N
o account of the field trip to Tanjore, which I completed this morning, would be complete without the story of the train trip, my first in India. For months now my anticipation has been building to the moment, and even some anxiety. The first thread of the story began in October in Washington when we read the description by Claudia Galiher of a trip with two women beside her in a compartment for four, with the fourth being a strange man. The story was, to everyone who read it in Washington, unusual and a bit humorous. Each letter I have had asked the question, “Have you had a train trip yet?”

Then I read of a parliamentary investigation of the safety of women traveling. An American woman was robbed and injured by a man entering her compartment in which she was traveling alone. Others reporting on trips gave stories of being awakened in the night by travelers at the various stations along the route asking to be admitted. One person reported the berth he occupied was also the habitat of tiny insects, and that he shared the space with some Indian gentleman who snored. Dr. Hariharan, who planned the trip, asked if it were necessary for me to have a compartment for women, and I said no. Later at a party attended by a number of couples both Indian and American, the trip was being discussed and a young Indian said, “Be sure and tell the company to reserve your berth in a women’s compartment.” I knew that this wasn’t the case but said nothing, as it didn’t seem to be the thing to do. However, I began to wonder if I had made the wrong decision.

While I had an early dinner in order to get the train, the head waiter in the dining room began asking questions about my trip. He then began making suggestions. He was particularly concerned that I see that the doors were bolted. He further added that I wasn’t to open the door at stations regardless of who asked for admittance. By this time, I really wondered what it would be like inside the train.

When I arrived at the station and went to the board to check my reservation, one of the clerical staff at the health department came up saying he was looking for me. He then took over the directions to the boy carrying my bag and sleeping bag. From that point on, I had no responsibilities for the details of the journey. The secretary and a servant traveled with us and took care of the mechanics of traveling. They opened the sleeping bag on my berth. The berth is a wide, leather-covered seat like an old-fashioned divan which in the daytime seats four passengers. The compartment had two upper berths. One was taken by a large light-complected man. He came and sat quietly without saying a word as Dr. Hariharan and I chatted about public health matters. At the first station he left the train, and I asked Dr. Hariharan what he thought his business was. His answer was that he was a Eurasian with the railroad. When he returned, Dr. Hariharan introduced us. The man was a retired railroader on his way to a Catholic church pilgrimage.

True, the compartment did not provide the protective covering of curtains as do the Pullmans at home, but then a Pullman car is rather public. At any rate, the men of India are an impersonal group, and to all Indians there is less concern with normal body functioning, as life seems not to afford many the luxury of privacy. The windows of the compartment are not curtained so they make good mirrors for rolling up the hair, though a mirror is provided for anyone caring to stand and use it. The occupants took turns with the lavatory dressing room. And after all the stories, I must say it was such a safe feeling to have the two men so close.

The night was bright with a full moon. As I didn’t go to sleep immediately, I sat and looked out the window and watched the landscape; palm trees, paddy fields, thatched huts, men silent sentinels in their long dhotis draped from head to foot, occasionally a large place but all clear, like an etching lacking the third dimension in the distance. I did go to sleep and was only slightly awakened when the third passenger left the train at 5:30.

Awakening at the usual 10 till 7, I arose and dressed just in time for a station stop in the health district to which we were traveling. There one of the sanitary inspectors at the health center boarded the train with the two men accompanying us, and brought hot coffee—half milk and sweetened. It was very good, though a departure from the usual black. After coffee in his berth—the heights of luxury in traveling, in my opinion—Dr. Hariharan arose and got dressed just as the train arrived in Tanjore.