com­mo­da­tions af­ter the man­ner of bulk-​heads on boats for the riv­er voy­agers, and make a good cov­er­ing for load­ed wag­gons. For most of these pur­pos­es the ar­ti­cle is well suit­ed, as it re­sists mois­ture and swells as the wet falls on it, so that the heav­iest rain may de­scend on a frame of sir­ra­kee with­out one drop pen­etrat­ing, if it be prop­er­ly placed in a slant­ing po­si­tion.

I can­not af­ford space to enu­mer­ate here the va­ri­ety of pur­pos­es which this pro­duc­tion of Na­ture is both adapt­ed for and ap­pro­pri­at­ed to; ev­ery part of the grass be­ing care­ful­ly stored by the thrifty hus­band­man, even to the tops of the reed, which, when the blos­som is rubbed off, is ren­dered ser­vice­able, and proves an ex­cel­lent sub­sti­tute for that use­ful in­ven­tion, a birch-​broom. The coarse par­ent grass, which shel­ters the sir­ra­kee, is the on­ly ar­ti­cle yet found to an­swer the pur­pos­es for thatch­ing the bun­ga­lows of the rich, the huts of the poor, the sheds for cat­tle, and roofs for boats. The re­li­gious devo­tee sets up a chupha-​hut,[36] with­out ex­pense,--(all the house he re­quires,)--on any waste spot of land most con­ve­nient to him­self, away from the busy haunts of the tu­mul­tuous world, since bam­boo and grass are the com­mon prop­er­ty of all who choose to take the trou­ble of gath­er­ing it from the wilder­ness. And here nei­ther rent or tax­es are levied on the in­hab­itant, who thus ap­pro­pri­ates to him­self a home from the boun­teous pro­vi­sion pre­pared by Di­vine good­ness for the chil­dren of Na­ture.

This grass is spon­ta­neous in its growth, nei­ther re­ceiv­ing or re­quir­ing aid from hu­man cul­ti­va­tion. It is found in ev­ery waste through­out Hin­doost­aun, and is the promi­nent fea­ture of the jun­gle, in­to which the wild an­imals usu­al­ly re­sort for shel­ter from the heat of the day, or make their covert when pur­sued by man, their nat­ural en­emy.

The benef­icence of Heav­en has al­so ex­act­ed but lit­tle labour from the hus­band­man of In­dia in procur­ing his dai­ly pro­vi­sion. In­deed the ac­tu­al wants of the low­er or­der of Na­tives are few, com­pared with those of the same class in Eng­land; ex­er­tion has not, there­fore, been called forth by ne­ces­si­ty in a cli­mate which in­duces habits of in­dul­gence, ease, and qui­et; where, how­ev­er it may have sur­prised me at first, that I found not one sin­gle Na­tive dis­posed to de­light in the neat or­der­ing of a flow­er-​gar­den, I have since as­cer­tained it is from their un­will­ing­ness to labour with­out a stronger mo­tive than the mere grat­ifi­ca­tion of taste.[37] Hence the un­cul­ti­vat­ed ground sur­round­ing the cot­tages in In­dia, which must nat­ural­ly strike the mind of strangers with min­gled feel­ings of pity and re­gret, when com­par­ing the cot­tages of the En­glish peas­antry with those of the same class­es of peo­ple in Hin­doost­aun.

The bam­boo presents to the ad­mir­er of Na­ture no com­mon spec­imen of her beau­ti­ful pro­duc­tions; and to the con­tem­plat­ing mind a wide field for won­der, praise, and grat­itude. The grace­ful move­ments of a whole for­est of these slen­der trees sur­pass all de­scrip­tion; they must be wit­nessed in their un­cul­ti­vat­ed ground, as I have seen them, to be thor­ough­ly un­der­stood or ap­pre­ci­at­ed, for I do not rec­ol­lect wood scenery in any oth­er place that could con­vey the idea of a for­est of bam­boo.

The bam­boos are seen in clus­ters, strik­ing from the par­ent root by suck­ers, per­haps from fifty to a hun­dred in a patch, of all sizes; the tallest in many in­stances ex­ceed six­ty feet, with slen­der branch­es, and leaves in pairs, which are long, nar­row, and point­ed. The body of each bam­boo is hol­low and joint­ed, in a sim­ilar way to wheat stalks, with bands or knots, by which won­der­ful con­trivance both are ren­dered strong and flex­ible, suit­ed to the sev­er­al de­signs of cre­ative Wis­dom. The bam­boo im­per­cep­ti­bly ta­pers from the earth up­wards. It is the va­ri­ety of sizes in each clus­ter, how­ev­er, which gives grace and beau­ty to the whole as they move with ev­ery breath of air, or are swayed by the strong wind.

Where space al­lows the ex­per­iment, the tallest bam­boo may be brought down to a lev­el with the earth, with­out snap­ping asun­der. In the strong tem­pest the sup­ple bam­boo may be seen to bow sub­mis­sive­ly,--as the self-​sub­dued and pli­ant mind in af­flic­tion,--and again rear its head un­in­jured by the storm, as the righ­teous man 'pre­served by faith' re­vives af­ter each tri­al, or temp­ta­tion.

The wood of the bam­boo is hard, yet light, and pos­sess­es a fine grain, though fi­brous. The out­ward sur­face is smooth and high­ly pol­ished by Na­ture, and the knot very dif­fi­cult to pen­etrate by any oth­er means than a saw. The twigs or branch­es are cov­ered with sharp thorns, in all prob­abil­ity a nat­ural pro­vi­sion to de­fend the young trees from herba­ceous an­imals. I have heard of the bam­boo blos­som­ing when ar­rived at full age; this I have, how­ev­er, nev­er seen, and can­not there­fore pre­sume to de­scribe.[38]

In the hol­low di­vi­sions of the bam­boo is found, in small quan­ti­ties, a pure white taste­less sub­stance, called tawur­shear,[39] which as a medicine is in great re­quest with the Na­tive doc­tors, who ad­min­is­ter it as a sovereign rem­edy for low­ness of spir­its, and ev­ery dis­ease of the heart, such as pal­pi­ta­tions, &c. The tawur­shear when used medic­inal­ly is pound­ed fine, and mixed up with gold and sil­ver leaf, pre­served quinces and ap­ples, and the syrup of pomegranates, which is sim­mered over a slow fire un­til it be­comes of the con­sis­tence of jam. It is tak­en be­fore meals by the pa­tient.

The bam­boo is ren­dered ser­vice­able to man in a count­less va­ri­ety of ways, both for use and or­na­ment. The chuphas (thatched-​roofs) of huts, cot­tages, or bun­ga­lows, are all con­struct­ed on frames of bam­boo, to which each lay­er of grass is firm­ly fixed by laths formed of the same wood.

The on­ly doors in poor peo­ple's habi­ta­tions are con­trived from the same ma­te­ri­als as the roof: viz., grass on bam­boo frames, just suf­fi­cient to se­cure pri­va­cy and de­fend the in­mates from cold air, or the night­ly in­cur­sions of wolves and jack­als. For the warm weath­er, screens are in­vent­ed of split bam­boos, ei­ther fine or coarse, as cir­cum­stances per­mit, to an­swer the pur­pose of doors, both for the rich and poor, when­ev­er the house is so sit­uat­ed that these in­trud­ers may be an­tic­ipat­ed at night.

The bam­boo is made use­ful al­so in the kitchen as bel­lows by the aid of the cook's breath; in the sta­ble, to ad­min­is­ter medicine to hors­es; and to the poor trav­eller, as a de­posit for his oil, ei­ther for cook­ing or his lamp. To the boat­man as sculls, masts, yards, and poles; be­sides af­ford­ing him a cov­er­ing to his boat, which could not be con­struct­ed with any oth­er wood equal­ly an­swer­ing the same var­ied pur­pose of dura­bil­ity and light­ness.

The car­ri­ers (gen­er­al­ly of the bear­er caste), by the help of a split bam­boo over the shoul­der, con­vey heavy loads sus­pend­ed by cords at each end, from one part of In­dia to the oth­er, many hun­dred miles dis­tant. No oth­er wood could an­swer this pur­pose so well; the bam­boo be­ing re­mark­ably light and of a very pli­ant na­ture lessens the fa­tigue to the bear­er, whilst al­most any wood suf­fi­cient­ly strong to bear the pack­ages would fret the man's shoul­der and add bur­den to bur­den. The bear­ers do not like to car­ry more than twelve seer (twen­ty-​four pounds) slung by ropes at each end of their bam­boo for any great dis­tance; but, I fear, they are not al­ways al­lowed the priv­ilege of think­ing for them­selves in these mat­ters.

When a hack­ery[40] (sort of wag­gon) is about to be load­ed with of corn or goods, a rail­ing is formed by means of bam­boos to ad­mit the lug­gage; thus ren­der­ing the wag­gon it­self much lighter than if built of sol­id wood, an ob­ject of some mo­ment, when con­sid­er­ing the small­ness of the cat­tle used for draught, ox­en of a small breed be­ing in gen­er­al use for wag­gons, carts, ploughs, &c. I have nev­er seen hors­es har­nessed to any ve­hi­cle in In­dia, ex­cept to such gen­tle­men's car­riages as are built on the En­glish prin­ci­ple.

The Na­tive car­riages of ladies and trav­ellers are in­debt­ed to the bam­boo for all the wood used in the con­struc­tion of the body, which is mere­ly a frame cov­ered with cloth, shaped in sev­er­al dif­fer­ent ways,--some square, oth­ers dou­ble cones, &c.

Bas­kets of ev­ery shape and size, coarse or fine, are made of the split bam­boo; cov­ers for din­ner trays, on which the food is sent from the kitchen to the hall; cheese-​press­es, punkahs, and screens, in­ge­nious­ly con­trived in great va­ri­eties; net­ting-​nee­dles and pins, latch­es and bolts for doors; skew­ers and spits; um­brel­la sticks, and walk­ing canes; toys in count­less ways, and frames for nee­dle-​work.

A long line of etceteras might here be added as to the num­ber of good pur­pos­es to which the bam­boo is adapt­ed and ap­pro­pri­at­ed in Na­tive econ­omy; I must not omit that even the writ­ing-​pa­per on which I first prac­tised the Per­sian char­ac­ter was man­ufac­tured from the bam­boo, which is es­teemed more durable, but not so smooth as their pa­per made from cot­ton. The young shoots of bam­boo are both pick­led and pre­served by the Na­tives, and es­teemed a great lux­ury when pro­duced at meals with savoury pil­laus, &c.

I am told, a whole for­est of bam­boo has some­times been con­sumed by fire, ig­nit­ed by their own fric­tion in a heavy storm, and the blaze fanned by the op­pos­ing wind; the de­vour­ing el­ement, un­der such cir­cum­stances, could be stayed on­ly when there ceased to be a tree to feed the flame.

[1] The In­di­an rose-​wa­ter is made prin­ci­pal­ly from _Rosa dam­as­ce­na_ about Ghazipur in the Unit­ed Provinces of Agra and Oudh. It has no medic­inal val­ue, but is used as a ve­hi­cle for oth­er mix­tures (Watt, _Eco­nom­ic Dic­tio­nary_, VI, part i. 560 ff.).

[2] _Bibi Sahi­ba_. 'On the prin­ci­ple of the degra­da­tion of ti­tles which is gen­er­al, this word in ap­pli­ca­tion to Eu­ro­pean ladies has been su­per­seded by the hy­brid _Mem Sahib_ or Madam Sahib, though it is of­ten ap­plied to Eu­ro­pean maid-​ser­vants or oth­er En­glish­wom­en of that rank of life' (Yule, _Hob­son-​Job­son_[2], 78).

[3] It is one of the flow­ers which pro­duce pollen catarrh. Pope's sug­ges­tion that a man with a hy­per­sen­si­tive ner­vous sys­tem might 'die of a rose in aro­mat­ic pain', is not an im­pos­si­ble con­tin­gen­cy.

[4] Goulard wa­ter, named af­ter Thomas Goulard, a French sur­geon: a so­lu­tion of sub-​ac­etate of lead, used as a lo­tion in cas­es of in­flam­ma­tion (_New En­glish Dic­tio­nary, s.v._).

[5] P. 235.

[6] Not in Platts' _Hin­dus­tani Dic­tio­nary_: prob­ably _barhan_, in­creas­ing.

[7] _Ritha_, the berry of the soap-​nut tree, _Sapin­dus tri­fo­lia­tus_ or _muko­rossi_. (Watt, _Eco­nom­ic Dict_., vol. vi, part ii, 468.)

[8] _Ni­la tu­tiya_, cop­per sul­phate: used as an emet­ic in cas­es of poi­son­ing, but not now rec­og­nized as a rem­edy for snake-​bite.

[9] _Chichra, Achryan­thes as­pera_ (Watt, i. 81).

[10] _Arz­iz_.

[11] _Nim, Melia Azadirach­ta_. The be­lief that it is a pro­phy­lac­tic against fever and cholera is held even by some Eu­ro­peans (Watt, v. 217).

[12] _Arand, Rici­nus com­mu­nis_.

[13] Al­si, _Linum usi­tatis­si­mum._

[14] _Amal­tas, Cas­sia fis­tu­la_. The pulp of the fruit and the root-​bark form the most use­ful do­mes­tic medicine, a sim­ple purga­tive.

[15] _Myr­tus com­mu­nis_.

[16] _Puni­ca Grana­tum_. The best va­ri­eties of the fruit come from Afghanistan and Per­sia.

[17] _Phal­sa, fal­sa, Grewia asi­at­ica_.

[18] The shade of the tree is sup­posed to be un­healthy to men, an­imals, and plants, as it is be­lieved to be haunt­ed by spir­its, and it is wor­shipped on a day known as 'Tamarind Eleventh'.

[19] See p. 194.

[20] Watt, how­ev­er, writes: 'Tin is a high­ly im­por­tant met­al in dye­ing as prac­tised in Eu­rope, but in this re­spect is ap­par­ent­ly un­known to the na­tives of In­dia.' (Watt, _Eco­nom­ic Dic­tio­nary_, vol. vi, part iv, 60.)

[21] _Shar­ifa, Anona squamosa_.

[22] Gua­va.

[23] _Bar­gat_, the banyan-​tree.

[24] _Pyrus per­si­ca_.

[25] _Be-​danah._

[26] Ex­cel­lent ap­ples are now grown on the low­er Hi­malayas.

[27] _Prunus com­mu­nis_ grows in the low­er Hi­malayas and as far down as Sa­ha­ran­pur, but the fruit is in­fe­ri­or.

[28] The sweet or wild cher­ry, _Prunus avi­um_, is called _gi­las_ in the Hills.

[29] _Pa­paiya_, the pa­pau tree, _Car­ica pa­paya_, has the cu­ri­ous prop­er­ty of mak­ing meat ten­der, if placed near it.

[30] _Madar, ak._ The lat­ter term is de­rived from San­skrit _ar­ka_, 'the sun', on ac­count of the fiery colour of its flow­ers.

[31] The plant yields a silk cot­ton from the seeds and a rich white bass fi­bre from the bark, both like­ly to be of com­mer­cial val­ue (Watt, ii. 38 ff.)

[32] Used in equal pro­por­tions with black pep­per, the fresh blos­soms are a use­ful and cheap rem­edy for asth­ma, hys­te­ria, and epilep­sy (_ibid_. ii. 44 ff).

[33] _Sir­ki_ is the up­per por­tion of the blos­som­ing stem, and _sen­tha_ the low­er por­tion of the reed grass _Sac­cha­rum cil­iare_ (_ibid_. vi, part ii, 2.)

[34] _Sarkan­da_ is the Pan­jab name for the grass _Sac­cha­rum arun­di­naceum_, but it is al­so ap­plied to _Sac­cha­rum cil­iare_ in last note (_ibid_. vi, part ii, 1 f.).

[35] _Khaskhas_, used for screens, is the root of the grass _An­dro­pogon muri­ca­tus_ (_ibid_. i, 245 ff.)

[36] _Chhap­par_.

[37] This is true of the high­er class Musalmans; but there were splen­did gar­dens in the palaces of the Moghul Em­per­ors: see C.M. Vil­liers Stu­art, _The Gar­dens of the Great Mughals_, 1913.

[38] The sub­ject of the flow­er­ing of the bam­boo has been in­ves­ti­gat­ed by Sir G. Watt, who writes: 'A bam­boo may not flow­er be­fore it has at­tained a cer­tain age, but its blos­som­ing is not fixed so ar­bi­trar­ily that it can­not be re­tard­ed or ac­cel­er­at­ed by cli­mat­ic in­flu­ences. It is an un­doubt­ed fact that the flow­er­ing of the bam­boo is de­cid­ed by caus­es which bring about famine, for the prov­iden­tial sup­ply of food from this source has saved the lives of thou­sands of per­sons dur­ing sev­er­al of the great famines of In­dia.' Hence the pro­vi­sion of the ed­ible seeds by the ex­ten­sion of bam­boo cul­ti­va­tion has been rec­om­mend­ed as a means of mit­igat­ing dis­tress (_Eco­nom­ic Dic­tio­nary_, vol. i, 373 ff., 386).

[39] _Tabashir_, bam­boo man­na, is a siliceous sub­stance found in the joints of the bam­boo: con­sid­ered cool­ing, tox­ic, aphro­disi­ac and pec­toral, but as a medic­inal agent it is in­ert (_ibid_. i. 384, Yule, _Hob­son-​Job­son_[2], 887).

[40] A bul­lock car­riage, Hin­dus­tani _chhakra_ (Yule, _Hob­son-​Job­son_[2], 407 f.).