Glimpses of India and of mission life

Preface

No one who has felt the burden of India’s salvation can ever cast off that burden. The writer of Glimpses has had a deep sense of this responsibility. For many years, hard and practical Mission work was the joy and inspiration of her life. Ever since loss of health drove her from the field itself, and prevented much personal labour, she has felt that she still owed a debt to India. This book is part of the payment of that debt.

There is a large amount of personal narrative in this Missionary book. But this is not to glorify self. The writer’s natural modesty would lead her to shrink from publicity. Her grand motive has been to awaken and feed an intelligent interest in Mission work, and to call out more effort and self-denial in behalf of the perishing millions of India. This she has tried to do by describing such facts, and by giving such correct and lifelike pictures, as could only be the result of personal observation and experience.

The morning has dawned; the light is spreading.

PREFACE.

The future of India is as bright as prophecy and promise, and as sure as the Father’s gift to His Son. But before the perfect day of India’s salvation has come, the Church must continue the work of faith, the labour of love, and submit to the patience of hope. Many of her best sons must be sent to India and buried there. Much more wealth must be expended there. The spirit of the Cross must be more deeply felt, and its grand law of self-denial be more fully exercised.

We commend this little book to the friends of Missions, and invoke upon its story the blessing of Jesus, the world’s great Missionary.

JOHN HUTCHEON.

The Manse, Green Lanes, London.

November 8th, 1878.

Chapter I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

The Sea — First Indian Home — The Old Munshi — Scenes at the Moharam — Our Cook’s Holiday — My First Pupil — Timothy’s Story — First View of Idolatry — The Dasari Feast — Caste of India — Our Native Students — Atliasheshalu — His Death Pages 1 — 22

Chapter II. MYSORE— THE BATTLE AND THE VICTORY OF FEMALE EDUCATION

Proverbs about Female Education — First Pariah Pupils —

A Bitter Disappointment — The Priest’s Anger — Little Lingi — First Girls’ School in the Pettali — Early Lessons — The Sick Scholar and the Charm — An Unnecessary Burden — English Dolls — Timmi’s Conversion — Encouragements— The Runaway — The Mother’s Vow — The False Alarm — A School in the Palace — Farewell to Girls’ Schools 23 — 43

Chapter III. A TOUR IN THE REGIONS BEYOND

Among Thieves — Preparations for Tour — The Midnight Attack — Shravana Balagola — The Missionary Caught —

The Jaina Swami — Scenes at Hassan — The Dying Brahman’s wish — A Hindu’s Idea of Happiness — A Novel Highway — The Halabede Temple — A Noble Banyan — The Village Festival — Measuring Swords —

An Elfin Nook — The Benkipoor Tiger . . . 44 — 68

VI

CONTENTS.

Chapter IV. THE NUGGAR JUNGLES AND FALLS OF GAIRSAPPA

Loveliness of the Forest — A Strange Night — First Glimpse of Sheravutty — Crossing the River — Leeches — The Falls — Descent to the Bottom — A Providential Escape — The Falls of Gairsappa 69 — 80

Chapter V. FIRST FRUITS GATHERED IN MYSORE

Our New Station— Its Labourers — Yeeranageny — Blighted Hopes — Our First Converts — Devadetta Slippered by his Father — Stephen’s Noble Confession — Persecution — A Wonderful Trophy — Shanta’s Fiery Ordeal — The Panchayat — A Ludicrous Incident — Jivawashanu — His Death and F uneral — Effects produced in the Village 81 — 98

Chapter VI. THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

Tipacardu Jungle— Midnight Ride through the Forest — The Mountain Pass — Glories of the Mountain Land — A Soldiers’ Love-feast — Our Nest among the Hills — Botany of the Nielgherries — The Todas — Their Marriage Ceremony — A Severe Trial — Reunion — The Forest Warblers 99 — 113

Chapter VII. SMALLER TENANTS OF THE MISSION COMPOUND

Mosquitoes — Insect Gems— Black, Red, and White Ants — Missionary driven from his Room — Soap-nut Tree — A Thief Caught — Musk Rats — Snakes — Cobra’s Fangs Extracted — A Memorable Evening — Tricks of the Monkeys 114 — 127

Chapter VIII. DARK DAYS IN MISSION LIFE

The Swinging Feast — The Great Tank — Days of Drought —

The Rain-maker — Feeding the Hungry — A Breathing Skeleton — Days of Terror — The Widow’s only Son — Setting in of the Monsoon 128 — 140

CONTENTS.

vii

Chapter IX. THE NATIVE COURT OF MYSORE

Four Palaces — The Rajah — Our First Visit — Royal Captives — Indian Procession — Durbar — A Dazzling Scene — Presentation of Gifts from Queen Victoria — A Silver Shower — Last Visit to the Rajah — Dying Days — His Death — The Funeral Procession — Burning. . 141 — 154

Chapter X. THE SACRED SHRINE

Nunjingode — A Brahmani Lady — Hindu Widow — The Temple — Scene in the Courtyard — The Pilgrims — Their Penances — Child’s First Lesson in Idol Worship — Scene by the River — A Touching Incident — Lost on Mount Wellington 155 — 1C7

Chapter XI. A SANCTUARY TO THE CHRISTIANS’ GOD

The Street Preacher — The Cruel Taunt — Jubilee Festival —

Old John’s Offering — A Sad Disappointment — Christmas Morning — Laying Foundation Stone — The Entertainment— Erection of Chapel — Remarks of the Heathen — Opening Services — Old John’s Legacy — Ten Years’ Prayer Answered 168 — 177

Chapter XII. PEEPS INTO HINDU HOMES

Invitation to Zenana — Interior of Native House — Hindu Ladies — Dress and Jewels — Another Hindu Home — A Baby dressed in Jewels — A Holy Man — A Rare Compliment— The Young Widow — Native Family Festival — Two Little Brides — Curiosities of Native Etiquette — Cruel Treatment of Females — Occupation of Hindu Ladies — Woman’s Power — Simple Faith — Three Noble Sisters — St. Helena’s Two Graves . . . 178 — 200

LIST OF ILLUSTRATION'S.

The Mussulman Moharam (Fron

ti*j)iece).

Shravana Balagola

. 44

The Falls of Gaibsappa

. 69

The Nielgherry Tribes .

. 99

Snake Chaemees

. 114

The Eajah of Mysore .

. 141

The Nunjingode Temple

. 155

The Native Chapel, Mysore

. 168

THE SEA.

THE sea, the sea, the beautiful sea,

Bounding along in its gladness free ; Never at rest, for it cannot stay,

Laughing and dancing in joyous play ; Catching each tint of the sunset sky,

Its purple crimson and azure dye ;

Each wavelet crowned with a golden gleam, Fading away like a blissful dream.

A thing of transcendent purity,

Art thou, 0 beautiful sunlit sea.

The sea, the sea, the all-circling sea, Stretching its billows so mightily ;

Clasping together with silver band Earth’s severed races, each zone and land, From ice-bound shores of eternal snow To sunny climes where the palm trees grow, Wreathing full many an island gem Around thy brow like a diadem ;

Chanting thy chorus through coral halls With fluted pillars and rainbow walls ; Laving sad realms of disease and death, Fanning hot brows with thy healing breath, Yet bearing no taint away on thee,

Thou world-encircling, kingly sea.

The sea, the sea, the tempest-tossed sea,

So fearful yet full of majesty ;

Rearing its billows like mountains high, Seething and gurgling with hollow cry ; Digging a yawning, mysterious grave Within its depths for the seaman brave ;

And hiding the young, the loved, the fair, ’Mong its shells and pearls and treasures rare

B

THE SEA.

Prancing along like a war-horse proud,

Snorting defiance to wind and cloud,

Shaking the earth with its revelry,

A thing of dread is the storm-tossed sea !

The sea, the sea, the fathomless sea,

Teeming with life though thy waters be ;

Vast and unmeted by human hand,

Obedient thou to thy God's command.

He set the bounds which thy proud waves know, And rules thy tides in their ebb and flow.

In that grand new earth we hope to see,

Where to live is immortality,

God’s love like a mighty ocean wide Shall leave no room for thy swelling tide.

No people of diverse tongue and race Inhabit that holy dwelling-place ;

Their castes they leave with the flesh behind, And, all united in heart and mind,

They speak one language and breathe one air,

In that holy region pure and fair ;

One song shall sing through the endless years, When hushed the music of yonder spheres ;

And heard no more shall the thunders be Of thy grand anthem, tremendous sea !

GLIMPSES OF

INDIA AND MISSION LIFE.

Part I— First Impressions

NDIA at last ! All faces gather brightness, for the swellings and calms of old ocean are now to be numbered among memories of the past.

At daybreak, June 5th, 1860, the oft-pictured shore, with its palm trees, minarets, and pagodas, stretches full in view. One other brief ordeal in crossing the wild-roaring Madras surf, then a journey of two days and two nights, amid strange scenes and new experiences, and our destination is reached. Bangalore, that sounding name, which had echoed even in our dreams, is at length a reality. Yes ; but very different from all the Bangalores seen in dreamland.

Our first Indian home was a neat little bungalow in the large Mission compound, at the end of which stood our Anglo- Vernacular Institution for native youths, and also the printing-press. On either side were the residences of Missionaries, our nearest neighbours being our dear friends, Mr. aud Mrs. Sanderson. It

B 2

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

was a bright and cheerful beginning to our Missionary career ; for Bangalore is by no means a purely native station such as Mysore, our next more trying but deeply interesting one, was. Here we could enjoy blessed communion with other Christians, and delightful religious services in our own tongue.

I arrived in India at a happy time. The mutiny was crushed, the tumultuous throbbings of the great pulse of the nation had subsided, and peace reigned in our borders. Bangalore is an important military station, and it was then our privilege to meet with not a few British officers, of whom any country might well be proud. Heroes they were in every sense of the word, good soldiers, not only of our beloved Queen, but also of the Lord Jesus. It was refreshing indeed, to hear their mighty prayers and soul-stirring appeals at our weekly meetings. But even in this favoured spot, most of our surroundings reminded us that we were dwellers in a foreign land, and, sadder still, a land wholly given to idolatry.

Just outside the Mission compound lay the entrance to the pettah, or native town. All along the crowded streets, over the flat-roofed, mud-walled houses, waved rows of the stately cocoa-nut tree. Leaping among these, and on every house-top, wall, and verandah, a crowd of chattering, grinning, defiant monkeys ever held themselves in readiness to pounce on the first prize, which their daring or cunning could manage to secure. That they were a terror and trouble to every householder, the natives would freely own ; but then, the monkey is one of their gods, so these wrongs could find no redress.

With what interest did we watch the dark faces

TIIE OLD MTJNSHT.

around us. There were the women in their long, bright sheeres, or flowing’ cloth, with their babies mounted on their sides, and their baskets or waterpots nicely poised on their heads. We loved to study the intelligent countenances of the turbaned figures, too, — men so shrewd and clever in all their undertakings, that it was hard to believe that such could ever bow down to gods of wood and stone. But what mark is that on every forehead ? On some there is a white and yellow trident, and on others long horizontal stripes, with a circular spot in the centre. Alas ! they tell us that these are the worshippers of Vishnu and of Shiva.

But my heart yearned with peculiar tenderness over the dark-eyed women, who came shyly peeping through the glass door and open windows of our bungalow, to catch a glimpse of the ‘ new dhori-sani.’ They were our native Christians, and I longed, oh so much, to talk with them ; but I could only acknowledge their greetings by returning their polite salaams and by smiling upon them. As yet there yawned a great chasm between us : I knew not their language, and they knew nothing of mine.

The old munshi, of whom so correct a likeness is given in Mr. Hodson's interesting memoir of Old Daniel, was one of our first native visitors. Through his precious spectacles, the much valued gift of his former talented pupil, the Rev. William Arthur, the old man scanned me closely from head to foot. What his private conclusion might be he prudently kept to himself, but noticing the deep blush that rose under his scrutinising gaze, he politely turned it off — as a Hindu knows so well how to do — by saying, ‘As the new moon, when she arises is the desire of all eyes, so is the young

G

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

English dhori-sani, who has but newly appeared among us/ That munshi was a general favourite in the Mission. He knew no English whatever, but he was a clever man, and an able Canarese teacher. He had a happy, genial disposition, with a vein of ready wit and sparkling humour. Though on his brow he wore the badge of idolatry, yet in the quiet of the study he repeatedly owned his entire belief in the great truths of Christianity. When, a few years after, we visited Bangalore again, and I was able to converse with him in Canarese, he would speak so feelingly of the Lord Jesus, that we felt sure he was not far from the kingdom of God.

Once we were reading together the touching story of the Saviour’s condescension and love in washing the disciples’ feet. The face of the old munshi manifested unusual emotion, and he asked, f Why did Peter exclaim, “ Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head ” ? ’ I replied, that, e if submission to this act were necessary in order that the disciples should have a part with Christ, warm-hearted Peter must have the very fullest share.’ ( No,’ said the aged idolater; ‘I think it was this : to wash the feet only, is the work of the lowest servant in the house, but the father and the mother will pour water on the hands and on the head. Peter loved his Master so much, that he could not be satisfied if Jesus were less to him than his father, his mother, his all.’ It was an Eastern’s familiar rendering of this beautiful narrative, which in its sublime significance had deeply touched the old man’s heart. .

I had been but a few weeks in India, when I had such a view of the power of fanaticism and superstition over its votaries, as long years that have rolled away

THE MOHARAM FEAST.

since then have not yet effaced. It was the great Mahomedan yearly festival, the Moharam. My husband, who had already been four years in the country, wished me to form a correct estimate at the beginning of my Missionary career, of the various foes with which we have to measure swords on that trying battlefield. So, early one afternoon, we drove through the pettali, ■while that degrading feast was in full play.

In many places light booths had been erected for the occasion, festooned by the pale-green, giant leaves of the banana. Inside them were placed exquisite little models of Mahomedan mosques and minarets, all sparkling with gold and imitation gems. Though these were chiefly formed of rice-paper, muslin, and other flimsy materials, the effect was exceedingly good, and the workmanship most ingenious. Every available house-top, nook, and corner of the principal thoroughfares were crowded by an eager, excited mass of spectators. Hindus were there in thousands as well as Mussulmans, all in their brightest holiday dress. The women and children were gaily adorned with flowers and jewels.

But on entering the main street of the pettali, the scene of mad revelry which burst upon us baffles all description. Men wearing the skins of tigers, bears, leopards, and other wild animals, some representing fierce birds of prey, and many hideous figures with masks and horns dressed up as devils, closed round our conveyance on every side. They howled, yelled, and tumbled in the dust, rolling over and over. Then they would leap, dance, fight, and drag each other about, till we were fain to close both eyes and ears. The people seemed quite mad with excitement and folly,

FIB ST IMPRESSIONS.

and almost crawled among our horse’s feet. All seemed bent on trying who could most completely deface the noble image in which God created man. A few bold fellows held up large birds close to our faces in their wild merriment ; and thankful indeed was I to escape away to the quiet of gTeen fields again. There one could at least shut out such sights and sounds, though the painful impress of them will ever remain in our hearts.

But this was not all. The Moharam lasts for ten days and ten nights, and during the whole of this time, intense excitement prevails. The men dig pits in the roads, and at nightfall great fires are kindled in them. Through these they madly leap and dance in large groups. They then repair to the various mosques, where they sit listening to pathetic tales of the two hero-brothers, Hassan and Hoosein. When they come to the tragic account of their sufferings and death, the Mussulmans weep and. beat their heads and breasts, till, towards morning, many of them sink on the ground in sheer exhaustion.

Once at the commencement of this degrading feast, our cook presented himself with a profound salaam, and said, ‘ Missus, please give leave for two days ? ’

‘ Why, Poonoswammy ? what do you want a holiday for ? ’

‘ Little sick, ma’am; just now medicine never drinking, then plenty sick soon coming.’

‘ Very well, you may rest for two days.’

However, before the sick man returned, a Christian servant came and asked, ‘ Does Missus know that Poonoswammy is playing tiger at the Moharam ? ’ So in future we took care that our tiger should be chained at such times, whether well or ill.

FIB ST PUPIL.

Many of our friends at home will be surprised to learn that there are nearly twice as many Maliomedans in India alone, as there are in all the Turkish empire. While in the latter they number fifteen or sixteen millions, in Hindustan they are estimated at thirty millions. The higher classes of these are descendants of the officials and great men, who in the days of Mahomedan ascendency received large government pensions. They never became landed proprietors, and their children have gradually been sinking down into poverty and obscurity. The Hindus have far outstripped them in the march of education, for out of the twenty-one millions in Bengal only twenty-eight thousand Mahomedans attended government schools, according to recent statistics.

As yet little has been done for these by Christian Missions. But if we have seen it needful to despoil them of political power, aud to take the sword from the oppressing hand of the Moslem, can it be less the duty of our nation now to offer them freely the blessed Gospel of peace ? By whom are the pure and holy precepts of the religion of Jesus more urgently needed, than by the cruel and fanatical followers of the false prophet ?

Comparatively few as their opportunities have been to those of the Hindu, yet, strange to say, my first pupil in India was a young Mahomedan. His baptism was the first of a native convert I ever witnessed in India. One day, a few weeks after the Moharam, while seated at work in the study, the door opened, and Daniel, our catechist, with a respectable young Mussulman, entered. After a few words of introduction and welcome, the stranger told his simple tale in a voice

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

tremulous with emotion. Zoolfakar Hoosein, was the only and beloved son of a Mahomedan doctor in Madras. He had often heard the name of Jesus, and though he knew but imperfectly the story of His love, it had haunted his spirit. Secretly he already felt something of its sweetness and strange power. In the month of July, 1860, cholera broke out in Madras, and raged with terrible severity all around Triplicene, the Mahomedan quarter. Zoolfakar was himself smitten, and appeared to be dying. Conscience, partially aroused before, now awoke him fully to the dread reality of his position. In the anguish of his soul, he felt that the faith of his people had no anchorage that would hold good in such an hour.

He now turned his despairiug eye to the Christian’s refuge, and vowed that, if God would in pity hear his cry and spare his life, he would become a true follower of the Lord Jesus. His prayer was heard, and he at once began to recover. His anxiety next was, how his vow could best be performed. Zoolfakar knew well that his father, a proud and bigoted Mahomedan, would violently oppose, and if possible prevent, the solemn step from being taken. He therefore expressed a strong desire to visit Bangalore, where several of his relatives resided. Thinking that the health of her son needed change, his mother readily gave her consent, little dreaming of all that was to follow ; and he at once proceeded thither.

The young inquirer soon found out our catechist, Daniel, and to him he unburdened his full heart. At the same time, he eagerly asked for further instruction in the great truths and duties of Christianity, to all of which he listened most earnestly. It was at this stage

TIMOTHY'S STORY.

that he was first brought to the Missionary, and many an interesting interview they had together. At length when Zoolfakar’s sincerity had been fully tested, my husband one day asked him :

‘ Why are you so wishful to be baptized at once ? ’ ‘ Oh, Sir,’ replied the youth, ‘my brother-in-law found me reading a g'ospel a few days ago, and in his rage he compelled me to accompany him to the mosque, where I was beaten. I fear he will lay violent hands upon me, and I want to be baptized before I die.’

‘ Have you no other reason for desiring baptism ? ’ he was asked.

‘ No, Sir/ earnestly answered Zoolfakar ; ‘ I only want to save my soul, and confess Christ, then they may do what they will with my body/

Sabbath morning came, when, with his countenance beaming with holy joy, he knelt, and in the presence of our native Church received the name of Timothy Zoolfakar.

The storm of persecution now burst upon the young convert in all its fury. He was pointed at, mocked, spit upon, and openly reviled by his relatives and friends in Bangalore. Tidings soon reached Madras, and his infuriated father at once publicly disowned his son. He at the same time thrust the mother out of doors, because she had first consented to the youth’s visiting his sister. Poor Timothy felt this to be a bitter cup indeed. He loved his mother, and the thoug’ht that she must suffer for his sake was a painful trial. But he had long since counted the cost, and now patiently strove to endure all for the sake of Jesus. One day, about this time, he received a letter from his father, threatening him with persoual violence when they met.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Tlie old man went on to say, that as he could no longer show his face in public on account of the disgrace brought upon him by his son, he was about to proceed to Mecca on pilgrimage.

As Timothy appeared to be intelligent, and was most anxious to pursue his studies, we took him under our protection, and he was admitted as a Christian student into our English institution. In order to help him to surmount his first difficulties there, I taught him privately for an hour each day, and he seemed deeply grateful for this little kindness. Often with a kindling eye he would say, f There are many Missionaries to the Canarese and Tamul people, but who preaches of Jesus to mine ? If I live, by God’s help, I must teach my own people.’

One day in the month of November, Timothy came to us trembling exceedingly. He held in his hand an open letter, which he had just received, professedly, from his mother. It informed him that his father was now dead, that she wept day and night with longing to see the face of her son again, and that he must hasten to her immediately. If he remained away, and refused to grant her request, then the distress and ruiu which he had already brought upon the family would be complete. As he read all this to us, poor Timothy shook from head to foot, and wept bitterly. It was hard indeed for an only son to break his mother’s heart. But we had strong reasons for believing this letter to be but a wicked stratagem to lead the youth to place himself in the power of his cruel father. So we persuaded him on no account to regard it.

At the Christmas holidays, however, his desire to see and to cheer the heart of the poor mother who

TIMOTHY'S STOJR Y.

still fondly loved him, became so intense, that we could no longer restrain Timothy from taking the journey.

‘ I will comfort her, tell her everything, and at once return/ he said. ‘Was it not by my own deliberate choice and conviction that I left all and became a Christian ? What motive could now induce me to waver or turn back V We trembled when, like another warm-hearted but weak disciple, we heard him say, ‘ Though all should forsake Christ, yet will I never.' We warned him of his frailty, and of the danger to which he was exposing himself ; and commending him to the special protection of God, we sorrowfully said good-bye for a time. Long we watched and hoped for his return, but, alas ! we saw his face no more. What the fate of poor Timothy was, whether he fell a victim to the cruel and fanatical zeal of his people, or whether, like Peter, he denied his Lord, we shall probably never know till the dawn of that day, when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed.

Part Ii.— First View Of Idolatry

OUR hearts had just been gladdened by the baptism of Timothy Zoolfakar, aud the hopes that had centred in our first Mahomedan convert were yet high, when, in one day, I had such a view of popular idolatry as might well have sufficed for a lifetime. We have seen it in most of its aspects and phases since then, from the rude and disgusting mud image of the simple village idolater, to the proud idol procession, surrounded by all the eclat and pageantry of a lavish

H

FIRST VIEW OF IDOLATRY

Eastern court. But never, perhaps, was I so stunned and distressed as by that first great view of idolatry on the wide meidan, or plain, just outside Bangalore. It was the most important of all the Hindu yearly festivals, the Dassara, which, like the Moharam of the Mahomedans, continues for ten days.

At the conclusion of this feast, every implement of use and industry is brought out, and worshipped by its owner. The writer prostrates himself before his pen, the scholar his book, the farmer his plough, the tailor bis needle, and the carpenter his tools. The sacred animals, too, come in for their share in the general adoration. Then, after mid-day, all the principal temple and household gods are broug-ht out, and paraded with great pomp on the high, open ground before named.

I seem to see it all before me now, as the sad exhibition burst upon us eighteen years ago. The excited tens of thousands were there again. Old men with stooping gait and silvery locks, men in the glory of their prime, laughing youths, and wondering little children; grandmothers, too, and comely, jewelled matrons, with their pretty infants and graceful daughters, vied with each other in worshipping the gods fashioned by human hands. These idols were of every conceivable size, shape, and device. This will excite no surprise if we remember that India can boast of her three hundred and thirty millions of gods !

What a collection of deities met our eye on every side ! Idols of gold and idols of silver, of brass also, of wood, and of stone. Some were hideous and disgusting, some grotesque, more altogether meaningless; but each and all had their adoring votaries. The

BASS Alt A FEAST.

1 5 larger and heavier idols were borne along on platforms, richly festooned with flowers, and hung with crimson drapery. Over the heads of the gods, rainbow-coloured canopies, or umbrellas with gold fringe, were held. Many gaily decorated idols were slowly carried about in showy, gilded palanquins. Bands of native musicians marched before the pidncipal gods, and bearers waved in one hand their flaming torches, while in the other each held his long-necked cruse of oil, with which, from time to time, he fed the flame. White clouds of incense rose to the sky from the censers of many priests; and dancing girls, loaded with jewels — -without whom no temple or procession in India would be deemed complete, — sang, gestured, and made rapid evolutions around the idols. As the various pageants passed through the admiring multitudes, they shouted, clasped their hands, and made lowly obeisance to the gods.