CHAPTER V.

GODS MANY AND LORDS MANY.

Over our stove was a paper figure of the kitchen god. He presides all the year round over the cooking arrangements, and listens carefully to all that is said. A few days before the close of the year he goes up to heaven to report all he has heard to the gemmy emperor, his master. He must have had a lot to tell about our house; so my mother-in-law took the precaution to daub his lips with sticky treacle so that he could not open his mouth and tell of her doings. Most of our neighbors did this, too; so I suppose they didn’t feel any too comfortable about his report of them. At the new year he came down again—at least we put up a new one in the place of the one we had burned, which, I suppose, comes to the same thing.

The goddess of smallpox was much dreaded in our district. She usually got to work at the beginning of the summer, and unless big gifts were given to her, she revenged herself by killing large numbers of little children as well as grown-ups. I remember well how she came one summer. One by one of the children fell ill of “heavenly flowers,” as the disease was called, and the temple was thronged with worshippers, while every house had its image of Niang-niang, to which incense was burned to ward off her anger. As nothing availed, a great procession was arranged for, in which many children took part. They were gaily dressed and carried aloft on the shoulders of men to call forth the pity of the cruel goddess.

Then we had a great theatrical performance which Niang-niang watched from her shrine opposite the stage. It lasted for over a week, and crowds came from far and near. The only result I know of was that the disease was carried into a number of villages near and many more died. The expenses were paid by the people round, and during the performances the gambling and opium dens reaped a rich harvest. I was too busy to care for any of these things, and so miserable that I prayed Niang-niang to come and end my weary life by sending me the “heavenly flowers.”

But a worse calamity than the smallpox was to come upon us. All the year but little rain had fallen, and the fields were parched and dry. It was the time for planting out the rice. This rice is our staple food, and if anything happens to the rice harvest we are in the greatest difficulty. The rice is sown on flooded fields, and when planted out has to be well watered for a month or more, or the plants will dry up.

In spite of all the prayers at the temples, the processions, and the crackers, the rain refused to fall, and ruin stared us in the face. The following winter was dry and cold, and prices went up so that the poor began to be in great want. Still it was hoped the spring rains would put things right again. The farmers sowed what little grain they had left; but the heat set in earlier than usual, and the fierce sun scorched up all, and men prayed in vain for the rains that never came. In their place came famine, gaunt and relentless.

Our family was one of the very first to suffer. Gradually clothes and goods were sold, for my father-in-law’s opium craving had to be satisfied somehow, and with it all my miseries increased. Yet I dare not run away, for that meant certain death. In the wake of the famine came fever. Weak with constant opium-smoking, my father-in-law was an early victim, and we buried him hastily outside the village. The two eldest sons left secretly, and bitterly my mother-in-law cursed them for leaving her thus in her distress.

There should have been some help obtainable from the Benevolent Halls; but though many subscriptions had been given in the good years, the money could not be accounted for now that it was wanted, and the man in charge committed suicide when faced by the angry people. The wealthy hid their money lest it should be stolen by the bands of fearless robbers who prowled everywhere. Our home was now sold, and as we soon used up the money, there was nothing for it but to join the crowds of starving people going into the cities to seek for help.