A Childhood in India, c. 1900

Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.

“Birth of a Hindu Child” from When I Was A Boy In India by Satyananda Roy, 1923

My father and mother were born and brought up in orthodox Hindu homes. I was born in the outskirts of the city of Calcutta, the largest city in India, with a population above one million.

Calcutta is so often described by English writers as “the city of palaces,” that one is likely to paint an extremely highly colored picture of its wealth and magnificence. The district in which I was born had very few palatial buildings. We had an ancestral home of over one hundred years in another part of the city. That quarter still has a number of commodious houses owned by rich men. Most of them are big landholders, owning extensive properties in parts of India.

Shortly after my birth, my parents removed to the old house which was near the river Ganges. People in India like to live in the neighborhood of the Ganges and other sacred rivers. In Hindu houses the water of the Ganges is sprinkled several times during the day for purifying purposes. Such water is stored especially in earthen or brass jars. A bath in the Ganges is supposed to wash away one’s sins.

People rise from their beds in the early hours of the morning, four o’clock and after, so that they may proceed toward the river for their early morning bath or ablution. Some of them sing or repeat the different names of gods (with all attributes) on their way to the ghats—the bathing-steps. The river Ganges which rises from the Himalaya Mountains flows into the Bay of Bengal about seventy miles down from Calcutta. The part of the river which flows by Calcutta is also called the “Hooghly” by the English, and at the same time known to the Hindus as the “Bhagirathi.”

Every Hindu child learns from the lips of elders a story about the rise of the Ganges. Once upon a time, King Sagar was ruling Aryābarta (the land of the Aryans). He had sixty thousand sons.

They disturbed the peace of mind enjoyed by one of the great rishis (sages) who had divine powers. The rishi was so disturbed that by the exercise of his powers he reduced to ashes those sixty thousand sons of King Sagar. Nothing could be done to save them from the rishi’s wrath. Bhagiratha, a member of the family, discovered later that the king’s sons could be brought back to life, if he could only succeed in persuading the god Siva to unloose Gangā (Ganges) from the coils of his hair. After many hardships and a long journey to the highest point of the Mt. Kailāsh (Himālayas)—the home of the god, Bhagiratha was permitted to bring Gangā down from the Himalāyas. The sons of King Sagar came back to life when the lifegiving water of the river flowed over their ashes. Ganga (or the Ganges) became the saviour of the sinners. I liked to hear this story of the birth of the Ganges.

I was certainly not thrown into the Ganges as food for crocodiles. My three elder sisters were all living when I was born. I remember very well the days when my nephews and nieces were born. I can assure the readers that in no case was there ever the faintest idea of throwing these babies into the Ganges.

When babies are born in a Hindu household, their arrival is announced to the neighbors by the blowing of conch shells. Women and girls take special delight in acting as heralds for the family. The birth of a child is welcomed in every Hindu home in India. The joy of the parents, relatives, and friends knows no bounds when the baby is a boy.

Boys are more welcome than girls for several reasons. First of all, they help preserve the family name and prestige. There is a Hindu proverb: “As long as one lives, one can keep alive his father’s name.” For in India, if one’s name is asked first by a stranger or an acquaintance, one can naturally anticipate the second question, and that is the name of the father. Such questions about one’s name, caste, and father’s name may be annoying in the West but they are very common in India. In the second place, boys are entitled to offer sacrifices to the spirits of the departed ancestors. Finally, they stay with parents and support them in their old age. Several Hindus whom I know have expressed their surprise that in the United States some of the older people live in old people’s homes while their sons, thus freed of caring for their aged parents, enjoy their own lives. Such arrangements are not possible in Hindu society.

A boy is preferred, too, because he does not get married so early as a girl, who leaves for her husband’s home a year after their marriage. Moreover, the boys of certain communities receive a dowry when they marry, and thereby add to the family treasury. The boys are, therefore, looked upon by some as assets, or investments, and the girls as liabilities. Girls leave their parental homes at a comparatively early age—between twelve and sixteen years. Marriage is obligatory in case of girls in orthodox Hindu society. Some of them help in draining off a considerable part of the family savings which goes to provide the dowry and other expenses for the wedding.

Fortunately, I was born in a family which did not follow the rules of the orthodox Hindu society. My parents belonged to very well-known aristocratic families in one part of India. Several of my great-grandfathers on my father’s side were professors, poets, and physicians, and on my mother’s side I had equally well-known ancestors, my grandfather being the last of the Dewaiis of the Bank of Bengal—a position of trust and responsibility, similar to that of the secretary-treasurer of any bank in the West. My parents belonged to the Vaidya caste. In our part of India the Vaidyas are entitled to wear the sacred thread (yajnapabit) or sacrificial cord as the mark or insignia of second birth or initiation. In Bengal the rank of the Vaidyas is next to the Brahmins, who also wear the sacred thread. It is usually spun by Hindu widows on their spinning-wheels. The widows sell the thread and make some money to meet their expenses.

One of my mother’s cousins was the world-famous leader of India in the last century—Keshub Chunder Sen, about whose wonderful power of speech it was said, “When Keshub speaks the world hears.” After the death of Keshub Chunder Sen in 1884, my father joined the progressive religious movement known as the Brāhmo Somāj which Keshub Chunder Sen led while he was living. It will be of interest to note that a very well organized meeting was held in Boston in Tremont Temple to express sorrow at the death of the distinguished Hindu on the banks of the Ganges.

My father after joining the Brāhmo Somāj renounced all privileges pertaining to the society of High Caste Hindus especially the dwijas or twice-born. This meant not only the giving up of the sacred thread, but non-recognition of any caste distinction in matters of eating, marrying, etc. My uncle (Father’s elder brother) used to wear the sacred thread. It consisted of a bunch of skeins of white thread about thirty-six inches long. The cord is hung around either the left shoulder or the neck.

Hindu society is based on an original fourfold division, according to the four main occupations of life: the priest and scholar; the warrior or soldier; the farmer and merchant; and, last of all, the laborer. In the course of time, this division became very rigid and gave rise to other divisions and subdivisions which were recognized as new castes.

In the worst days of Indian history, intermarriage, interdining, and other forms of social intercourse were prohibited by the lawmakers, and Hindu society became divided into separate groups. Every profession became a caste, and a man born in a certain caste remained within it unless made an outcaste by the decision of his group. Blacksmith, carpenter, builder, shoemaker, weaver, potter, fisherman, etc., each belonged to the particular profession—the caste. It is to be remembered that caste rules were not so rigid in the beginning as in the latter days.

The house where I was born was a small rented structure built of bricks and mortar with cemented floor, plastered (sand and lime) walls, and flat tiled roof. The insides of the rooms were painted white. I had occasion to visit this house when I was older. I love to remember my birthplace as well as the house where I spent most of my young days. Later, when at school, I read Thomas Hood’s poem, “I remember, I remember,” It produced such a thrill that I had very little difficulty in memorizing it, with its opening lines:

“I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.”

At the time of my birth our family was somewhat isolated from our orthodox Hindu friends and relatives. Consequently when I was a few days old the social and religious practices which are usually performed at the birth of a child were not observed. I remember my mother telling me one of the practices so common on the sixth day after a baby is born in a Hindu house. An inkpot and a pen are left at night on the threshold of the room where the baby and its mother sleep. It is believed that the Vidhata Purusha (or the Great Dispenser of Events) visits the child at dead of night and writes the child’s future on its forehead.

There are special celebrations on the sixth and the eighth days. Sasthi, the goddess of children, is worshipped on the sixth day, which is followed by another celebration on the eighth day. The goddess is represented as a yellow-complexioned woman with a child in her arms, riding on a cat. No Hindu woman, therefore, dares to injure a cat. Well-to-do families send presents to their friends and relations at the end of the week. The gifts are distributed in small baskets which contain puffed rice, sweetened flattened rice, dried puffed peas, sweets, etc., and a few pieces of silver or copper coins (paishā—one-half cent).

I remember in my childhood whenever such presents came to our home, I waited anxiously for the few coppers, which my mother always divided equally among her children. My mother never showed any partiality to me—the youngest child in the family. The copper coins (paishās) as a rule, looked very bright, for they were all fresh from the mint. Sometimes children from the neighborhood, as well as children of friends and relatives, are invited to see the newly-born babe. They come, sing and dance round the room, and are treated to different kinds of sweets and fruits. At the end of the program they return home perfectly happy and contented, especially when they receive a few copper coins or a small silver coin of the value of four cents.

Every new-born baby in a Hindu family has a wonderful earning capacity. Of course, there is no show window in the home. The people in India have never heard of the baby shows so characteristic in certain cities of the United States. Still a baby is exhibited to visitors and it earns some money in the course of a few weeks. Whenever a relative or friend wants to see the child for the first time, he presents something to the baby in coin or in kind. It varies from a silver rupee (about thirty-two cents) to a gold piece equivalent to an English sovereign (about five dollars). This collection of presents is usually kept in charge of the mother who buys some necessary articles of dress, ornaments, or toys for the child when it grows a few months older. The money is even deposited in postal savings banks by some parents. Banks are few and far between in India, but every post-office has its savings department.

The vast majority of the people, being farmers of quite limited means, are very poor. Some do not even have two square meals a day. The only meal that they can afford consists of a few handfuls of cooked rice, one or two vegetables, and a little salt. Such people cannot exchange presents or entertain friends even on such happy occasions as the birth of a baby or a marriage. Their lot is really very hard. I am familiar with their conditions from my personal observations of the poor people among whom I worked for several years before I came to the United States.

The most important ceremony in the life of a child is the annaprāshan (rice-taking) or nāmakaran (name-giving) when rice is formally set before the child as food. In some families the child is not allowed to swallow a single grain of rice until this rite is administered by the priests. Other families simply make it a formal affair.

Calcutta is a great pilgrim center. The temple of the goddess Kali—the mother goddess representing force and energy—is located in the southern part of the city. To this temple parents take their children to perform the necessary pujā (devotional worship) before they administer the rice. I know I did not have to go through such a ceremony at any temple. My mother told me that, instead of that, we had a service of worship in our house, conducted by one of the well-known ministers of the Brāhmo Somāj, Reverend Bhāi Upādhāya Gourgovinda Roy. A large number of friends were invited on the occasion. At the end of the service (which consisted of singing of hymns, reading of scriptures of different religions, prayers, etc.), the minister announced my name.

As a rule, two names are given to a child. One is the formal name and the other is the informal. Sometimes one of the names is determined by the star under which one is born. I have only one name, Satyananda. It means truth and joy. (Satya and Ananda), or, if I want to make any meaning out of it, it may even mean one who rejoices in truth or one who is the joy of the pure. The first part of my name is similar to the Christian name of the West.

My last name, Roy, which is also spelled as Rāi, Rāy, and Rāya, is not a family name. Our family name is Dās Gupta, which indicates our caste. The Mohammedans, while they ruled in India, recognized no caste. They conferred titles of honor on those who served the government. Probably some one of my ancestors received the title Roy from one such ruler. In the course of time the title became hereditary.

The Hindus usually name their children after the names of their gods and goddesses. There is a popular saying that there are three hundred and thirty millions of gods and goddesses. In recent times parents have been giving different kinds of names to their children. They are more poetic and abstract. But in the days of our mothers and grandmothers such names could be found only here and there. For example: my mother and her younger sister have two different names of the same goddess. My mother’s name was Annapurnā (one who fills with food); this goddess is represented in Hindu mythology as a fair woman who stands on a lotus with a rice-bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. She is the guardian deity of many Hindu homes. My aunt’s name is Giribālā or the daughter of the mountains. Both Annapurna and Giribala are names of the goddess Sati, Gouri, or Parbati, the wife of Shiva.

Sometimes converts to Christianity adopt a Christian name such as John Bose, or Alfred Nundy, but one very seldom will notice any convert from the higher castes who has changed his name entirely, while among converts from the lower castes and aboriginal tribes of India there are some who have changed their names completely. Their names may not sound at all unfamiliar to Western ears,—Samson, Simon, Peter, Jacob, Edward, Ethel, Gertrude, etc. In the case of both boys and girls, sometimes the designation servant or maid of god or goddess is added to a name,—Hari, meaning God; Haridas, meaning servant of the god Hari; Haridasi, meaning maid of the god Hari. The idea has been carried forward to the Indian Christian community. I have a friend whose name is Jesudas or Seiwant of Jesus.

One may naturally ask why the Hindu children are named after the gods and goddesses. The reason is found in the following story of Ajāmil and how he went to Baikuntha (the heaven of the god Vishnu) . Ajamil was a great sinner who lived in ancient times. His wickedness even made the earth feel the burden heavier. He forgot all about gods and worship, so deeply absorbed in his various evil deeds was he. But he had named his son Vishnu after the name of the great god of protection. When the earth grew weary of carrying the burden of such a wicked one, Yama, the Lord of Death, decided to visit him. Ajami] was lying on his death-bed without feeling the least bit of shame for his evil deeds. He did not repent. The Lord of Death with his attendants came to take him away. Ajamil was so frightened when he saw him that he made a last effort to call his son by name—Vishnu.

The sound penetrated through the walls of heaven and the great god Vishnu felt restless. He came down to claim the worst sinner who had called him in his last moments. Death and his terrible attendants had to depart at the approach of the Lord of Life. It was by a mere chance that Ajamil was saved. Repetition of the names of gods and goddesses (one hundred eight, one thousand or more times) during the day is one of the duties of the Hindus. Here is a way for a Hindu to repeat the name of a god or goddess as many times as he calls his sons or daughters, who bear the names of gods and goddesses. Beads of rosary are used by Hindu householders (especially in the evening) as help in counting the names of gods. Pious people may be seen carrying the rosary in a small bag made of cotton or plush.

Roy, Satyananda. When I Was A Boy In India. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., 1923.

Satyananda Roy

TOTA Educational Showcase

View Group