<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
<h3>The Menagerie</h3>
<div class='poem'>
Fate which foresaw<br/>
How frivolous a baby man would be—<br/><br/><br/></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-29.jpg" width-obs="350" height-obs="500" alt="TWO VIEWS OF LIFE." title="" /> <span class="caption">TWO VIEWS OF LIFE.</span></div>
<div class='cap'>THE event of the week, from a Tamil point of view,
is the midday Sunday service; so we take care of
the nurseries during that hour, and send all grown-up
life to church. In the Prémalia nursery the babies
range from a few days old to eighteen months, and
sometimes two years. There is a baby for every mood, as
one beloved of the babies says; and the babies seem to know
it. We have a lively time there on Sundays; for by noon
the morning sleep is over, and nineteen or twenty babies are
waking up one after the other or all together. And most
of them want something, and want it at once.</div>
<p>These babies are of various dispositions and colour—nut-brown,
biscuit, and buff; and there are two who, taken
together, suggest chocolate-cream. Chocolate is a dear child,
very good-tempered and easy to manage. Cream is a
scamp. We see in her another Chellalu, and watch with
mingled feelings her vigorous development.</p>
<p>Chocolate has another name. It is Beetle. This does not
sound appreciative, but Beetle is beloved. The name was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</SPAN></span>
discovered by her affectionate Piria Sittie, who came upon
her one morning lying on her back in the swinging cot,
kicking her four limbs in the air in the agitated manner of
that insect unexpectedly upset. But no beetle ever smiled
as ours does.</p>
<p>Cream, whose real name is Nundinie, oftener called
Dimples, because she dimples so when she laughs, is a baby
of character. She early discovered her way to the bungalow,
and scorning assistance or superintendence found her
way over as soon as she could walk. Afternoon tea is never
a sombre meal, for the middle-aged babies attend it in relays
of four or five; and Dimples and her special chum, Lulla,
like to arrive in good time for the full enjoyment of the
function. Dimples sits down properly in a high chair close
beside her Attai, who, according to her view of matters, was
created to help her to sugar. Lulla, so as to be even nearer
that exhaustless delight, insists upon her Attai's knee; and
tapping her face with her very small fingers, immediately
points to the sugar bowl.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Diversions</div>
<p>These preliminaries over, Dimples sets herself to pay for
her seat. She smiles upon her Attai first, then upon all the
company. If the Iyer is present, she notices him kindly:
there is nothing in all nature so patronising as a baby. If
in the mood, she will imitate her friends like her predecessor
Scamp No. 1; or folding her fat arms will regard us all with
a quizzical expression more comical than play. Her latest
invention is drill. She stands straight up in her chair, and
goes through certain actions intended to represent as much
as she knows of that interesting exercise. We are kept
anxious lest she should overbalance; but she is a wary babe,
and always suddenly sits down when she gets to the edge
of a tumble. Sometimes, however, when these diversions
are in progress, we have wished that the family could see
how very much more entertaining she is in her own nursery.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</SPAN></span>
There, from the beginning of the day till the sad moment
when it ends, she seems to be engaged in entertaining somebody.
Sometimes it is one of the Accals, those good elder
sisters to whom the babies owe so much. Dimples thinks
she looks tired. Tired people must be cheered, so Dimples
devotes herself to her. Sometimes it is another baby who
is dull. Dull babies are anomalies. Dimples feels responsible
till the dull baby revives. Or it is just her own happy
little self who is being entertained. If ever a baby enjoyed
a game for its own sweet sake, it is Dimples.</p>
<p>But one thing she does not enjoy, and that is being put
to bed at night. Our babies are anointed with oil, according
to the custom of the East, before being put to sleep; but
the moment Dimples sees the oil-bottle in her nurse's hand,
she knows her fate is sealed and protests with all her might.
Once she contrived to seize the bottle, pull out the cork,
and spill the oil before she was discovered. She seemed to
argue that as she was invariably oiled before being put to
bed, the best way to avoid ever being put to bed would be
to get rid of the oil. Another evening she succeeded in
diverting her nurse into a long search for the cork, thereby
delaying the fatal last moment; it was finally found in her
mouth. When, in spite of all efforts to wriggle out of
reach, she is captured, anointed, and put in her hammock,
Dimples knows she must not get out; but her wails are so
lamentable that it is difficult to restrain ourselves from
throwing discipline to the winds, and if by any chance we
do, her smiles are simply ravishing. But we hear about it
afterwards.</p>
<p>If Dimples is asleep when we take charge of the nursery,
we find things fairly quiet and almost flat. But she usually
wakens early, and always in a good temper. It is instructive
to see the way she scrambles out of her hammock
before she is quite awake, and her sleepy stagger across the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</SPAN></span>
room is often interrupted by a tumble. Dimples does not
mind tumbles. If her curly head has been rather badly
knocked, she looks reproachfully at the floor, rubs her head,
and gets up again. By the time she reaches us she is wide
awake and most engaging.</p>
<p>In C. F. Holder's <i>Life of Agassiz</i> we are told that
the great scientist "could not bear with superficial study:
a man should give his whole life to the object he had
undertaken to investigate. He felt that desultory, isolated,
spasmodic working avails nothing, but curses with narrowness
and mediocrity." This is exactly the view of one of
our babies, already introduced, the little wise Lulla, who
always knows her own mind and sticks to her intentions,
unbeguiled by any blandishments.</p>
<p>This baby is a tiny thing, with a round, small head,
covered with soft, small curls; and this head is very full of
thoughts. Her face, which she rarely shows to a stranger,
is like a doll in its delicate daintiness; but the mouth is
very resolute, and the eyes very grave. Her hands and feet
are sea-shell things of a pretty pinky brown, and her ways
are the ways of a sea-anemone in a pool among the
rocks.</p>
<p>Lulla, because of her anemone ways, is sometimes unkindly
called "Huffs." She does not understand that there
are days when those who love her most have little time
to give to her. Lulla naturally argues that where there
is a will there is a way, and desultory, isolated, spasmodic
affection is worth little; so next time her friend appears,
she explains all this to her by means of a single gesture:
she draws her tentacles in.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Agassiz</div>
<p>But it is when Lulla has undertaken to investigate a
tin of sweets that she most suggests Agassiz. The tin has
a lid which fits tightly, and Lulla's fingers are very small
and not very strong. The tin, moreover, is on the window-sill<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</SPAN></span>
just out of reach, though she stands on tip-toe and
stretches a little eager hand as far as it will go. Then
it is you see persistence. Lulla finds another baby, leads
her to the window and points up to the tin. The other
baby tries. They both try together; if this fails, Lulla finds
a taller one, and at last successful, sits down with the tin
held tightly in both hands, and turns it over and shakes
it. This process seems to inspire fresh hope and energy;
for she sets to work round the lid, which is one of the
fitting-in sort, and carefully presses and pulls. Naturally
this does nothing, and she shakes the tin again. The joyful
sound of rattling sweets stimulates to fresh attempts upon
the lid. She tugs and pulls, and thumps the refractory
thing on the floor. By this time the other babies, attracted
by the hopeful rattle, have gathered round and are watching
operations; some offer to help, but all such offers are
declined. This oyster is Lulla's. She has undertaken to
force it. Agassiz and his fishes are on her side. She will
not give it up. But she is not getting on; and she sits
still for a moment, knitting her brow, and frowning a little
puzzled frown at the refractory tin.</p>
<p>Suddenly her forehead smooths, the anxious brown eyes
smile, Lulla has thought a new good thought. The babies
struggle up and offer to help Lulla up, but she shakes
her head. She seems to feel if she herself unaided, of her
own free will, hands her problem over to her Ammal or
her Sittie, only so she may achieve her purpose without
loss of self-respect.</p>
<p>Lulla's beloved nurse is a motherly woman, older than
most of our workers. Her name is Annamai. When the
nurses return from church, each makes straight for her
baby; and the babies always respond with a cordial and
pretty affection. But Lulla welcoming Annamai is something
more than pretty. The big white-robed figure no<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</SPAN></span>
sooner appears in the garden than the tiny Lulla is all
a-quiver with excitement. But it is a quiet excitement; and
if you take any notice, the tentacles suddenly draw in,
and the little face is as wax. If no one seems to notice,
then Lulla lets herself go. She all but dances in her eagerness,
while Annamai is slowly sailing up the walk; and
when she reaches the verandah, Lulla can wait no longer;
one spring and she is in her arms, nestling, cuddling,
burying her curls in her neck; then looking up confidentially,
little Lulla begins to talk; everything we have done and
said is being whispered into Annamai's ear. It does not
matter that Lulla cannot yet speak any language known
to men; she can make Annamai understand, and that is
all she cares. Once we remember watching her, as she took
the remnant of a sweet we had given her, out of her
mouth and poked it into Annamai's. Could love do more?</p>
<p>Dimples and Lulla are quite inseparable. Lulla is to
Dimples what Tara is to Evu. She immensely admires her
vigorous little junior, and tries to copy her whenever
possible. One delicious game seems to have been suggested
by the arches in the garden. Dimples and Lulla stand on
all fours close together. Then they lean over till their
heads touch the ground, and look through the arch. If
you are on the babies' level (that is on the floor), you will
enjoy this game.</p>
<p>Another Sunday morning entertainment is kissing.
Dimples advances upon Lulla. Lulla falls upon Dimples.
Then Dimples hugs Lulla, nearly chokes her, almost certainly
overturns her. The two roll over and over like kittens.
Dimples seizes Lulla by her curls and vehemently kisses face,
neck, and anything else she can get at; and then backs off,
propelling herself on two feet and one hand, in which position
she looks like a puppy on three paws. Lulla smooths her
ruffled curls and person generally, regards Dimples with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</SPAN></span>
gravity, and, if in an affectionate humour herself, leads the
attack upon Dimples, and the programme is repeated.</p>
<p>But the joy of the hour is to spin in the hammocks. These
contrivances being hung from the roof swing freely, and the
special excitement is to hold on with both hands, and run
round so that the hammock twists into a knot and spins when
released, with the baby inside it, in a giddy waltz till the coil
untwists itself. This looks dangerous, and when the game
was first invented we rather demurred. But we are wiser
now, and we let them spin. Lulla especially enjoys this
madness. It is startling to see the tiny thing whirl like a
reckless young teetotum. But if you weakly interfere, Lulla
thinks you want to learn the art, and goes at it with even
madder zest, till her very curls are dizzy.</p>
<div class="sidenote">"Daren't laugh and wouldn't cry</div>
<p>Dimples and Lulla in disgrace are a piteous spectacle.
Dimples opens her mouth till it is almost square, and the most
plaintive wail proceeds from it for about a minute and a half.
Then she stops, looks sadly on the world, surprised and hurt at
its unkindness to her, and then suddenly she discovers something
interesting to do; and hastily rubbing her knuckles into
her eyes to clear them as quickly as maybe of tears, she
scrambles on to her feet, and forgets her injuries. Once she
had been very naughty, and had to be smacked. It is never
easy to smack Dimples, and fortunately she seldom requires
it; but hard things have to be done, so that morning the fat
little hands, to their surprise, knew the feel of chastening pats.
"She daren't laugh, and she wouldn't cry"; this description,
her Piria Sittie's, is the best I can offer of that baby's
attitude. The thing could not possibly be a joke, but if
meant otherwise, it was an indignity far past tears.</p>
<p>Lulla is quite different. She drops on the floor, if admonished,
as if her limbs had suddenly become paralysed, and
takes absolutely no notice of the offending disciplinarian.
She simply ignores her, and gazes mutely beyond her. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</SPAN></span>
offence is not one for explanation, and if invited to repent, her
aloofness of demeanour is perfectly withering. But take her up
in your arms, and she buries her curls in your neck, and coos
her apologies (or is it forgiveness?) in your ear, and loves you
all the better for the momentary breach.</p>
<p>Our babies are often parables. Lulla stands for the Single
Eye. How often we have watched her and learned the lesson
from her! She sees someone to whom she wants to go at what
must seem to her an immense distance. And the distance is
filled with obstacles, some of them quite enormous. But Lulla
never stops to consider possibilities. Difficulties are simply
things to be climbed over. She looks at the goal and makes
straight for it. Her only care is to reach it. Sometimes at
afternoon tea, when she is sitting on someone's lap, facing an
empty, uninteresting plate, she sees another plate three chairs
distant, and upon that plate there is a biscuit or some other
sweet attraction. Upon such occasions Lulla all but plunges
into space between the chairs, in her singleness of purpose.
Having reached the lap nearest that plate, she turns and
smiles at her late entertainer just to make sure she is not
offended. But even if she knew she would be, Lulla would not
hesitate. Curly head foremost, eyes on the goal: that is Lulla.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Mixed pickles</div>
<p>We have a custom at Dohnavur which perplexes the sober-minded.
We call most of our possessions by names other than
their own. These names are entirely private. We have to
keep to this rule of privacy, otherwise we get shocks. "O
Lord, look upon our beloved Puppy, and make her tooth
come through; and bless Alice (in Wonderland), whose inside
has gone wrong," was the petition offered in all seriousness,
which finally moved us to prudence. We do not feel
responsible for these names, for they come of themselves, and
we see them when they come. That is all we have to do
with them. Besides the Beetle and the Sea-anemone we have
a dear Cockatoo, who screws her nose and her whole face<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</SPAN></span>
up into a delightful pucker when she either laughs or cries,
and then suddenly unscrews it in the middle of either
emotion and looks entirely demure. This is the little
Vimala, who, under God, owes her life to her Piria Sittie's
splendid nursing. This baby has always got a private little
secret of joy hidden away somewhere inside. We surprise
her sometimes, sitting alone on the floor talking to herself
about it; and then she tells us bits of it—as much as she
thinks we can understand. But most of it is still hidden
away, her own private little secret. And there is an Owlet,
a Coney, a Froglet, and a Cheshire Cat, a Teddy-bear, a
Spider, a Ratlet, and a Rosebud. We are aware that this
list is rather mixed; but to be too critical would end in
being nothing, so we are a Menagerie.</p>
<p>The Rosebud is like her name, small and sweet. When she
wants to kiss her friends, which is whenever she sees them,
her mouth is like the pink point of a moss-rose bud just
coming through the moss. George Macdonald, perfect interpreter
of babies, must have had our Preethie's double in his
mind when he wrote:—</p>
<div class='poem'>
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?<br/>
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.<br/>
How did you come to us, you dear?<br/>
God thought of you, and so I am here.<br/></div>
<p>The Owlet is twin to that quaint little bird, so its name
flew to her and stayed. This babe has round eyes with long
curling lashes. When she is good, these round eyes beam, and
every one forgets that anything so fascinating can ever be
other than good. When she is naughty the case is exactly
reversed. This baby's proper name is Lullitha, which means
Playfulness, and illustrates a side of her character undiscovered
by the visitor who only sees the Owlet sitting on her
perch with serious, watchful, unblinking eyes, regarding the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</SPAN></span>
intruder. But most babies are complex characters, and are
not known in an hour.</p>
<p>The Teddy-bear is a fine child with perfect lungs, a
benevolent smile, and an appetite. Her ruling passion at
present is devotion to her food. She feels unjustly treated
because we do not see our way to feed her lavishly at her
own five meal-times and also at the meal-times of all the
other babies in the nursery.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Teddy</div>
<p>On Sunday morning, when we are in charge, we hear her
views upon this subject expressed in a manner wholly her
own. She has just drained her own bottle, and is indignantly
explaining that it is not nearly enough, when another bottle
arrives for another baby, and this is too much for Teddy's
equanimity. We all know how hard it is to keep up under
the shock of adversity. Teddy does not attempt to keep
up; she invariably topples over. But the way she does this
is instructive. She sits stiff and straight for one brief
moment, her milky mouth wide open, her hands outstretched
in despairing appeal; then she clasps her head with her hands
in a tragic fashion, absurd in a very fat infant, sways backwards
and forwards two or three times till the desperate
rock ends suddenly, as the poor Teddy-bear overbalances and
bursts with a mighty burst. But the storm is too furious to
last, and she soon subsides with a gusty sob and a short
snort.</p>
<p>Poor little injured Teddy-bear! If it were not for her
splendid health we might believe her oft-repeated tale of
private starvation. "They only feed me when you are here to
see! Other times they give me nothing at all!" She tells us
this frequently in her own particular language, but the sturdy
limbs belie it. This babe in matters of affection and mischief
is as strenuous and original as she is about the one supreme
affair pertaining to her elastic receptacle—to quote a Tamil
friend's polite reference to the cavity within us—and many<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</SPAN></span>
more edifying scenes might have been shown from her
eventful life. But undoubtedly the predominating note at
the present hour is her insatiable hunger, and when her name
is mentioned in the nursery there is a smile and a new tale
about her amazing appetite.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</SPAN></span></p>
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