JAGANĀTH.
At this festival all castes eat together: the pilgrims to this shrine endure excessive hardships from fatigue, want of food, and exposure to the weather; sometimes a devotee will throw himself under the wheels of the car, and be crushed to death, believing, if he sacrificed his life through his faith in Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, the god would certainly save him. Every third year they make a new image, when a Brahman removes the original bones of Krishnŭ from the inside of the old image to that of the new one; on this occasion he covers his eyes, lest he should be struck dead for looking on such sacred relics. The Rajah of Burdwan expended twelve lākh of rupees in a journey to Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, including two lākh paid as a bribe to the Brahmans to permit him to see these bones; but he died six months afterwards for his temerity. A number of women belong to the temple, whose employment is to dance and sing before the god. Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, his brother, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ, and their sister, Soobhŭdra, are placed together in the car.
In the plate entitled [Jaganāth] is a brass idol, (Fig. 5,) which was given me at Pooree; it may probably represent the three personages above mentioned; but why the brother and sister should have stumps instead of arms, and why they should have no legs, I cannot imagine. Is Jaganāth in himself a trinity, as this idol would lead one to suppose?
Fig. 1, in the same plate, is a fac-simile of a little wooden model of the god; it has no legs, and only stumps as arms; the head is very large, as are also the great circular eyes. At the festivals the Brahmans adorn Jaganāth with silver or golden hands; and an offering of a pair of golden hands to the image is considered an act of great devotion. This model was presented to me at Pooree, as was also the seal (Fig. 2), with which the priests stamp the worshipper on the breast and on the arms; it is covered with various holy emblems: the tika of bhabūt or ashes is also placed on the forehead of the pilgrim by the ministering Brahman. The Uchchat tilak is the ceremony of putting a few grains of boiled rice on the forehead of an image when addressed, or of a Brahman when invited to an entertainment.
JUGUNNATHU.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
فاني پارکس
The āsan, the sacred mat, used by the Hindūs in worship, is made of the kashŭ grass (saccharum spontaneum), and sold at different prices, from a penny to one rupee each.
I saw a small model of the ruth, or car, which was ornamented with flags and red linen. At Allahabad I wished to inspect one which was passing along the road, but was deterred from so doing, being told it was covered with indelicate paintings.
During the melā, or great fair, at the sacred junction of the rivers at Allahabad, I have often seen worship performed before an image of Jaganāth, as described [Vol. I. page 262].
A carved stone was presented to me, brought from the ruins of a city of great extent, about forty miles from Pooree; its name has escaped my memory, but it appeared from the account I received to be full of curiosities; few persons, however, had ventured to visit the ruined city, deterred by the probability of taking a fever, in consequence of the malaria produced by the thick jangal by which it is surrounded. The stone is white, and upon it is carved the figure of some remarkable personage, above which is an emblem of Mahadēo. A very fine tiger’s skin was also added to my collection. I carried off my prizes with great delight, and they now adorn my museum.
In the evening our party returned on board in a Masulla boat through a very fine surf that flung the boat right on end, and carried her back many times towards the beach ere we could make our way through it; the foam dashed over the boat as every surf rolled upon her; it was a beautiful sight,—I enjoyed extremely the passing through those magnificent surfs. The countenance of the captain of the “Robarts,” who was with us, was grave and anxious; he eyed the horizon intently, and appeared not to like the look of the sky. He weighed anchor instantly on reaching the ship, and said to me afterwards, “I did not like the appearance of the weather as we came on board, and was thinking whether I should lay my bones there.” With a wind on shore a ship off Pooree must be in an awkward position.
27th.—At 8 P.M. arrived off the floating light, a brig, anchored at the Sandheads; it was a beautiful night,—our signal-lights burnt brightly, and we were guided from time to time as we approached the vessel by the half-hour lights burnt on board her; the last light we had seen had been pretty distant, and steering by it, we suddenly perceived the brig on our quarter, about one hundred yards off,—her sails, masts, cordage, and hull glancing out in the darkness, and from the deep shadow, by the lurid glare of her blue light; the sight was beautifully spectral. A pilot came immediately on board; with a fine breeze and a press of sail we proceeded towards Saugor, anchored, and reported our arrival at the Sandheads.
28th.—A fine breeze bore us on until we anchored off the Bishop’s Palace, at which time a north-wester came on, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and heavy rain.
29th.—Arrived off Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta, after a most agreeable voyage from the Cape, which, I believe, was enjoyed by every one on board.
The “Robarts” was a fine vessel, one of the old teak Indiamen. With regret we saw the following extract in a newspaper in 1847:—
Wilful burning of an Indiaman.
“Considerable surprise has within the last day or two existed in the underwriters’ room at Lloyd’s, in consequence of the receipt of intelligence of the loss of another East India trader by fire, under circumstances that have justified the officers under whose command she was placed in apprehending the greater part of the crew on a charge of having maliciously occasioned the destruction of the ship. She was the ‘Robarts,’ of London, part the property of Messrs. Havisides and Co., of Cornhill, and was one of the old-fashioned teak-built Indiamen, of nearly 1,000 tons’ burden. She was deeply laden with cotton and other merchandize, which had been shipped at Calcutta, as well as a number of passengers, and was on the point of sailing when the calamity happened. The immense losses by fire that merchants and shipowners have within the last two years sustained in that port—for we believe no fewer than five large ships have been totally destroyed during that time—have led to every precaution on their part. The cargo of the ‘Robarts’ underwent a strict scrutiny before it was taken on board, and the ship’s hold was carefully overhauled, besides which extra lookers-on were appointed to watch the conduct of the crew. With the exception of the officers, the crew were composed of Lascars, nearly seventy in number; and here it is proper to mention, that in all instances where they are engaged to navigate a vessel, whether to England or elsewhere, they are entitled by the laws of that country to six months’ pay in advance. This has led to the disasters spoken of; the Lascars firing the ships to defraud the owners of their services, all the ships being destroyed a night or so before the day of their appointed sailing. The ‘Robarts’ dropped down the river on the 28th of June, and the passengers having come on board she sailed on the following day, the 29th, for China. The succeeding night saw the destruction of the vessel in the river. The passengers and most of the officers were buried in slumber when they were startled by the cries of ‘fire,’ and on their reaching the deck were not a little alarmed at finding such to be the case, for smoke was rolling up in dense volumes from the fore part of the vessel. The captain and chief officer went down to ascertain its locality, and finding the bulk of the fire apparently behind the starboard-chain box, or locker, water in copious quantities was immediately thrown down, the pumps being also got to work; notwithstanding, however, no effect was produced, but the smoke and heat increased, and the stench clearly showed the fire had extended to the cotton in the hold. The exertions were continued, but at four o’clock, four hours after the alarm was raised, Captain Elder seeing there was not the least chance of saving the ship, ordered the boats to be lowered, and having seen all hands and the passengers safe in them abandoned her to her fate. Fortunately for them another vessel, named the ‘Fatima,’ was coming down the channel, and took them on board to Kedgeree, where they were landed. It is unnecessary to observe that in a few hours the ‘Robarts’ was totally destroyed. The men who were charged with setting fire to the ship have undergone an examination, and are remanded. The result of the second day’s examination has not yet been received. The loss of the vessel and cargo is said to exceed £30,000. It is covered by insurances.”—Observer.
CHAPTER LXIV.
SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM CALCUTTA TO COLGONG.
Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The Hoogly—The Bore—Quitted Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Happiness of Dying in Sight of the Ganges—Quitted the Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Quitted the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—An Ajgar—A Wild and Singular Scene.
1844, April 1st.—We took a house in Chowringhee, and found soon after that the cholera and small-pox were prevalent in Calcutta: how ill the dampness and the heat of this Bengal climate render me!—they destroy all energy. Calcutta is famous for its tapsi machhī (mango fish), in this month they are in perfection. “Mangoes and fish meet of necessity[44];” they come in at the same season, and the unripe mango is also used in cooking fish: the dāndīs bring them in small baskets fresh from the boats to the Course of an evening, and sell them twenty for a rupee, at the time a khansaman charges his master one rupee for five of them. Parties are made, to Fulta and Budge-Budge, down the river, to eat mango fish,—after the fashion of white-bait parties in town; they are excellent—smoked in the same manner as anwarī fish—for breakfast.
28th.—A fine fall of rain,—perhaps it will clear the air, and drive off the cholera, which is raging strongly at present.
May 24th.—Mango fish fifty per rupee. The weather very hot, the nights most oppressive, from the heavy mist and great heat. We left our horses at the Cape, which we regretted on our arrival in Calcutta; we have been looking out for a pair of carriage horses for some time. This is the cheapest season of the year in which to make the purchase, but they are very dear; those for sale at eight hundred rupees are vile, those at one thousand indifferent,—you cannot get a good pair under fourteen or sixteen hundred rupees; it would not answer to bring riding horses from the Cape for sale, but carriage horses would answer well, they are in such great demand in Calcutta.
29th.—Rain having fallen on the Queen’s birthday, the display of fireworks was postponed until to-day; it was a failure, with the exception of one bouquet, which was good. They would not bear a comparison with the jeux d’artifices that I witnessed in Paris on the day of the King’s fête; I never saw any colours that equalled those in brilliancy and variety. The last firework, a bouquet of rockets of divers colours, was superb; and sometimes a composition was burnt, that threw a red glare over the landscape; then came a glare of blue lights, casting a spectral appearance on the houses, the river, and the sky, after which another tint was thrown forth, and the effect was excellent.
June 16th.—Lord Ellenborough recalled,—deposed by the Court of Directors.
July 18th.—Visited the livery stables to see some fresh Arabs, among which some very good ones were pointed out to me. There was not a horse that I would have selected for my own riding whose price was less than from twelve to sixteen hundred rupees; and for those likely to turn out good racers they asked two and three thousand.
31st.—Lord Ellenborough quitted Calcutta, and returned to England.
Aug. 22nd.—A very heavy gale, and a deep fall of rain; the next day the natives were catching fish all over the maidān in front of the Government House; they say the fish fell with the rain, which is now a foot deep on the ground.
Oct. 1st.—It being our intention to proceed by the river to Allahabad, and the weather becoming daily cooler, we hired a pinnace budgerow for ourselves, a large olāk for the baggage, and a cook-boat, sent them to Prinsep’s Ghāt, and prepared for the voyage.
That branch of the Ganges that quits the main stream at Gopalgunj, flowing by Sooty to Moorshedabad, is called the Bhagirathī until it reaches Nuddea, at which place it is joined by the Jellinghy, and they flow on, passing Calcutta, to the island of Sāgor, under the name of the Hoogly. Only that part of the Ganges which lies in a line from Gangoutrī to Sāgor island is considered holy by the Hindūs, and named the Ganga or Bhagirathī. The Hoogly river, therefore, of Europeans, is considered as the true Ganges.
The Bore commences at Hoogly Point, Sāgor, where the river first contracts itself, and is perceptible above the town of Hoogly: so quick is its motion, that it scarcely employs four hours in running up from the one to the other, although the distance is nearly seventy miles. It does not run on the Calcutta side, but along the opposite bank; whence it crosses at Chitpūr, about four miles above Fort William, and proceeds with great violence. On its approach boats must immediately quit the shore, and go for safety into the middle of the river; at Calcutta it sometimes occasions an instantaneous rise of five feet. The tide is perceptible as far as Nuddea.
10th.—Quitted Calcutta with a foul wind and heavy rain,—damp, gloomy, and rheumatic weather.
11th.—Started with a fair wind, bought two milch goats for thirteen rupees eight ānās,—a great prize on the river. Moored the vessels at Ishapūr, in order to visit a friend who has charge of the powder-works at that place; his house, which is large and excellent, is situated on the banks of the river; every thing is so cool and fresh around it; it is delightful to be in the country once more.
14th.—The fast of the Muharram ended to-day; the followers of the prophet amongst our servants, wishing to have a great feast, petitioned to be allowed to stay till noon, to worship and to stuff pillāo. Quitted Hoogly with the tide at half-past one P.M.
15th.—Passed the village of Chagdah, on the left bank of the Matabangah, forty-six miles from Calcutta; a village of corpses,—the inhabitants of which, having been brought by their relatives to the river’s side, to die before their time, prefer a debased existence to a righteous end, agreeing therein with the highest authorities. Pope’s Homer makes Achilles in the Elysian fields say,
“Rather I’d choose laboriously to bear
A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,
A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
Than reign the scepter’d monarch of the dead.”
Solomon deems it better to be a live dog than a dead lion; and Job, called by Byron “the Respectable,” says, “Why should a living man complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see, except that a dead man cannot.” In the face of these grave authorities, as far as I am concerned, I cannot help being of a different opinion: the proverb agrees with my view of the subject,—“It is better to die with honour than live with infamy[45].” These unfortunate people, outcasts from their homes and families, on account of their unexpected recovery, after having been exposed by their relatives to die on the banks of the river, have taken refuge in this village, and are its sole inhabitants.
“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges, that their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person in his last agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends, and carried, in the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever distance, to the river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a covering day and night, until he expires. With the pains of death upon him, he is placed up to the middle in water, and drenched with it; leaves of the toolsee plant are also put into his mouth, and his relations call upon him to repeat, and repeat for him, the names of Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha, Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the family priest repeats some incantations, and makes an offering to Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul, they say, is ferried after leaving the body. The relations of the dying man spread the sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and afterwards, with the finger, write on this sediment the name of some deity. If a person should die in his house, and not by the river-side, it is considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of the goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home, his memory becomes infamous.”
This part of the river is flat and uninteresting; anchored a little below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water, fifty-two by land, from Calcutta. At night the insects, attracted by the brilliant light of the Silvant lamps, came into the cabin in swarms—like the plagues of Egypt they fall into the wine-cups and fill the plates; they are over my hands, and over the paper on which I am writing, and are a complete pest.
16th.—Very hot during the middle of the day; thermometer 86°. Passed the Dhobah sugar-works, seventy-two miles by water from Calcutta; left the Jellingee river on the right, and anchored at Nuddea, eighty-three by water, and sixty-four by land. The steamers generally arrive at the Dhobah sugar-works in one day, but still we think we have come on quickly in the Budgerow! We did not land to visit the long range of temples on the bank of the river. To this place the Calcutta Sircars come, to eat the air.
At Meertulla, half-way between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, which made us fancy ourselves in a cooler climate, in spite of the extreme heat. At noon-day it is almost intolerable, and very oppressive, but the early mornings are cool, and the nights also; moored off Dumdumma.
18th.—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one hundred and eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large mart, and a fine indigo factory.
19th.—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to procure fowls, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers. Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing in the bazār but eggs and plantains, fowls and byguns (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve sticks of shola, or sola, as it is commonly called, for one paisā; the dāndīs use it as a tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with a flint and steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting; moored on a nameless sandbank.
20th.—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on the left bank; memorable for the defeat of Suraja Dowla, by the British forces under Colonel Clive, June 23rd, 1757. This battle decided the fate of Bengal, and ultimately of India. Anchored on a fine cool sandbank near the Company’s fīl-khāna (elephant establishment), on the left bank, eight miles above Plassey.
21st.—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank, with steep red banks; the Company’s silk manufactories were here formerly. The place is celebrated for sajjī-mattī, or fuller’s earth: it is six miles from Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and seventy-seven from Jellingee. Lugāoed at the civil station of Berhampūr, which looks quite deserted; nothing is going forward; no crowds of natives on the bank with various articles for sale, and no picturesque boats on the river.
22nd.—Sent letters to the Dāk—laid in a store of fowls, bread, butter, charcoal, limes, &c., to help us on to Rajmahāl, as provisions are only to be procured at the large stations.
23rd.—Passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad: admired the fanciful boats he uses on state occasions, and the snake boats; the latter fly with great swiftness when rowed by twenty men, from their amazing length and extreme narrowness. The state boats are highly gilt, and ornamented very tastefully with colours and gold; they are light and airy in the extreme. The river is very shallow; we have great difficulty in finding the deep parts; in consequence, our progress is slow, but the scenery is very beautiful. Moored off a small bastī (village) on the right bank.
24th.—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has passed us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away as the wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more pleasant: moored below Jungipūr on a field covered with the tūt, (morus Indica, Indian mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and cultivated in great quantities as food for the silkworms which are reared in the neighbouring villages. My goats luxuriated for some hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt, enjoying the fresh shrubs; they have been cut down, and the young sprouts are now only about a foot high.
25th.—Passed Jungipūr; paid the toll which is levied for keeping open the entrance of the Bhagirathī; anchored at Kamalpūr, a straggling picturesque village: cows are here in the greatest abundance—the village swarms with them; they swim the cows over the river in herds to graze on the opposite bank, and swim them back again in the evening; a couple of men usually accompany the herd, crossing the river by holding on to the tail of a cow: the animals take to the water as a thing of course; on their arrival at the cottages, they are tied up with food before them, and a smouldering fire is kept up near them all night: the cows enveloped in the smoke are free from the worrying of the insects. Mr. Laruletta has a large silk manufactory at Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he purchased from the Government; it is forty-two miles above Berhampūr. The villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite bank.
26th.—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped at a place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of mats on the river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold. My mānjhī bought nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās, and complained of their being very dear! Crossed the river, and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, a most melancholy looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the owner resides on the opposite side of the river. There is a very fine banyan tree on the Ghāt, at Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,) flourishes here,—it is remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account of the persistent vestiges of the decayed leaves.
27th.—Passed Dulalpūr and saw the factory of Chandnī Kotī in the distance, where I met with so much hospitality on my expedition to the ruins of Gaur. Heard of Mr. Sinclair’s death, which took place about a year ago, most likely from the jungle fever. After a pleasant sail with a fair wind, had the first sight of the Hills; anchored on a cool, clear, and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the moon high, the night quiet and agreeable. I took a camera lucida on deck, and was much amused with the delight of the crew when they looked into it. They called it a Kompās, and were very anxious to have their own likenesses taken.
28th.—Thermometer 82° in the cabin at noon; not a breath of air, the river very broad and shallow; it is hardly possible to find water enough to float the budgerow. We are just passing a steamer with a cargo flat in tow; she has grounded, and there she is in the midst of the river burning with heat, whilst the little pilot boats are trying to find some channel deep enough for her. Like the hare and the tortoise in the fable, we shall reach the goal first. Imagine the heat of the iron steamer, the bright river giving back the sun’s rays, and looking like unruffled glass around her; the inside of the vessel must resemble a well-heated iron oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The woolāk (baggage-boat) came up late; for the second time she has run foul of the budgerow, and has done her some damage. The mānjhī of the woolāk cannot see after sunset, having what the natives call rāt andhā, or night blindness: he can see well enough during the day time;—this is rather a disagreeable affliction for the master of a vessel.
29th.—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—very hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large portion of the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-slip. The palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque disorder. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which formerly washed its walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is on the opposite side, leaving an almost dry bed before the ruins. Visited the old baolī (well), which is beautified by age: down the centre of it hang long pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots of trees: thence I proceeded to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were quietly ruminating under the black marble arches of the verandah of the palace that overlooks the river. The steamers take in their coal a mile below, and therefore do not destroy the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, and steam, and Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant about five miles inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number; they fill my nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment me so much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup, and absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have found death around the flame of the candle.
30th.—The early morning was delightful—the weather much cooler and more agreeable. Laid in fresh stores—found remarkably fine fowls and good yams—sailed at 4 P.M., lugāoed at 7, on a sandbank—here the insects are but few, and do not annoy me as they did last night. Crocodiles abound, and are showing themselves continually, swimming low in the water. We passed near this place a village full of a caste of people who live on crocodile flesh. My dāndīs say they understand it smells rank, and is very hard. Twice this evening I heard a shrill peculiar scream, and on remarking it to the men, they said it was the cry of the crocodile. Twenty-one miles above Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and Point, says the “Calcutta Directory,” is the beautiful Mootee Jhurna waterfall; it is visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I neither saw nor visited it.
31st.—Anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī—landed and walked to the bungalow. The French indigo planter had quitted the place; the house was uninhabited; had he been there, he would have exclaimed,
“Voilà Madame, qui arrive
Pour encore visiter mes tigres!”
Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and to recall the memory of the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some beautiful goats in the village, which the people refused to sell, although I bribed them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and plentiful; nothing else was to be procured. A number of jackals were roaming and howling in the village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very picturesque from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would be an excellent shooting box. It is said the Jharna waterfall and the Himalaya mountains are visible at times from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, hogs, deer of all kinds, abound here, and feathered game in the Hills. Steamers pass in ten days and a half in the dry season from Calcutta.
Nov. 1st.—Quitted Sikrī-galī early; the river very rapid, nothing but dreary sandbanks, with a distant view of the Hills. Porpoises gambolling in plenty.
2nd.—Fish in abundance for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a dreary day; anchored on a sandbank,—insects detestable,—the thermometer at ten A.M. only 70°.
3rd.—Saw a herd of buffaloes swimming the river—about one hundred head; the men swam with them, each holding on by a buffalo’s tail, with his clothes carried high in the air in one hand. Some of the men had bamboos, with which they beat and urged the animals to swim. When I first caught sight of them I took them for a reef of low black rocks, the black heads were so numerous and so mixed together. Late in the evening saw the rocks of Colgong; tracked up the left bank of the river, aided by a good breeze; the force of the stream here is excessive, and it was a great piece of good fortune we had a fair wind to aid us; anchored in darkness about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.
The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the left bank of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the Nepaul part of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill, with one or two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave (only a small hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense suite, and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—such is the story of the attending fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of isolated hills, and the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or Patturgatta passage up to Colgong has some very dangerous rocks, where, if a boat touches, not a soul can be saved.”
4th.—At daybreak arose to get a view of the rocks; made the mānjhī cross over to the Colgong side, to enable me to take a sketch from that bank. These rocky islands are very singular and beautiful, and there are four of them; rocks on rocks, covered with fine foliage, they rise straight out of the centre of the river, which runs like a mill-sluice, and is here extremely broad; we came up the left passage, which is navigable after the rains. They say no one lives upon these rocks; that a fakīr formerly took up his abode there, but having been eaten by a snake (an ajgar), one of enormous size, and an eater of human flesh, the people became alarmed, and no holy or unholy person has since taken up their residence on these rocky islands. Here we bought two very fine rohū fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for six ānās, but could not procure any of the rock fish: small boats were under the rocks fishing, and snakes, they say, abound upon them.
“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles above Calcutta, and eighteen below Bhagulpūr; it is on the right bank of the river, has a fine nālā and shelter for boats: it is a coal depôt for steamers. The left passage should never be attempted by either steamers or boats in the rains, as the currents and eddies between the main and the rocks make it certain loss for any native boats, and too dangerous for steamers; boats, in attempting it, must be careful to have very strong tracking lines low down on their prows, with plenty of trackers, and two bowlines as guys to the bank, and he kept close in. Rock fish are procurable here, also fowls, kids, eggs, &c.”
I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle the myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just passed a most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar shine and polish, and the shade cast on the bank, you would not have supposed it a living animal: some dāndīs, tracking near it, aroused the enormous beast, and it took refuge in the river; it was one of the largest I ever saw. Birds were around in innumerable flights. The river presents a singular picture; the expanse of water is very great, interspersed with low sandbanks in every direction. Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at full length out of the river, on the top of the bank, the other two half out of the water, and lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on which a corpse has been brought down to be burned, and which, from being reckoned unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is upset, the feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture, gorged from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white bodies, are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds, looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open clean sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the quietude around us; no human habitations were to be seen,—nothing but the expanse of the broad river, and its distant banks.
CHAPTER LXV.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM COLGONG TO DINAPŪR.
Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā—Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr.
1844, Nov. 5th.—At noon we moored off the Civil station of Bhagulpūr. The river-side has been very picturesque the whole distance from Colgong. Procured mutton, fowls, yams, &c., from the bazār; and purchased some pieces of silk and some imitation Scotch plaid, that was brought for sale to the budgerow. Accompanied the Judge to see the new church, the building of which he superintends; saw the monument which was erected in honour of Mr. Cleveland, of the Civil Service, by the Zamīndars, and was told, that at the other end of the station is another monument erected to him by the Government. He brought the Hill people into subjection, by whom he was styled the “Father of their Country.” Bhagulpūr is eighteen miles above Colgong; it is two hundred and sixty-eight miles by land from Calcutta,—by water, from the same place, three hundred and forty-eight miles in the rains, and six hundred and thirty-six in the dry season,—and the dāk runs in two days and a quarter. Steamers take nine and a half or eleven days to arrive here. A light kind of silk, called tasar, is sold in this bazār, also, shot silks of various colours, useful for razāīs and native wear, and a kind of cloth called bāftas. Here are a few Hill rangers and a sepahī station.
6th.—A pleasant and cool sail, the wind being fair at times; lugāoed off a sandbank. But few insects, there being no trees near us.
7th.—To-day, to my sorrow, I was unable to pay the Rock and Temple of Janghīra a visit, in consequence of the deep stream being on the other side the river; still, I was near enough to sketch it,—and very pretty and picturesque is its situation. It is twenty-five miles above Bhagulpūr; the rocky point on which the old ruined mosque stands, close to Janghīra, with the mountains beyond, would form a good subject for a picture. Just above the rock we met a large fleet of pinnaces, budgerows, and country boats, of all sorts and sizes, conveying the Buffs from Allahabad to Calcutta, for embarkation for England; I counted sixty-four vessels. On account of their coming down with the stream the sight was not as picturesque as it would have been had they been going up the river. All vessels put up very small low masts and scarcely any sail when going with the stream, on account of its extreme velocity; but ascending the river they carry very high masts, and an overpowering quantity of sail. The last time I saw the Buffs was at a ball they gave at Meerut,—a farewell on going to Afghanistān.
The weather is now most agreeable, delightfully cool,—a sharp, clear, pure air; we use a pankha at dinner-time, hung from the ceiling of the cabin, but do not require it during the rest of the day; the nights are cold. We have moored; and the poor goats, who for three days have been on a barren sandbank of an evening, have now a fine field of urur (cytisus cajan) to browse upon. The people have cut some, and the goats will therefore be happy to-morrow; this is a theft, but allowable on the banks of the river, because a less rent is paid for land subject to the visits of depredators from the Ganges.
8th.—A large white house on the hill at Monghir is visible. I was charmed with the scene when I went on deck at half-past seven this morning: the river in this part is extremely broad and very shallow, with a stream running like a mill-sluice; a fair wind was blowing, and we were in the midst of about five hundred vessels, which had been detained there in consequence of the force of the stream. With this fine wind, however, they all set sail; the lighter vessels with great difficulty passed the bad part of the river, the larger and heavier craft got up to a certain point, and beyond that they could not proceed, but one by one lowered their sails, and fell back on a sandbank, where they lay all in a row, like a line of soldiers. I amused myself with watching the vessels as they came up to the testing point, and went forward triumphantly, or fell back into the line of the hopeless. The cook-boat, with our assistance, was brought up with great difficulty; the budgerow bravely made way against the fierce current; the woolāk, unable to stem the stream, fell back, took some other passage, and parted company. Late at night we anchored on one of those fine, hard, cool, clean sandbanks; the sand is mixed with such a quantity of mica (talc), that at night, by the light of a candle, it shines as if sprinkled with silver-dust. We expected to have reached Monghir to-day, but the winding of the river and the force of the stream have prevented us.
9th.—Arrived at Monghir. The river-side was covered with boats of all sorts as thickly planted as possible: the bazār extends all along the edge of the river, and some good houses belonging to the gentlemen at the station are on the higher ground; the churchyard is beyond, and the Old Fort at the point. The moment we anchored we were assailed with hundreds of beggars; their clamour and cries were most annoying, they were a complete pest,—driving them away was useless. The people selling pistols, necklaces, bathing-chairs, baskets, toys, shoes, &c., raised such a hubbub, it was disgusting; we had all the Venetians shut on that side, and the people had the impudence to get down into the water and peep through them; the chaprasīs drove them off, but they were back again the next minute like a swarm of bees.
I may here insert a paragraph I saw in the papers:—
“The Asiatic Society has obtained an aërolite, or a mass of meteoric iron, found imbedded in the soil on the top of the Kurruckpore Hills, near Monghyr, which had been exhumed and worshipped by the natives for many years. It is a block, weighing about 160lbs., of a somewhat conical, oviform, disk shape, standing on a sort of foot, and slightly truncated at both ends; it contains iron, nickel, cobalt, chromium, silica, alumina, and traces of arsenic and selenium.”
10th.—The next day we started. The Fort is a good object from this side, but, on turning the corner, how much was I charmed to see the most picturesque cluster of bairāgī temples imaginable! The maths are surrounded by fine trees, the ruined bastion of the old fort juts out into the river, and has fragments of rock at its base. The high spires of the white temples seen among the trees, the slender bamboos with their bright red or white flags, and a sort of Hindū altar in front, are beautifully grouped. On a large stone in the river, just in front of the temples, shaded from the sun by an immense chatr (umbrella) made of straw, sat two Hindū priests, who were a picture in themselves; upright at their side was a very high thin bamboo, crowned with the branch of some holy tree, from which a lota was suspended in the air. The whole was reflected in the Ganges, and the vessels and distant land finished the picture. It came upon me by surprise: had I known of the temples that were hidden from my view by the bastion of the fort, I should have walked there the evening before. The “Directory” tells you of the articles in the bazār, but omits these gems of oriental beauty, which are invaluable to a lover of the picturesque. Beyond this stretch the walls of the old fort, which are of very great extent, and the view of Monghir is good from this part of the Ganges. Mr. D⸺ told us, that in coming up the river during the last rains, the current at Colgong was terrific; on the left bank was a whirlpool that set directly on the rocks, and it would have been certain destruction to any boat attempting that passage; and on the right bank was another whirlpool, of such force, that, in tracking to a certain point, the dandīs jumped into the river, and fixed a hawser to prevent the vessel being carried round and round by the current, and dashed upon the rocks; with care this passage was navigable, but the other was not to be attempted. From this gentleman’s house on the hill at Monghir the view across the river was bounded by the horizon, as at sea, the waters were so high and the expanse so great.
Dwakanath Tagore is going to Europe for two years, and is to visit the King of France. The magnet that attracts the Wise Man of the East is the beauty of the opera-dancers, and the delight above all others that he has at the opera in Paris, seeing, as he says, three hundred of the most beautiful women in the world all together;—the baboo is rather beside himself on the subject.
According to the steam regulations, the Civil station of Monghir is half-way from Calcutta,—one hundred and thirty-three miles above Rajmahāl, and twenty-five above the rock of Janghīra. Among the articles manufactured here, the black vases for flowers, turned in white wood, and lacquered whilst on the lathe with sealing-wax, are pretty. The necklaces and bracelets in imitation of jet, at two or three rupees the set, are beautifully made; necklaces of St. Agnes’s beads, monkeys, chameleons, and male bamboos,—every thing is forthcoming in the bazār, with the exception of ducks. The steamer’s passage is from ten to fourteen days to this place,—three hundred and ninety-eight miles by the Bhagirathī, six hundred and eighty-six by Sunderbands, and three hundred and four by dāk; the latter runs in two days and three-quarters. On arrival here the collector’s and the magistrate’s book is sent on board, for entry of all passengers’ names. Two miles S.W. by W. of Monghir are some rocks, with a mark on them,—they were formerly in the steamer’s track, but are now buried in an immense sandbank; steamers stop here three or four hours for coals. Moored off the village of Husseingunge.
11th.—At noon passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty miles above Monghir, with a small river that runs down from the hills; fowls and kids are procurable here, through the jāmadār’s assistance, for boat travellers. Lugāoed off a sandbank; the weather has become very cold,—the thermometer this evening 72°, with a sharp wind.
12th.—The river very uninteresting; the villages dirty and disgusting, filled with pigs and most noisy beggars: moored the boats as far away from a village as we could, and were even then obliged to drive off the beggars, whose incessant noise left us neither peace nor quiet.
13th.—Passed a remarkably fine banyan-tree, the roots of which are exposed, from the river having washed away the earth; would have stopped to sketch it, but could not venture on shore amidst such a crowd of clamorous beggars and filthy swine,—such pigs! so lank and lean, and long-legged and thin-flanked, with staring bristles, all busily employed in turning up the earth with their unringed noses! Old wretched beggar-women, with their skeleton bodies and long white hair, are pursuing the budgerow, uttering their monotonous cries for charity. There is a tope of tamarind-trees that looks most inviting at Bar, and the tar or fan palms are remarkably fine—the natives say they are fifty cubits high. There are many spreading banyan-trees near this place, and the scenery of the interior looks very inviting. The large town and mart of Bar is on the right bank of the river, sixty miles above Monghir, and fifty below Dinapūr, a bye depôt for steamers’ coals; for twenty miles above and below, all this bank of the river is noted for piggery villages and saltpetre manufactories. Lugāoed a little above Bar.
14th.—After a most uninteresting day among shallows and sandbanks, moored off Benīpūr: walked towards a light I saw at a distance, and found a police-station. At the side was a burial-ground of the Faithful; some Mahomedan saint was there entombed. The light was burning in the niche of the pillar at the head of the tomb. It was under a most magnificent old banyan-tree, growing on a bank; the river had washed away the ground from its roots, and they were starting forth in all picturesque forms. Four large suckers having fallen to the ground, had each taken root, and had attained the size of a tree—the great branches spread in every direction. Next to it was a remarkably fine old tamarind-tree: two or three tombs were around under the shadow of these and other trees; the lamp in the tomb rendered them visible, and the young moon shed a bright light between the boughs, but not sufficient to dispel the deep darkness around. One of the banyan-trees to the left was so old, all its branches had fallen off, and its trunk was cleft, open, and hollow. It measured thirty feet in circumference: these ancient trees and tombs would be a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a native at the spot to tear off a small branch of the banyan-tree: he said, “You can gather a bough yourself, if you like, but I cannot break one off from the tree that shades the tomb of a Pīr,”—a saint.
15th.—The “Directory” says, on the right bank, eighty-seven miles above Monghir, and nine miles below the Patna, or rather Bankipūr station, is a large native town, with a river on its upper or western end that flows from the Hills, and has a pukka, i.e. brick or stone bridge, over it. As we passed Futwa early, some fat merchants, who were bathing in the river, asked if we wanted any tablecloths or towels, for which the place is famous. We anchored at a holy spot; the tomb of a saint is there; both the tomb and the pillar are built of mud: it is raised on a high platform of earth, which is well secured from the inroads of the river by a palisade of the trunks of trees, the outside being covered with old planks from vessels. The priest showed it with great glee, and said, “It is the command that the river shall never touch this holy tomb, which has stood here for seven hundred years. You see it is built of mud; the river overflows all the villages around, but this place is untouched. It is the command that the tomb is never to be built of stone.” On my remarking the strength of the palisades, he was much inclined to be abusive, and demanded alms with the outcries and whine of a beggar.
16th.—The first glance on the river this morning delighted me: we were off an old ruined bastion which had partly fallen into the stream; on its top was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another bastion a little further on, and then some temples and two more burūj. We had now arrived at Azīmabad, as the ancient city of Patna is called by the Muhammadans, which extends a great distance along the bank of the river, and is supposed to have been, among others, the site of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindoo appellation is Sri Nagar.
“The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the footpads of Kuhulgaon, and the bankrupts of Patna, are all famous[46].” The Hindoos were coming down in large parties, preceded by tom-toms (native drums), and musical instruments of all sorts, to bring their offerings to the river. They carried baskets filled with fruits or vegetables to the river-side, and great bunches of plantains, and washed them in the river. The Brahmans poured water on the offerings, prayers were repeated, the people bathed and returned home.
It was the festival of the Sun—the Sūraj Pūja. The dresses of the people were of the most brilliant colours. Flags of a bright crimson colour, bearing the image of Hŭnūmān blazoned in white upon them, were flying at the end of long slender bamboos.
Advancing higher up the river, near the old fort, there are picturesque houses of all sorts, intermixed with Hindoo temples, fine trees, and distant masjids. A sandbank in the centre of the Ganges was covered with temporary huts of straw, where the devout were bathing and offering flowers and fruits; it was a beautiful scene, that animated multitude on the sandbank and in the river, with the high bank on the opposite side covered with the houses and the temples of the city. The pinnaces and vessels of all sorts were decked with flags. Large parties of women, dressed in the gayest attire and the most various colours, were doing pūja, bathing in the river, or presenting their offerings of fruit, flowers, &c., to the attendant Brahmans. “While bathing, the Hindoos repeat certain incantations, in order to bring the waters of all the holy places in the heaven of Sōōryŭ into the spot where they are standing, and thus obtain the merit of bathing, not only in Gunga, but in all the sacred rivers, &c., in the heaven of the Sun-god. After bathing, too, the Hindoos make their obeisance to this god in a standing posture; the more devout draw up their joined hands to their forehead, gaze at the sun, make prostrations to him, and then turn round seven times, repeating certain forms of petition and praise. On these occasions they hold up water in their joined hands, and then pour out a drink-offering to the sun.” The number of boats off Patna is quite surprising. There is a boat-builder’s on the opposite sandbank, and a great number of vessels with large timber-trees are off the place. Passing Hadjipūr, we were not tempted to go on shore, although the fair was being held there, not requiring elephants, horses, or shawls. The bungalow and race-course are on the left bank of the Gunduk that runs from the Nepaul Hills; the large native town is on the right bank. People flock from all parts of India to its annual fair, which will last this month as long as the moon shines. We anchored on a sandbank in the middle of the river, nearly opposite the Golā or Gol-ghar. The “Directory” says, Patna, the Civil station of Bankipūr, extends about ten miles along the right bank, fourteen miles below Dinapūr. It is noted for opium, gram, and wax candles, and is a very large mart. Seventeen hundred boats of burden have been counted lying here at one time. It is the residence of a Nawāb, and a Sadr and Civil station. The Government establishments are at Bankipūr, or the upper extreme of Patna, where there are some handsome houses, also a very large and noted granary built like a dome, with two flights of steps outside, to ascend to its top, on which is a large circular hole, to admit air into the building, and to start grain into; it has only one door, and was built for a depôt in case of famine. It is a very massive building, noted for its numerous, clear, and strong echoes, and is at present used as a guardhouse.
Steamers seldom stop here: sometimes not being able to get within a mile or two, passengers can land at the lower end and get ekhas, or hackeries, (a native one-horse conveyance,) to take them up to Bankipūr or Dinapūr, fourteen miles distant, by way of a change or novelty, where they can inspect the golā or granary by the road-side. The road is very good up to the military cantonments at Dinapūr.
17th.—Landed to go to Havell’s farm at Deegah; found his widow there—a very old half-caste personage. The establishment must have been a fine one formerly; now the sheds are all empty, and scarcely any thing is done there. Ordered some beef brawn and Chili vinegar, both of which proved good. On our arrival at Dinapūr my mānjhī wished to anchor under the flag-staff, to which I objected, on account of the crowd of boats there: had to go on the distance of a kos, until we were past the Lines, to the ghāt opposite the native hospital,—a very uncomfortable place.
18th.—Bought a mŭn of six-inch wax candles of Kinnoo Lall, price eighty rupees. Much disgusted with the annoyance of being obliged to procure fresh dāndīs for the woolāk, and having to send a chaprāsī with the manjhī to fetch them from the other side of the river.
19th.—The sardar-bearer here informed us he intended to quit us; this was troublesome; indeed, the homes of the people being often near Dinapūr, the servants select this place for quitting their masters and going home, with or without warning, just as it may suit their own convenience. At 4 P.M. the fresh dāndīs arrived for the woolāk; how glad I shall be to get away from this place!
Dinapūr is a large European and military station, where the steamers stop by the cantonment flag-staff to take in coals and passengers. It is considered as two-thirds of the passage upwards. It is on the right bank of the Ganges, distant from Calcutta by steamer’s route, viâ Bhagirathī, five hundred and eight miles; viâ Sunderbands, seven hundred and ninety-six; by land, three hundred and seventy-six. The letter dāk takes three and a half days. Mutton, beef, fowls, eggs, bread, butter, fruits of various kinds, and grapes in May and June are procurable; also tablecloths, napkins, towels, cotton handkerchiefs, sola hats, muslin and cotton cloth, shoes, harness, Patna wax candles, gram, wild fowl, &c. European shopkeepers are here. Plays are performed and auctions held. Passengers for Arrah and Tirhoot land here. Quitted Dinapūr with great pleasure, and came to very agreeable moorings off Chittenniaw—a great relief after the annoyance of being near the ghāt of a large station. The people with us will now be well behaved, and give no more trouble to the end of the voyage; i.e., until we arrive at Allahabad.
CHAPTER LXVI.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM DINAPŪR TO BENARES.
The Soane River—Chuppra—Revelgunge—The Fair at Bulleah—Bamboos—The Wreck—Buxar—The Peepul Tree and Temple of Mahadēo—Barrah—Satī Mounds—Kurum-nassa River—Palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr—The Native Town—The Gigantic Image—Three Satīs and a Mandap or Hindū Temple—Eight-and-Twenty Satīs—The Fate of Women—The Kalsās—Station of Ghazipūr—The Stalking Horse—Booraneepūr—Kankār Reefs—Seydpūr—Burning the Dead—Rites for the Repose of the Soul—Brahmanī Bulls—Funeral Ceremonies of the Romans—Raj Ghāt, Bunarus.
1844, Nov. 20th.—To-day the scenery has been most uninteresting; nothing to be seen but sandbanks; the river is full of shallows, and there is no wind. Lugāoed on a fine open space in the middle of the river; it is really a good-sized island of fine and beautifully white sand. Four miles above Dinapūr is the junction of the Soane with the Ganges.
21st.—Sandbanks and shallows the whole day: we have advanced very little, and have moored as usual on a bank. Looking around me, I see nothing but a wilderness of sandbanks in the midst of the broad river, only terminating with the horizon—not a tree, not a house to be seen; here and there a distant sail. There is something very pleasing in this monotonous solitude; the only sound the roar of the sandbanks, as they give way and fall into the stream, with a noise like distant thunder. These high sandbanks are undermined by the strong current, and fall in in great masses—very dangerous to small vessels passing near them.
22nd.—“Twenty-two miles above Dinapūr,” says the “Directory,” “on the left bank, is the Civil station of Chuppra, the capital of the Sarun district. Steamers seldom touch here, even in the rains. Passengers for this place should arrange to land at Revelgunge, above it, where there is a steam agent. The latter place, which is twenty-seven miles by water above Dinapūr, on the left bank, is a very large grain and saltpetre mart, and noted for boat-building. An annual fair is held there. Steamers touch only to land passengers and a few packages to the steam agent’s care. Thence up to Ghazipūr the villagers are said to be uncivil and dishonest.”
We had a view of Chuppra from a distance, and then passed Revelgunge. The tents of a Rāja were pitched on the side of the Ganges, with the khanats extending on both sides into the river to screen the Rāja from the eyes of the curious, as he sat under a shamiyana (awning) in the centre. His camp contained several elephants, one most remarkably large, a number of fine horses and camels, and all the retinue of a wealthy native. Moored a little above Revelgunge.
23rd.—A fair wind. Lugāoed off a small bastī (village).
24th.—A fair wind. Anchored off Bulleah: a large fair was being held there on the banks of the river; we moored two miles away from it, but the din and uproar, even at that distance, was like the sound of waves breaking on a distant shore. I walked to the fair; it was late in the evening, and nothing was to be seen but thousands of people sitting in groups on the ground cooking their dinners, or lying there asleep. Some groups of people were watching the performance of nāch girls, go’ālā log, and dancing boys: every man had a long heavy bamboo in his hand, as a defence, and a walking staff.
The fakīrs had erected altars of mud, on the top of each of which was stuck a long bamboo, decorated with a flag. These holy personages, entirely naked, were sitting on the ground under some freshly-gathered boughs that were stuck up on one side. If one could but learn the real history of one of these men, it would give one a curious insight into human nature. A fakīr of this description is looked upon with respect by the natives; “No one inquires his caste or tribe; he has put on the string, and is therefore a Brahman[47].”
These men sit up all night by a fire, smoking ganja, an intoxicating herb, eating sweetmeats and ghī, and drinking milk. They never put on any sort of clothing, and never sleep under shelter. They say they do not feel the cold, and they eat the offerings that are made to them. They must receive very large sums; the bearers give from one to four paisā to these fellows, and a rich Hindū gives a rupee. Groups of people were sitting together singing and playing on tom-toms; the din was excessive, and the smoke very annoying from the innumerable fires around the pathway. To-morrow will be the last day of the fair.
25th.—From 7 A.M. until 11 o’clock we were striving to get the boats past the fair, which extended for miles along the bank of the river. It being the early morning, the people were bathing by thousands; the bank for miles was covered with moving figures ascending and descending the steep cliff in masses as thick as they could move. The river below was alive with the devout. Hindūs of all and every class were bathing and performing their devotions. The budgerow was stopped some time from the difficulty of passing her gūn, (tracking line,) over the tops of so many high masts; some persons cut the gūn, and they ran away with part of it, which theft detained us some time. The manner in which, by the aid of a bamboo, the tracking rope is carried to the top of a mast and thrown over it, is curious.
By the side of the river I saw several fakīrs bathing; they had thick heads of hair and enormous beards. One man had his hand and arm erect: it was only partly withered, his vow must therefore have been recently made, or the arm would have been withered to the bone and immovably fixed in its position. His body was covered with ashes, and his long elf locks, matted with cow-dung and yellow clay, hung down like so many rusty yellow tails. Hundreds of boats were bringing more people to the fair. The morning being cold, the people, wrapped up in great white sheets, were huddled together in the boats, as many as it was possible to cram together; and at a distance the vessels looked as if they were filled with bales of cotton.
Cows were numerous, and were undergoing the usual pūja. Sometimes a Brahman was seen seated on a charpāī with a chatr over his head, the charpāī supported on four bamboos that were erected in the river, and a fine triangular red flag flying from each end of the four bamboos. The effect was very picturesque: red and also white flags were in profusion, denoting the abiding place of a fakīr. Beauty was extremely scarce amongst the women. Some of the men had fine features—the skin of some of the latter was almost of a transparent black, that of others of a dark brown hue, and some exhibited a bright terra di sienna tint. I saw no lepers, which is remarkable; it is usual to see one of the pink-coloured lepers amongst any great multitude bathing; and that leprosy not being catching, the people are not driven from the society of their fellows, as are those who are afflicted with the Arabian leprosy.
I think the number of people collected at this fair appears greater than the number I ever saw collected at Prāg; the cliff for miles was covered with a countless multitude. Perhaps the people were more conspicuous on the cliffs than on the flat sands at the Tribeni. A number of respectable-looking Hindoo women were in boats covered with an awning. This large native village of Bulleah is seventy-four miles above Dinapūr, on the left bank: it is a dārogah station, noted for the fair annually held there, as also for a grain mart.
This is the most dangerous part of the Ganges for quicksands and shifting banks: the stream is very strong, boats being sometimes detained from four to six weeks, waiting for water and a favourable breeze. The people carry away the Ganges water from this place in sealed bottles, as they do from Prāg, and sell it in distant parts of the country at a high price. We had a hard day’s work tracking amidst the sandbanks against a rapid stream, and did not anchor until the sun had set for an hour and a half, and the full moon was high. I was very glad to see the moon; we were in a dilemma on a bad spot in the river; however, after much labour we got off, and lugāoed on a comfortable sandbank. A large vessel belonging to a Mirzapūr merchant was wrecked here a month ago; I visited the wreck,—they have recovered all but fourteen bales of linen, which they are digging out,—they lie twelve feet under the sand. In the evening the manjhī of my boat was preparing a bamboo to use for pushing the budgerow onwards; I measured it as it lay on the ground; it was sixty feet in length, and most beautifully tapered; he said he had some spare ones on board much longer; for nine of these bamboos he only paid one rupee, and he bought them at the spot where the Bhagirathī branches off from the Ganges. At Prāg such a bamboo would have cost eight ānās. A chaukidār has erected a hut close to the wreck with her fragments; there he and his people keep guard over her; in front is an image of Mahadēo, made in mud, and ornamented with fresh green plantain trees stuck into the sand around the idol.
26th.—Anchored early at Buxar, just under the fort. When walking to see the fort I was attracted to the left by the beauty of a most remarkably fine old peepul-tree, which overshadows a temple dedicated to Mahadēo, whose image is within the building; on the outer wall is an image of Hūnūmān. The temple is beautifully overshadowed, and the stems of the peepul-tree—for it is divided into many—are old and picturesque, and the smallness of the leaves denotes the antiquity of the tree. On the bank of the river there is also an old peepul-tree,—its long branching roots are exposed to view, the river having laid them bare by washing away the bank. Buxar on the right, and Kuruntadee on the left bank, are eighty-eight miles above Dinapūr, and are noted as being the Honourable Company’s stud establishment: there is a small fort here where the battle was fought.
27th.—Quitted Buxar early, and were forced to anchor for a time at Chounsah Beerboom, on account of a very heavy wind, which made old Gunga rise in waves, and rocked the budgerow like a sea: started at 4 P.M. and arrived at the Kurum-nassa river; it is a shallow, melancholy-looking, small stream, with nothing to be seen on its banks but fishermen’s nets. Hilsā fish are here caught in great numbers, and the rahū also; I purchased one of the latter, and some quail, which were twenty-five per rupee.
Lugāoed at Barrah, a small village on the right bank: climbed the cliff in the evening; a fisherman who resided there showed me two satī mounds on the top of it,—the one built of stone sacred to a Brahmān, the other of mud in honour of a Kyiatt. A kalsā is the ornament on the top of a dome; there were two of stone, without any points on the satī mound of the Brahmān; and two of mud, decorated with points, and one small image, on that of the Kyiatt[48].
I gave a small present to the people, and took away one of the kalsās of mud as a curiosity: a number of broken idols in black stone had been dug up, and placed on the satī mound of the Brahmān,—I was anxious to have two of them, and determined to ask the fisherman to give them to me. The old man told me with great pride that one of his family had been a satī, and that the Brahmāns complained greatly they were not allowed to burn the widows, as such disconsolate damsels were ready and willing to be grilled; he told me that a great number of mounds are on the left bank of the river, just opposite at Beerpūr, and that there are several about two miles higher up the stream.
The Brahmānī ducks are calling to one another from the opposite banks of the river,—there must be several pairs of them from the ā’o! ā’o! that I hear; this is only the second time during this voyage that I have heard the chakwā. The wind is down, there is a soft and brilliant moonlight,—the weather is really charming, and the moonlight nights delicious; from the high bank by the satīs one can see the stream of the Ganges below, glittering in its beams.
“Eight miles above Buxar, on the right bank of the river, is the junction of the Kurum-nassa: the touch of its waters is considered as one of the direst mishaps that can happen to a Hindū, as it is said it debars him admittance into heaven. There is a bridge over it, built by a Rajah; this part of the country is noted for decoits.” The bridge, which is some distance up the river, is not visible from the junction.
Ten P.M.; I have just returned from the satī mound, accompanied by the old fisherman, who brought with him two of the idols of black stone from the Brahmān’s mound, on which there were about twenty; the old man gave them to me the moment I asked for them; I gave him a present afterwards, therefore he did not sell his gods; but he requested to be allowed to bring them to the boats during the darkness of the night. He and his family are now the sole inhabitants of a little hamlet of five houses, which was formerly inhabited by himself and his four brothers; they are dead, and their houses, which are in ruins, are close to the mounds; the old man lives in the centre, with one young son and two daughters, and keeps his dwelling of mud in comfortable condition. They tell me fowls and chakor (the red-legged partridge) are abundant there; I was unable to procure the latter.
29th.—Stopped the budgerow for a few minutes off the ruins of the palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr. The fort-like bastions rise from the Ganges, and the palace is built above; the ghāt is of stone, wide and good: this ruined palace has been before described in this volume, [page 66]. The native town of Ghazipūr is full of picturesque beauty; the mut’hs are numerous, but their architectural beauty is disfigured by whitewash and edges of dark red paint. There is a gigantic image in mud smeared with paint, which lies upon its back close to the water’s edge, and has a curious effect: a little further on an old well has fallen into the river, on account of the high cliff within which it was sunk having been washed away; the cliff, which is of sand, and very high, is covered with native houses, small temples, and trees, from the top to the bottom.
THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHĀZĪPŪR.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس