Elsewhere in Benares too Twain found that “There are plenty of monkeys about the place. Being sacred, they make themselves very free, and scramble around wherever they please.” Again true, but now much more so. Most animals we humans meet day to day are afraid of us. Not the Indian monkey; as they have become more and more numerous and confident they can see we are more afraid of them than they of us. They must think we are just another breed of monkey—and let’s face it we must look as much like monkeys to them as they do to us—some of us more so than others.
The breeding rate of these urban monkeys is now far outstripping the human rate and the Hindus will do nothing about it, for not only are the monkeys alive and therefore sacred but each time a Hindu sees one he is reminded of Hanuman, the monkey god, the most accessible god of all and to kill—or even interfere with—a likeness to a god is simply unthinkable.
Here in the Golden Temple I ask Shailesh what can be done about them.
“Nothing, it has really become their temple. We call it the Monkey Temple in Hindi. Every time a worshiper brings an offering he is, at second hand, just feeding the monkeys. They are in paradise but you wouldn’t think so by the racket they make squabbling with each other. I’m told that about fifty years ago they contracted a plague of sorts and most of them died.”
“Not that I wish them any harm, but…”
“Bring back the plague,” Sita suggests.
“Well, the Indian way is not to persecute them but then not to help them, just to leave them alone,” says Shailesh.
“So no vets come the plague?” asks Gillian.
“No vets come the plague,” he confirms.
As one monkey flies across my face and three tiny monkettes scamper around my feet we head for the exit, and then through more frisking coming out.