“The inhabitants of the islands, as superstitious as they were
imaginative, deified the vision of the isles after their manner. The old
devotees, while invoking her, stuck close to the bloody rites of Seeva
and Haree, and muttered many a horrid vow over their beads, which they
took care to render effectual by striking sharp reeds into their arms,
and tinging every bead with blood as they spoke. The young women rowed
their light canoes as near as they dared to the haunted isle, making
vows to Camdeo(8), and sending their paper vessels, lit with wax, and
filled with flowers, towards its coast, where they hoped their darling
deity was about to fix his residence. The young men also, at least those
who were in love and fond of music, rowed close to the island to solicit
the god Krishnoo(9) to sanctify it by his presence; and not knowing what
to offer to the deity, they sung their wild airs standing high on the
prow of the canoe, and at last threw a figure of wax, with a kind of
lyre in its hand, towards the shore of the desolate isle.
(8) The Cupid of the Indian mythology.
(9) The Indian Apollo.
“For many a night these canoes might be seen glancing past each other
over the darkened sea, like _shooting stars of the deep_, with their
lighted paper lanthorns, and their offerings of flowers and fruits, left
by some trembling hand on the sands, or hung by a bolder one in baskets
of cane on the rocks; and still the simple islanders felt joy and
devotion united in this “voluntary humility.” It was observed, however,
that the worshippers departed with very different impressions of the
object of their adoration. The women all clung to their oars in
breathless admiration of the sweet sounds that issued from the isle; and
when that ceased they departed, murmuring over in their huts those
“notes angelical,” to which their own language furnished no appropriate
sounds. The men rested long on their oars, to catch a glimpse of the
form which, by the report of the fishermen, wandered there; and, when
disappointed, they rowed home sadly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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