Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)

by Fanny Parkes Parlby

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES.

The natives are extremely superstitious respecting the lucky and unlucky marks on horses. The following are some of the marks best known, respecting which their ideas are curious:

The favourable marks are the deōband, the bhora, and the panch kalian.

The unlucky marks or aiibs are the sampan, siyah-tālū, small eyes, and a star of a particular sort on the forehead.

The deōband is the feather on the chest: this mark is very rare, and the best of all marks. If a horse have the deōband, it is the rok or antidote to the sampan and all other bad marks.

The bhorahs are the two feathers, one on each side of the neck, just under the mane. If there be two bhorahs turning towards the ears of the horse it is favourable, a very good sign. If there be only one bhora it is tolerably good. If the feather turn towards the rider it is called the sampan; a bhora on one side and a sampan on the other neutralizes both bad and good qualities.

The panch kalian. The natives admire a panch-kalian, as they call it, very much, that is, a horse with five marks, as follows:—all four legs white to the knees, stockings as they are called, and a white muzzle with a white blaze from the muzzle up the forehead. According to my idea, such a horse in appearance is only fit for a butcher’s tray. Nevertheless, the natives admire them, and I have seen many good horses of this description.

The sampan. When the feather on the neck of a horse on either side turns towards the rider, it is called sampan; this is a very bad mark, indeed the worst; but, if there be two sampans, one on each side the neck, have nothing to say to the animal, he is an Harām-zāda, given to rearing and squalling; is vicious, and will be the death of his rider.

The siyah-tālū or black palate is a very bad sign; such horses are regularly bad, and are never to be depended upon: no native will purchase an animal having, as it is usually called, the shatāloo.

Small eyes are the sign of a sulky horse.

The star on the forehead. No native will purchase a horse if he can cover the star on the forehead with the ball of his thumb. And in buying a horse from a native, look to that mark, as they take the white hairs out with a certain application. A large star is a good sign. No star at all is of no consequence; but a few white hairs proclaim a bad horse, and no native will buy him.

With respect to the colour of horses, they are fanciful. Greys are admired: black horses are also considered handsome: bays are good: chestnuts very bad.

With regard to Arabs, they are extremely particular as to the perfect straightness of the forehead, from the top of it down to the nose; the slightest rise on that part proving in their ideas a want of perfect pedigree. The deep hollow under the jaw is absolutely necessary; the small mouth, and the open, large, thin-skinned nostrils; the eyes large and fine; the hoof small, black, and hard; and the long tail. These points attract the particular attention of the natives. “Bay in all his eight joints[7].” Horses of that colour are esteemed hardy and active.

The prophet judged shicàl bad in a horse: shicàl is, when a horse has the right hind-foot and the left fore-foot, or the right fore-foot and the left hind-foot, white.

The amble of a native horse is a quiet, quick pace, but not agreeable at first to one accustomed to the paces of horses broken in by Europeans: the Mahratta bit is extremely sharp, and throws a horse well on his haunches.

I have seen a young horse, being taught to amble, with a rope tied to each fetlock; it made him take short steps, moving the two legs of the same side at the same time; it is a natural pace to a horse over-loaded.

Horses in India are usually fastened with two ropes to the head stall, and the two hind-legs have a rope fastened on each fetlock, which rope is secured to a stake behind the animal, long enough to allow of his lying down: these are called āgārī-pichhārī.

In Shakespear’s Dictionary, hirdāwal is mentioned as the name of a defect in horses, and its being a feather or curling lock of hair on the breast, which is reckoned unlucky for the rider.

It is written, speaking of the Prophet Mohammud, “There was nothing his Highness was so fond of, after women, as horses; and after horses as perfumes; and the marks of good horses are these: the best horses are black, with white foreheads, and having a white upper lip; next to that, a black horse, with white forehead and three white legs; next to this is a bay horse of these marks: a bay, with white forehead, white fore and hind legs, is best; and a sorrel with white fore and hind legs is also good. Prosperity is with sorrel horses. I heard the Prophet say, ‘Do not cut the hair of your horses’ foreheads, nor of their necks, nor of their tails; because verily horses keep the flies off with their tails, and their manes cover their necks, and blessings are interwoven with the hair of their foreheads,’ ‘Tie up your horses and make them fat for fighting, and wipe off the dust from their foreheads and rumps; and tie bells to their necks.’”

This latter command is curious, as in the “Rites of Travelling” it is mentioned, “The angels are not with that party with which is a dog, nor with that party with which is a bell.” “A bell is the devil’s musical instrument.” “Kill black dogs having two white spots upon their eyes; for verily this kind of dog is the devil.”

The natives cannot understand why Europeans cut off the tails of their horses, and consider it a disgusting and absurd practice. An officer in the artillery related a story of having sold an old Persian horse, with a tail sweeping the ground, to a friend at Fathīghar. When the sā’īs returned, Captain A⸺ asked him how the horse was liked, and if he was well. “Ahi, Sāhib!” said the sā’īs, “I had no sooner delivered him up than they cut off his tail, and the poor old horse was of such high caste that he could not bear such an indignity, and next morning he died of shame!” “Sharmandī ho mar-gayā.” The English may be a very civilized nation, but this cutting off the tails of their horses, nicking the bone, and scoring fish alive, savour somewhat of barbarism: all that can be urged in its defence is, it is the custom (dastūr).

The natives are extremely superstitious, and delight in incantations. “God save you, uncle!” is the address of a Hindoo to a goblin, of which he is afraid, to prevent its hurting him[8].

Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having heard of the great fame of my cabinet of curiosities, requested some tigers’ claws for the Gaja Rājā. I wrote to a friend in Assam, who sent me a quart of tigers’ claws! regretting he was unable to procure more. If you kill a tiger, the servants steal his claws as quickly as possible to send to their wives to make into charms, which both the women and children wear around their necks. They avert the evil eye and keep off maladies. The Gaja Rājā was pleased at having procured the claws, and her horse’s neck was adorned with some five-and-twenty ornaments or more strung together, each made like the one appended to the chain in the sketch; it must have been valuable, being formed of pure gold.

The charm, No. 1 in the sketch, I had made by my own workman in the bazār, in solid silver, a copy from a necklace worn by the wife of one of my servants Dilmīr Khān. “Not one, but seventy misfortunes it keeps off[9].” The tiger’s claws are tipped and set in silver; the back opens with a hinge, and the Jadu-ke-Bāt, a written charm, is therein concealed, the efficacy of which, added to the claws, ensures certain prosperity to the possessor, and averts the evil eye. No lady in India can wear any thing so valueless as silver, of which the ornaments made for her servants are composed. Whether Musalmānī or Hindoo, the women are delighted with the claws of the tiger. When an amulet, in form like No. 2 in the sketch, is made for a child, two of the teeth of the crocodile are put into it in lieu of tigers’ claws. To-day a child in the Fort met its death by accident. The natives say, “How could it be lucky when it wore no charm to protect it?” Baghnā is the name for the amulet consisting of the teeth and claws of a tiger, which are hung round the neck of a grown-up person or of a child.

The Prophet forbids the use of certain amulets, saying, “Verily, spells, and tying to the necks of children the nails of tearing animals, and the thread which is tied round a wife’s neck, to make her husband love her, are all of the way of the polytheists.”

“It is the custom in Hindoostan to keep a monkey in or near a stable, to guard the horses from the influence of evil eyes. In Persia, the animal so retained is a hog; and in some parts of England, a goat is considered a necessary appendage to a stable, though, possibly, from some other equally fanciful motive.”

The owl is considered an unlucky bird. “One-eyed men have a vein extra[10];” and are supposed to be more knowing than others. And I have before mentioned that an opinion prevails in wild and mountainous parts of India, that the spirit of a man destroyed by a tiger sometimes rides upon his head, and guides him from his pursuers.

I have never seen it done in India, but I have heard from very good authority, that there are men who profess to be able to tame the most vicious horse by whispering into his ear; a man will go up to a violent animal, whisper to it, and the creature will become tranquil. Catlin, in his account of the North American Indians, says: “After having caught a wild horse with a lasso, the Indian gradually advances until he is able to place his hand on the animal’s nose, and over its eyes, and at length to breathe in its nostrils; when it soon becomes docile and conquered, so that he has little else to do than to remove the hobbles from its feet, and lead or ride it into camp.” And in another part of the work, Catlin says: “I have often, in concurrence with a known custom of the country, held my hands over the eyes of the calf, and breathed a few strong breaths into its nostrils; after which I have, with my hunting companions, rode several miles into our encampment, with the little prisoner busily following the heels of my horse the whole way, as closely and as affectionately as its instinct would attach it to the company of its dam! This is one of the most extraordinary things I have met with in this wild country; and although I had often heard of it, and felt unable exactly to believe it, I am now willing to bear testimony to the fact, from the numerous instances I have witnessed since I came into the country.”

In explanation of the coin, marked No. 9, in the plate entitled “[Superstitions of the Natives],” I must give an extract from the letter of a friend:—

“To entertain that amenity so requisite for the obtaining a note from you, I send, under the seal wherewith I seal my letter, ‘a little money,’ as a first instalment. The form of the coin is meant to be octagonal; that form is more evident on those that are larger. Now for the coin’s explanation: It bears the seal of Rajah Gowrinath Singh, who succeeded his father Luckhishingh, in Assam, 1780; he was of a hot temper, and a liberal. After reigning five years, he was expelled by Bhurrethi Moran Rajah of Bengmoran. Gowrinath Singh fled to Gowhatty, and having got the Company to take his part, Captain Wallis was sent with an armed force to reinstate him on the throne; this was performed, but at the cost of incredible destruction of towns, villages, cultivation, and all that sort of thing. Since those days, Assam has been a jungle. Finding Rungpore, his capital, depopulated, Gowrinath caused a palace to be built on the banks of the Deshoi, where he lived in tranquillity ten years; the place became populous, and though the palace has fallen into ruins, it still exists as a town, under the name of Deshoi Khote. Gowrinath Singh died in 1795, having reigned in Assam fifteen years. I will send you his inscription, which is in part only on the coin enclosed; but I must get it from my learned Pundit. Other and older coins are found, both of gold and silver, but of no baser metal; copper appears to have been unknown for that purpose.”

No. 10 is the larger octagonal coin mentioned in the above extract, and was forwarded to me as a second instalment from Assam.

CHAPTER XL.
THE NAWAB HAKĪM MENHDĪ, AND CITY OF KANNOUJ.

Zenāna of the Nawab of Fathīghar—The Nawab Hakīm Menhdī—His Attire and Residence—Shawl Manufactory—The Muharram—Visit to the Zenāna of the Nawab—Lord Brougham—Molineux and Tom Crib—The Burkā—Departure from Fathīghar—Return to Allahabad—Voyage on the Ganges—The Legend of Kurrah—Secunder-al-Sānī—The Satī—A Squall—Terror of the Sarang—The Kalā Nadī—Ruins of Kannouj—The Legend—Ancient Coins—Rose-water—Burning the Dead—Arrival at Fathīghar.

1835, April 15th.—I received an invitation to pay my respects to the Begam Moktar Mahal, the mother of the Nawab of Fathīgar; she is connected with Mulka Begam’s family, but very unlike her, having none of her beauty, and not being a lady-like person. Thence we went to the grandmother of the Nawab, Surfuraz Mahal, in the same zenāna. They were in mourning for a death in the family, and wept, according to dastūr (custom), all the time I was there: they were dressed in plain white attire, with no ornaments; that is their (mátim) mourning. The young Nawab, who is about twelve years old, is a fine boy; ugly, but manly and well-behaved.

The Nawab Mootuzim Adowlah Menhdī Ali Khan Bahādur, commonly called Nawab Hakīm Menhdī, lives at Fathīgar; he was unwell, and unable to call, but he sent down his stud to be shown to me, my fondness for horses having reached his ears.

22nd.—I visited a manufactory for Indian shawls, lately established by the Hakīm to support some people, who, having come from Cashmir, were in distress; and as they were originally shawl manufacturers, in charity he gave them employment. This good deed is not without its reward; three or four hundred workmen are thus supported; the wool is brought from Cashmir, and the sale of the shawls gives a handsome profit. I did not admire them; they are manufactured to suit the taste of the English, and are too heavy; but they are handsome, and the patterns strictly Indian. Colonel Gardner’s Begam said to me one day, at Khāsgunge, “Look at these shawls, how beautiful they are! If you wish to judge of an Indian shawl, shut your eyes and feel it; the touch is the test of a good one. Such shawls as these are not made at the present day in Cashmir; the English have spoiled the market. The shawls made now are very handsome, but so thick and heavy, they are only fit for carpets, not for ladies’ attire.”

26th.—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called, bringing with him his son, a man about forty years of age, called “The General.” He invited me to pay him and the Begam a visit, and wished to show me his residence.

29th.—We drove to the Nawāb’s house, which is a good one; he received us at the door, and took my arm, instead of giving me his. He is a fine-looking old man, older than Colonel Gardner, whom in style he somewhat resembles; his manners are distinguished and excellent. He wore an embroidered cap, with a silver muslin twisted like a cord, and put around it, as a turban; it was very graceful, and his dress was of white muslin. The rooms of his house are most curious; more like a shop in the China bazār, in Calcutta, than any thing else; full of lumber, mixed with articles of value. Tables were spread all down the centre of the room, covered with most heterogeneous articles: round the room were glass cases, full of clocks, watches, sundials, compasses, guns, pistols, swords; every thing you can imagine might be found in these cases.

The Hakīm was making all due preparation for celebrating the Muharram in the most splendid style; he was a very religious man, and kept the fast with wonderful strictness and fortitude. A very lofty room was fitted up as a Taziya Khāna, or house of mourning; from the ceiling hung chandeliers of glass of every colour, as thickly as it was possible to place them, all the length of the spacious apartment; and in this room several taziyas, very highly decorated, were placed in readiness for the ceremony. One of them was a representation of the Mausoleum of the Prophet at Medina; another the tomb of Hussein at Karbala; a third, that of Kasīm; and there was also a most splendid Burāk, a fac-simile of the winged horse, on which the Prophet made an excursion one night from Jerusalem to Heaven, and thence returned to Mecca. The angel Gabriel acted as celestial sā’īs on the occasion, and brought the animal from the regions above. He must have been a fiery creature to control that winged horse; and the effect must have been more than picturesque, as the Prophet scudded along on a steed that had the eyes and face of a man, his ears long, his forehead broad, and shining like the moon; eyes of jet, shaped like those of a deer, and brilliant as the stars; the neck and breast of a swan, the loins of a lion, the tail and the wings of a peacock, the stature of a mule, and the speed of lightning!—hence its name Burāk.

In front of the taziyas and of the flying horse were a number of standards; some intended to be fac-similes of the banner (’alam) of Hussein: and others having the names of particular martyrs. The banners of Alī were denominated, “The Palm of the Hand of Alī the Elect;” “The Hand of the Lion of God;” “The Palm of the Displayer of Wonders;” and “The Palm of the Disperser of Difficulties.” Then there was the “Standard of Fatima,” the daughter of the Prophet, and wife of Alī; also that of Abbās-i-’alam-dār, the standard-bearer; with those of Kasīm, Alī-akbar, and others; the banner of the twelve Imāms; the double-bladed sword of Alī; and the nal-sāhib. There was also the neza, a spear or lance dressed up with a turban, the ends flying in the air, and a lime fixed at the top of it; emblematic, it is said, of Hussein’s head, which was carried in triumph through different cities, by the order of Yuzeed, the King of Shawm.

The nal-sāhib is a horse-shoe affixed to the end of a long pole; it is made of gold, silver, metals, wood, or paper, and is intended as an emblem of Hussein’s horse.

The ’Alam-i-Kasīm, or Standard of Kasīm the Bridegroom, is distinguished by its having a little chatr in gold or silver, fixed on the top of it. All these things were collected in the long room in the house of the Nawāb, ready for the nocturnal perambulations of the faithful.

After the loss of the battle of Kraabaallah, the family of Hussein were carried away captive with his son Zein-ool-Abaīdīn, the only male of the race of Alī who was spared, and they were sent to Medina. With them were carried the heads of the martyrs; and that of Hussein was displayed on the point of a lance, as the cavalcade passed through the cities. In consequence of the remonstrances and eloquence of Zein-ool-Abaīdīn, the orphan son of Hussein, the heads of the martyrs were given to him; and forty days after the battle they were brought back to Kraabaallah, and buried, each with its own body; the mourners then returned to Medina, visited the tomb of the Prophet, and all Medina eventually became subject to Zein-ool-Abaīdīn.

Alī, the son-in-law of Muhammad, was, according to the Shī’as, the direct successor of the Prophet; they not acknowledging the other three caliphs; but, according to the Sunnīs, he was the fourth Khalifa, or successor of Muhammad.

The Muharram concludes on the fortieth day, in commemoration of the interment of the martyrs at Kraabaallah, the name of a place in Irāk, on the banks of the Euphrates, which is also—and, perhaps, more correctly—called Karbalā. At this place the army of Yuzeed, the King, was encamped; while the band of Hussein, including himself, amounting only to seventy-two persons, were on the other side of an intervening jungle, called Mareea.

The Nawāb is a very public-spirited man, and does much good; he took me over a school he founded, and supports, for the education of native boys; showed me a very fine chīta (hunting leopard), and some antelopes, which were kept for fighting. For the public benefit, he has built a bridge, a ghāt, and a sarā’e, a resting-place for travellers; all of which bear his name.

The Begam, having been informed that I was with the Nawāb, sent to request I would pay a visit to the zenāna, and a day was appointed in all due form.

May 3rd.—The time having arrived, the Nawāb came to the house at which I was staying, to pay me the compliment of escorting me to visit the Begam. The Muharram having commenced, all his family were therefore in mourning, and could wear no jewels; he apologized that, in consequence, the Begam could not be handsomely dressed to receive me. She is a pretty looking woman, but has none of the style of James Gardner’s Begam; she is evidently in great awe of the Hakīm, who rules, I fancy, with a rod of iron. The rooms in the zenāna are long and narrow, and supported by pillars on the side facing the enclosed garden, where three fountains played very refreshingly, in which golden fish were swimming. The Begam appeared fond of the fish, and had some beautiful pigeons, which came to be fed near the fountains; natives place a great value upon particular breeds of pigeons, especially those obtained from Lucnow, some of which bring a very high price. It is customary with rich natives to keep a number of pigeons; the man in charge of them makes them manœuvre in the air by word of command, or rather by the motions of a long wand which he carries in his hand, and with which he directs the flight of his pigeons; making them wheel and circle in the air, and ascend or descend at pleasure. The sets of pigeons consist of fifty, or of hundreds; and to fly your own in mock battle against the pigeons of another person is an amusement prized by the natives.

Several large glass cases were filled in the same curious manner as those before mentioned; and the upper panes of the windows were covered with English prints, some coloured and some plain. The Hakīm asked me if I did not admire them? There was Lord Brougham; also a number of prints of half-naked boxers sparring; Molineux and Tom Cribb, &c., in most scientific attitudes; divers characters of hunting celebrity; members of Parliament in profusion; and bright red and blue pictures of females, as Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter:—a most uncouth collection to be displayed around the walls of a zenāna! I was surprised to see pictures in the house of a man considered to be so religious as the Nawāb; because the Prophet said, “Every painter is in hell-fire, and God will appoint a person at the day of resurrection, for every picture he shall have drawn, to punish him in hell. Then, if you must make pictures, make them of trees, and things without souls.” “And whoever draws a picture will be punished, by ordering him to blow a spirit into it; and this he can never do; and so he will be punished as long as God wills.”

“The angels do not enter the house in which is a dog, nor into that in which are pictures.”

I spent an hour in the zenāna, talking to the old Nawāb; the Begam scarcely ventured to speak. He took me over her flower garden, and made me promise I would never pass Fathīghar without paying him a visit. I told him that when the rains arrived, I should come up in the pinnace, having promised to revisit my relatives, when I should have the pleasure of seeing him and the Begam again. He pressed me to stay and see the ceremonies of the Muharram; I regretted extremely I was obliged to return home, being very anxious to see the mourning festival celebrated in all state.

I happened to wear a ferronnière on my forehead; it amused the Begam very much, because it somewhat resembled the tīka worn by the women of the East.

His first Begam, to whom he was much attached, died: he sent her body to Mekka: it went down at sea. This was reckoned a great misfortune, and an omen of ill luck. Four years afterwards he married the present Begam, who was slave girl to the former.

Between the pauses in conversation the Nawāb would frequently have recourse to his rosary, repeating, I suppose, the ninety-nine names of God, and meditating on the attributes of each. In the Qanoon-e-islam it is mentioned, “To read with the use of a tusbeeh (or rosary) is meritorious; but it is an innovation, since it was not enjoined by the prophet (the blessing and peace of God be with him!) or his companions, but established by certain mushaeks (or divines). They use the chaplet in repeating the kulma (confession of faith) or durood (blessing), one, two, or more hundred times.” On the termination of my visit to the zenāna, the Nawāb re-escorted me to the house of the friend with whom I was staying.

For the first time, I saw to-day a person in a burkā walking in the street; it was impossible to tell whether the figure was male or female; the long swaggering strut made me suppose the former. A pointed crown was on the top of the head, from which ample folds of white linen fell to the feet, entirely concealing the person. Before the eyes were two holes, into which white net was inserted; therefore the person within could see distinctly, while even the colour of the eyes was not discernible from without. The burka’-posh, or person in the burka’, entered the house of the Nawāb. The dress afterwards was sent me to look at, and a copy of it was taken for me by my darzī (tailor). It is often worn by respectable women, who cannot afford to go out in a palanquin, or in a dolī.

The Hakīm was fond of writing notes in English, some of which were curious. When the office of Commissioner was done away with, he thought the gentleman who held the appointment would be forced to quit Fathīghar. The old Hakīm wrote a singular note, in which was this sentence: “As for the man who formed the idea of doing away with your appointment, my dear friend, may God blast him under the earth.” However, as the gentleman remained at Fathīghar, and the Government bestowed an appointment equally good upon him, the Hakīm was satisfied. On my return to Allahabad, he wrote to me, and desired me “not to bury his friendship and affection in oblivion.”

4th.—Paid a farewell visit to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior, in the Mahratta Camp, and quitted Fathīghar dāk for Allahabad. A brain fever would have been the consequence, had I not taken shelter during the day, as the hot winds were blowing, and the weather intensely oppressive; therefore I only travelled by night, and took refuge during the day.

5th.—I stopped during the day at the house of a gentleman at Menhdī Ghāt, which was built by the Nawāb, as well as the sarā’e at Naramhow, which also bears his name. From this place I sent to Kannouj for a quantity of chūrīs, i.e., rings made of sealing-wax, very prettily ornamented with gold foil, beads, and colours: the old woman, who brought a large basketful for sale, put a very expensive set on my arms; they cost four ānās, or three pence! The price of a very pretty set is two ānās. My host appeared surprised; he must have thought me a Pakka Hindostanī. Kannouj is famed for the manufacture of chūrīs. I wore the bracelets for two days, and then broke them off, because the sealing-wax produced a most annoying irritation of the skin.

6th.—I spent the heat of the day with some kind friends at Cawnpore, and the next dāk brought me to Fathīpoor. The day after, I spent the sultry hours in the dāk bungalow, at Shāhzadpoor; and the following morning was very glad to find myself at home, after my long wanderings. The heat at times in the pālkee was perfectly sickening. I had a small thermometer with me, which, at 10 A.M., often stood at 93°; and the sides of the palanquin were hot as the sides of an oven. The fatigue also of travelling so many nights was very great; but it did me no harm.

I found Allahabad greatly altered; formerly it was a quiet station, it had now become the seat of the Agra Government, and Mr. Blunt, the Lieut.-Governor, was residing there. I had often heard Colonel Gardner speak in high praise of this gentleman, who was a friend of his. My time was now employed in making and receiving visits, and going to parties.

13th.—At the house of Mr. F⸺ I met the Austrian traveller, Baron H⸺; he requested to be allowed to call on me the next day to see my collection of curiosities. He pronounced them very good, and promised to send me some idols to add to them. I gave him a set of Hindoo toe-rings, the sacred thread of the Brahmans, and a rosary, every bead of which was carved with the name of the god Rām. Men were deceivers ever; the promised idols were never added to my collection. The Lieut.-Governor’s parties, which were very agreeable, rendered Allahabad a very pleasant station.

Aug. 2nd.—I went to the melā (fair) held within the grounds at Papamhow. To this place we had sent the pinnace, the Seagull; and on the 10th of the month my husband accompanied me two days’ sail on my voyage, to revisit my relations at Fathīghar, after which, he returned to Allahabad, leaving me and the great spaniel Nero to proceed together. The daily occurrences of this voyage may be omitted, only recording any adventure that occurred during the course of it. The stream is so excessively powerful, that at times, even with a fine strong breeze and thirteen men on the towing-line, we are forced to quit the main stream, and proceed up some smaller branch, which occasions delay.

Aug. 14th.—Arrived at Kurrah, a celebrated place in former days, I wished to go on shore to see the tomb of Shaikh Karrick, and to have a canter on the black pony, who was to meet me there; but was obliged to give up the idea, because we were compelled to go up the other side of the river in consequence of the violence and rapidity of the stream.

In A.D. 1295, Alla, the son of Feroze, the second King of Delhi, was Governor of Kurrah and Subadar of Oude. Alla made an expedition into the Deccan, and returned laden with spoil. Six hundred mŭn of pure gold; seven mŭn of pearls; two mŭn of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; one thousand mŭn of silver, and four thousand pieces of silk, &c.

The King of Delhi, wishing to share in his nephew’s plunder, came down to Kurrah. Alla met him when his boat touched the bank of the river; and, after the fondest greetings, made a sign to two men, who came forward and murdered the king on the spot.

They relate, that when Alla visited a celebrated sage, Shaikh Karrick, who is buried at Kurrah, and whose tomb is held sacred to this day, he rose from his pillow, and repeated an extempore verse to the following purport:—“He cometh, but his head shall fall in the boat, and his body in the Ganges,” which, they say, was explained an hour afterwards by the death of the King Feroze, whose head was thrown into the boat on that occasion. One of the assassins died of a horrible leprosy, which dissolved the flesh piecemeal from his bones; the other went mad, and incessantly cried out that Feroze was cutting off his head.

This detestable Alla seized the throne of Delhi, and reigned under the title of Alla the First. He proposed, like Alexander the Great, to undertake the conquest of the world. In consequence of this project, he assumed the title of Sekunder al Sānī (Alexander the Second), which was struck upon the currency of the empire. The silver coins represented in the sketch (Fig. 6.) which I procured at Fathīpoor, were found in a field five miles from Kurrah; they were inscribed A.D. 1313, Sekunder al Sānī. Never was there such a wretch as this Alla the First. He died A.D. 1316. I consider the coins as great a curiosity as the gentleman considers one of Thurtell’s ears, which he has preserved in spirits!

16th.—Anchored at Maigong in rather a picturesque spot, close to a satī mound. By the side of the mound I saw the trunk of a female figure beautifully carved in stone. The head, arms, and part of the legs had been broken off. They said it was the figure of a satī. At the back of the mound was a very ancient banyan-tree; and the green hills and trees around were in all the freshness and luxuriance of the rainy season.

The next morning, to my surprise, on going into the large cabin to breakfast, there was the figure of the headless satī covered with flowers, and at the spot where feet were not, offerings of gram, boiled rice, &c., had been placed by some of the Hindoo dāndees. “How came you possessed of the satī?” said I. “The mem sāhiba admired her, she is here.” “Chorī-ke-mal nā’īch hazm hota,” “Stolen food never digests,” i.e., “Ill deeds never prosper, the poor people will grieve for the figure; tell the sarang to lower sail and return her to them.” “What words are these?” replied the sarang, “we are miles from the spot; the satī has raised the wind.” The headless lady remained on board.

As we passed the residence of Rājā Budannath Singh, he came out with his family on three elephants to pay his respects, thinking my husband was on board. The ladies were peeping from the house-top. The pinnace passed in full sail, followed by ten immense country boats full of magazine stores, and the cook boat. Being unable at night to cross those rivers, we anchored on the Oude side. I did not much admire being in the domains of the King of Lucnow instead of those of the Company; they are a very turbulent set, those men of Oude, and often pillage boats. The vicinity of the Rājā’s house was some protection. Rām Din had the matchlocks of the sipahī guard fired off by way of bravado, and to show we were armed; the lathīs (bamboos) were laid in readiness, in case of attack: the watch was set, and, after these precautions, the mem sāhiba and her dog went to rest very composedly.

22nd.—Not a breath of air! a sun intensely hot; the river is like a silver lake; but over its calm the vessel does not glide, for we are fast on a sandbank! Down come the fiery beams; several of the servants are ill of fever. Heaven help them; I doctor them all, and have killed no one as yet! My husband will fret himself as he sits in the coolness of the house and thinks of me on the river. The vessel was in much difficulty this morning; the conductor of some magazine boats sent forty men and assisted her out of it. Lucky it was that chance meeting with the conductor in this Wilderness of Waters! One is sure to find some one to give aid in a difficulty, no doubt through the power of the satī, whom they still continue to adorn with fresh flowers.

25th.—After a voyage of fifteen days and a half I arrived at Cawnpore; coming up the reach of the Ganges, in front of Cantonments, a powerful wind was in our favour. The Seagull gallantly led the way in front of the twelve magazine boats: a very pretty sight for the Cawnporeans, especially as a squall overtook us, struck us all into picturesque attitudes, and sunk one of the magazine boats, containing 16,000 rupees worth of new matchlocks. When the squall struck the little fleet, they were thrown one against another, the sails shivered, and the centre boat sank like a stone. Being an eye-witness of this scene, I was afterwards glad to be able to bear witness, at the request of the conductor, to his good conduct, and the care he took of the boats, when called upon by the magistrate of the place.

28th.—Anchored off Bittoor on the opposite side. I regretted being unable to see the place and Bajee Row, the ex-Peshwā, who resides there on an allowance of eight lākh per annum. In 1818, he submitted to the Company, abdicated his throne, and retired to Bittoor for life. It would have given me pleasure to have seen these Mahrattas; but the channel of the stream forced me to go up the other side of the river.

The Government wish the Bāiza Bā’ī to live at Benares on six lākh a year; but the spirited old lady will not become a pensioner, and refuses to quit Fathīghar. She has no inclination, although an Hindoo, to be satisfied with “A little to eat and to live at Bunarus[11],” especially as at this place she is no great distance from her beloved Gwalior.

Sept. 2nd.—A day of adventures. Until noon, we battled against wind and stream: then came a fair wind, which blew in severe squalls and storms. Such a powerful stream against us; but it was fine sailing, and I enjoyed it very much. At times the squalls were enough to try one’s courage: We passed a vessel that had just broken her mast: the stream carried us back with violence, and we ran directly against her; she crushed in one of the Venetian windows of the cabin, and with that damage we escaped. Two men raising the sail of another vessel were knocked overboard by the squall, and were carried away with frightful velocity, the poor creatures calling for help: the stream swept them past us, and threw them on a sandbank—a happy escape!

Anchored at Menhdī ghāt; the moon was high and brilliant, the wind roaring around us, the stream, also, roaring in concert, like a distant waterfall; the night cold and clear, the stars bright and fine; but the appearance of the sky foretold more wind and squalls for the morrow. I had no idea, until I had tried it, how much danger there was on the Gunga, during the height of the rains; in this vessel I think myself safe, but certainly I should not admire a small one. All the vessels to-day were at anchor; not a sail was to be seen but the white sails of the Seagull, and the dark ones of the cook boat, the latter creeping along the shore, her mānjhī following very unwillingly.

My sarang says the quantity of sail I oblige him to carry during high winds, has turned “his stomach upside down with alarm.”

3rd.—For some hours the next morning the gale continued so violently, we could not quit the bank; a gentleman came on board, and told me, by going up a stream, called the Kalī Nadī, I should escape the very powerful rush of the Ganges; that I could go up the Nadī twenty miles, and by a canal, cut in former days, re-enter the Ganges above.

I asked him to show me the ruins of Kannouj; we put off; it was blowing very hard: at last we got out safely into the middle of the stream. About a mile higher up, we quitted the roaring and rushing waters of the Ganges, and entered the placid stream of the Kalī Nadī. Situated on a hill, most beautifully wooded, with the winding river at its feet, stands the ancient city of Kannouj; the stream flowing through fine green meadows put me in mind of the Thames near Richmond. In the Ganges we could scarcely stem the current, even though the wind, which was fair, blew a gale; in the Nadī we furled every sail, and were carried on at a good rate, merely by the force of the wind on the hull of the vessel, and the non-opposition of the gentle stream. My friend told me he had once thrown a net across the Kalī Nadī, near the entrance, and had caught one hundred and thirty-two great rhoee fish. On the hill above stands the tomb of Colonel ⸺; who, when Lord Lake’s army were encamped here on their road to Delhi, attempted on horseback to swim the Nadī, and was drowned.

In the history of Kannouj, it is said, “Rustum Dista, King of the Persian province of Seistan, conquered India; he, for his great exploits, is styled the Hercules of the East; unwilling to retain so distant an empire as a dependent on Persia, he placed a new family on the throne. The name of the Prince raised to the empire by Rustum was Suraja, who was a man of great abilities, and restored the power of the empire. This dynasty commenced about 1072 years before the Christian æra, and it lasted two hundred and eighty-six years. It is affirmed by the Brahmins, that it was in the time of this dynasty that the worship of emblematical figures of the Divine attributes was first established in India.”

The Persians, in their invasions, they say, introduced the worship of the sun, fire, and the heavenly bodies; but the mental adoration of the Divinity, as the one Supreme Being, was still followed by many.

The great city of Kannouj was built by one of the Surajas, on the banks of the Ganges; the circumference of its walls is said to have been nearly one hundred miles. It contained thirty thousand shops, in which betel-nut was sold; and sixty thousand bands of musicians and singers, who paid a tax to Government. In A.D. 1016, the King of Ghizni took Kannouj, “a city which, in strength and structure, might justly boast to have no equal, and which raised its head to the skies.” It is said, “The Hindostanee language is more purely spoken in Kannouj than in any other part of India.”

We anchored; and after tiffin, Mr. M⸺ accompanied me to see the tombs of two Muhammadan saints, on the top of the hill. Thence we visited a most singular Hindoo building, of great antiquity, which still exists in a state of very tolerable preservation; the style of the building, one stone placed on the top of another, appeared to me more remarkable than any architecture I had seen in India. A further account of this ancient building, with a sketch annexed, will be given in a subsequent chapter.

The fort, which is in ruins, is on a commanding spot; the view from it all around is beautiful. The people sometimes find ancient coins amongst the ruins, and jewels of high value; a short time ago, some pieces of gold, in form and size like thin bricks, were discovered by an old woman; they were very valuable. The Brahmans brought to us for sale, square rupees, old rupees, and copper coins; but none of them were Hindoo; those of copper, or of silver, not being more than three hundred years old, were hardly worth having. I commissioned them to bring me some gold coins, which are usually genuine and good. A regular trade is carried on at this place in the fabrication of silver and copper coins, and those of a mixed metal. The rose-water of Kannouj is considered very fine; it was brought, with other perfumed waters, for sale; also native preserves and pickles, which were inferior. To this day the singers of Kannouj are famous. I am glad I have seen the ruins of this old city, which are well worth visiting; I did not go into the modern town; the scenery is remarkably pretty. I must revisit this place on my black horse; there are many parts too distant from each other for a walk; I returned very much fatigued to the pinnace. A great many Hindoo idols, carved in stone, were scattered about in all directions, broken by the zeal of the Muhammadans, when they became possessed of Kannouj. I shall carry some off should I return this way.

5th.—A hot day, without a breath of air, was followed by as hot a night, during which I could not close my eyes; and a cough tore my chest to pieces.

When we lugāoed, I saw two fires by the side of the stream; from one of which they took up a half-burned body, and flung it into the river. The other fire was burning brightly, and a Hindoo, with a long pole, was stirring it up, and pushing the corpse of his father, or whoever the relation was, properly into the flames, that it might all consume. The nearest relation always performs this ceremony. The evening had gathered in darkly; some fifteen black figures were between us and the sunset, standing around the fire; the palm-trees, and some huts, all reflected in the quiet stream of the Kalī Nadī, had a good effect; especially when the man with the long pole stirred up his bāp (father), and the flames glowed the brighter.

I was glad to get away, and anchor further on, the smell on such occasions being objectionable; it is a horrible custom, this burning the corpse; the poor must always do it by halves, it takes so much wood to consume the body to ashes.

The sirdar-bearer of an officer died; the gentleman desired a small present might be given to his widow, in aid of the funeral. At the end of the month, when the officer’s accounts were brought to him for settlement, he found the following item, “For roasting sirdar-bearer, five rupees!”

Some Hindoos do not burn their dead; I saw a body brought down to the river-side this evening, by some respectable-looking people; they pushed the corpse into the stream, and splashed handfuls of water after it, uttering some prayer.

6th.—After fighting with the stream all day, and tiring the crew to death on sandbanks, and pulling against a terribly powerful current, we were forced back to within two miles of our last night’s anchorage; we have happily found a safe place to remain in during the night; these high banks, which are continually falling in, are very dangerous. Fortunately in the evening, assisted by a breeze, we arrived at the canal; and having passed through it quitted the Kalī Nadī, and anchored in the deep old bed of the Ganges.

7th.—With great difficulty we succeeded in bringing the pinnace to within three miles of Fathīghar, where I found a palanquin in waiting for me; the river being very shallow, I quitted the vessel, and, on my arrival at my friend’s house, sent down a number of men to assist in bringing her up in safety.

CHAPTER XLI.
THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND SCENES IN THE ZENĀNA.

Mutiny in Camp—Murder of the Prisoners—The Mutiny quelled by the Military—Visit to the Zenāna—The Swing of the Gaja Rājā—The Seagull in Parda—The Bā’ī visits the Pinnace—How to dress a Camel—The vicious Beast—Lucky and Unlucky Days—Her Highness ordered to Benares.

1835, Sept. 8th.—A deputation arrived from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, claiming protection from the Agent to the Government, on account of a mutiny in her camp. She was fearful of being murdered, as her house was surrounded by three hundred and fifty mutinous soldiers, armed with matchlocks and their palitas ready lighted. The mutineers demanded seven months pay; and finding it was not in her power to give it to them, they determined to have recourse to force, and seized her treasurer, her paymaster, and four other officers. These unfortunate men they had made prisoners for seven days, keeping them secured to posts and exposed the whole day to the sun, and only giving them a little sherbet to drink. The Agent to the Government having called out the troops, marched down with them to the Mahratta Camp, where they seized the guns.

The mutineers would not come to terms, or lay down their arms. The troops spent the night in the Camp; at daybreak they charged into the zenāna compound, killed eight mutineers, and wounded nine: the guns were fired at the Mahratta horsemen, who were outside; after which the men laid down their arms, and tranquillity was restored.

The magistrate of the station, who had gone in with the troops, was engaged with two of the mutineers, when all three fell into a well; a Mahratta from above having aimed his spear at him, an officer struck the weapon aside and killed the assailant; the spear glanced off and only inflicted a slight wound. The moment Colonel J⸺ charged the mutineers in the zenāna compound, they murdered their prisoners, the treasurer and the paymaster, in cold blood; the other four officers escaped in the tumult. The greater part of her Highness’s troops being disaffected, they could not be trusted to quell the mutiny; she was therefore compelled to ask for assistance. It was feared her troops, which amounted to eighteen hundred, might attempt to plunder the city and station, and be off to Gwalior; and there being only two hundred of the Company’s troops, and three guns at Fathīghar, the military were sent for from other stations, and a large body of police called out. The Bāiza Bā’ī despatched a lady several times to say she wished me to visit her; this was during the time she was a prisoner in her house, surrounded by the mutineers with their matches lighted. The agent for the Government would not allow me to go, lest they should seize and keep me a prisoner with the Bā’ī’s officers. I was therefore obliged to send word I could not obey the commands of her Highness on that account.

Emissaries from Gwalior are at the bottom of all this. The camp was in great ferment yesterday: it would be of no consequence, if we had a few more troops at the station; but two hundred infantry are sad odds against eighteen hundred men, one thousand of whom are horsemen; and they have three guns also.

17th.—Infantry have come in from Mynpooree and cavalry from Cawnpore, therefore every thing is safe in case the Mahrattas should mutiny again.

24th.—The Governor-General’s agent allowed me to accompany him to the camp. He took some armed horsemen from the police as an escort in case of disturbance. The Bāiza Bā’ī received me most kindly, as if I were an old friend. I paid my respects, and almost immediately quitted the room, as affairs of state were to be discussed. The Gaja Rājā took me into a pretty little room, which she had just built on the top of the house as a sleeping-room for herself. Her charpāī (bed) swung from the ceiling; the feet were of gold, and the ropes by which it swung were covered with red velvet and silver bands. The mattress, stuffed with cotton, was covered with red and blue velvet: the cases of three large pillows were of gold and red kimkhwab; and there were a number of small flat round pillows covered with velvet. The counterpane was of gold and red brocade. In this bed she sleeps, and is constantly swung during her repose. She was dressed in black gauze and gold, with a profusion of jewellery, and some fresh flowers I had brought for her were in her hair. She invited me to sit on the bed, and a lady stood by swinging us. The Gaja Rājā has a very pretty figure, and looked most fairy-like on her decorated bed. When the affairs of state had been settled, we returned to the Bā’ī. Rose-water, pān, and atr of roses having been presented, I took my leave.

28th.—I was one of a party who paid a visit of state to her Highness. Nothing remarkable occurred. As we were on the point of taking our departure, the Bā’ī said she had heard of the beauty of my pinnace, and would visit it the next morning. This being a great honour, I said I would be in attendance, and would have the vessel anchored close to the Bā’ī’s own ghāt, at which place she bathes in the holy Ganges. On my return home, a number of people were set hard to work, to fit the vessel for the reception of the Bā’ī. Every thing European was removed, tables, chairs, &c. The floors of the cabins were covered with white cloth, and a gaddī placed in each for her Highness.

29th.—The vessel was decorated with a profusion of fresh flowers; she was drawn up to the ghāt, close to a flight of steps; and the canvas walls of tents were hung around her on every side, so that no spectators could see within. The sailors all quitted her, and she was then ready to receive the ladies of the Mahratta camp. Although I was at the spot at 4 A.M., the Bā’ī and hundreds of her followers were there before me. She accompanied me on board with all her ladies, and on seeing such a crowd in the vessel, asked if the numbers would not sink her. The Bā’ī admired the pinnace very much; and observing the satī, which stood in one corner of the cabin, covered with flowers, I informed her Highness I had brought the headless figure to eat the air on the river; that Ganges water and flowers were daily offered her; that her presence was fortunate, as it brought an easterly wind. The Bā’ī laughed; and, after conversing for an hour, she quitted the vessel, and returned to her apartment on the ghāt. The Gaja Rājā and her ladies went into the inner cabin; Appa Sāhib, the Bā’ī’s son-in-law, came on board with his followers, the vessel was unmoored, and they took a sail on the river. The scene was picturesque. Some hundreds of Mahratta soldiers were dispersed in groups on the high banks amongst the trees; their elephants, camels, horses, and native carriages standing near the stone ghāts, and by the side of white temples. The people from the city were there in crowds to see what was going forward. On our return from the excursion on the river, I accompanied the Gaja Rājā to the Bā’ī; and, having made my salām, returned home, not a little fatigued with the exertion of amusing my guests. During the time we were on the water, Appa Sāhib played various Hindostanee and Mahratta airs on the sitar. It must have been a great amusement to the zenāna ladies, quite a gaiety for them, and a variety in their retired mode of life. They were all in their holiday dresses, jewels, and ornaments. Some wore dresses of bright yellow, edged with red, with black Cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; this costume was very picturesque. The Gaja Rājā wore a dress of black and gold, with a yellow satin tight body beneath it; enormous pearls in profusion, ornaments of gold on her arms, and silver ornaments on her ankles and toes; slippers of crimson and gold.

Oct. 2nd.—The Ganges at Farrukhabad is so full of sandbanks, and so very shallow, that fearing if I detained the pinnace, I might have some chance of being unable to get her down to Cawnpore, I sent her off with half the servants to that place to await my arrival; I shall go dāk in a palanquin, and the rest of the people can float down in the cook boat.

7th.—I called on the Bā’ī; and while she was employed on state affairs, retired with the Gaja Rājā to the pretty little room before mentioned. There I found a Hindoo idol, dressed in cloth of gold, and beads, lying on the floor on a little red and purple velvet carpet. Two other idols were in niches at the end of the room. The idol appeared to be a plaything, a doll: I suppose, it had not been rendered sacred by the Brahmans. An idol is of no value until a Brahman dip it, with divers prayers and ceremonies, into the Gunga; when this ceremony has been performed, the spirit of the particular deity represented by the figure enters the idol. This sort of baptism is particularly expensive, and a source of great revenue to the Brahmans. The church dues fall as heavily on the poor Hindoo, as on the people of England; nevertheless, the heads of the Hindoo church do not live in luxury like the Bishops.

The fakīr, who from a religious motive, however mistaken, holds up both arms, until they become withered and immovable, and who, being, in consequence, utterly unable to support himself, relies in perfect faith on the support of the Almighty, displays more religion than the man, who, with a salary of £8000 per annum, leaves the work to be done by curates, on a pittance of £80 a year.

The Gaja Rājā requested me to teach her how to make tea, she having been advised to drink it for her health; she retired, changed her dress, returned, took her tea, and complained of its bitter taste.

“I am told you dress a camel beautifully,” said the young Princess; “and I was anxious to see you this morning, to ask you to instruct my people how to attire a sawārī camel.” This was flattering me on a very weak point: there is but one thing in the world that I perfectly understand, and that is, how to dress a camel.

“I hope you do not eat him when you have dressed him!” said an English gentleman.

My relative had a fine young camel, and I was not happy until I had superintended the making the attire, in which he—the camel, not the gentleman—looked beautiful! The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, having seen the animal, called, to request he might have similar trappings for his own sawārī camel; and the fame thereof having reached the Mahratta camp, my talents were called into play. I promised to attend to the wishes of the Gaja Rājā; and, returning home, summoned twelve mochīs, the saddlers of India, natives of the Chamār caste, to perform the work. Whilst one of the men smokes the nārjīl (cocoa-nut pipe), the remainder will work; but it is absolutely necessary that each should have his turn every half-hour, no smoke,—no work.

Five hundred small brass bells of melodious sound; two hundred larger ditto, in harmony, like hounds well matched, each under each; and one large bell, to crown the whole; one hundred large beads of imitative turquoise; two snow-white tails of the cow of Thibet; some thousands of cowries, many yards of black and of crimson cloth, and a number of very long tassels of red and black worsted. The mochīs embroidered the attire for three days, and it was remarkably handsome. The camel’s clothing being ready, it was put into a box, and the Gaja Rājā having appointed an hour, I rode over, taking it with me, at 4 A.M.

In the court-yard of the zenāna, I found the Bā’ī, and all her ladies; she asked me to canter round the enclosure, the absurdity of sitting on one side a horse being still an amusing novelty.

The Bā’ī’s riding horses were brought out; she was a great equestrian in her youthful days, and, although she has now given up the exercise, delights in horses. The ladies relate, with great pride, that, in one battle, her Highness rode at the head of her troops, with a lance in her hand, and her infant in her arms!

A very vicious, but large and handsome camel was then brought in by the female attendants; he knelt down, and they began putting the gay trappings upon him; his nose was tied to his knee, to prevent his injuring the girls around him, whom he attempted to catch hold of, showing his great white teeth; if once the jaw of a camel closes upon you, he will not relinquish his hold. You would have supposed they were murdering, not dressing the animal; he groaned and shouted as if in great pain, it was piteous to hear the beast; and laughable, when you remembered it was the “dastūr;” they always groan and moan when any load is placed on their backs, however light. When the camel’s toilet was completed, a Mahratta girl jumped on his back, and made him go round the enclosure at a capital rate; the trappings were admired, and the bells pronounced very musical.

They were eager I should mount the camel; I thought of Theodore Hook. “The hostess said, ‘Mr. Hook, will you venture upon an orange?’ ‘No, thank you, Ma’am, I’m afraid I should tumble off.’” C’est beau çà, n’est pas? I declined the elevated position offered me, for the same reason.

The finest young sawārī camels, that have never been debased by carrying any burthen greater than two or three Persian cats, are brought down in droves by the Arabs from Cabul; one man has usually charge of three camels; they travel in single file, the nose of one being attached to the crupper of another by a string passed through the cartilage. They browse on leaves in preference to grazing. It was a picturesque scene, that toilet of the camel, performed by the Mahratta girls, and they enjoyed the tamāshā.

I mentioned my departure was near at hand; the Bā’ī spoke of her beloved Gwalior, and did me the honour to invite me to pay my respects there, should she ever be replaced on the gaddī. She desired I would pay a farewell visit to the camp three days afterwards. After the distribution, as usual, of betel leaves, spices, atr of roses, and the sprinkling with rose-water, I made my salām. Were I an Asiatic, I would be a Mahratta.

The Mahrattas never transact business on an unlucky day; Tuesday is an unfortunate day, and the Bā’ī, who was to have held a durbār, put it off in consequence. She sent for me, it being the day I was to take leave of her; I found her looking grave and thoughtful, and her sweet smile was very sad. She told me the Court of Directors had sent orders that she was to go and live at Benares, or in the Deccan; that she was to quit Fathīghar in one month’s time, and should she refuse to do so, the Governor-General’s agent was to take her to Benares by force, under escort of troops that had been sent to Fathīghar for that purpose. The Bā’ī was greatly distressed, but spoke on the subject with a command of temper, and a dignity that I greatly admired. “What must the Mahāraj do? Cannot this evil fate be averted? Must she go to Benares? Tell us, Mem sāhiba, what must we do?” said one of the ladies in attendance. Thus called upon, I was obliged to give my opinion; it was an awkward thing to tell an exiled Queen she must submit,—“The cudgel of the powerful must be obeyed[12].” I hesitated; the Bā’ī looked at me for an answer. Dropping the eyes of perplexity on the folded hands of despondency, I replied to the Brija, who had asked the question, “Jiska lāthī ooska bhains,”—i.e. “He who has the stick, his is the buffalo[13]!” The effect was electric. The Bāiza Bā’ī and the Gaja Rājā laughed, and I believe the odd and absurd application of the proverb half reconciled the Mahāraj to her fate.

I remained with her Highness some time, talking over the severity of the orders of Government, and took leave of her with great sorrow; the time I had before spent in the camp had been days of amusement and gaiety; the last day, the unlucky Tuesday, was indeed ill-starred, and full of misery to the unfortunate and amiable ex-Queen of Gwalior.

CHAPTER XLII.
THE MAHRATTAS AT ALLAHABAD.

Zenāna of the Nawāb of Farrukhabad—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī—Hidden Treasures—The Jak—Dak to Cawnpore—The Nawāb of Banda—Returned home in the Seagull—Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor, quitted the Station—Arrival of Mr. Ross—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to Allahabad—Arrival of her Highness—Parties in the Mahratta Camp—Opium-Eating—Marriage Ceremonies of the Hindoos—Procession in Parda—The Bride—Red Gold—The Ex-Queen’s Tents at the Tribeni—The Bathing—Presents to the Brahmans—Arrival of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Sohobut Melā—Illness of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib—Murder of Mr. Frazer—The Bāiza Bā’ī a State Prisoner—The power of Magic.

1835, Oct.—One day I called on the Begam, the mother of the young Nawāb of Farrukhabad, and found her with all her relations sitting in the garden; they were plainly dressed, and looked very ugly. For a woman not to be pretty when she is shut up in a zenāna appears almost a sin, so much are we ruled in our ideas by what we read in childhood of the hoorīs of the East.

One morning, the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called; his dress was most curious; half European, half Asiatic. The day being cold, he wore brown corduroy breeches, with black leather boots, and thick leather gloves; over this attire was a dress of fine white flowered Dacca muslin; and again, over that, a dress of pale pink satin, embroidered in gold! His turban was of gold and red Benares tissue. He carried his sword in his hand, and an attendant followed, bearing his hooqŭ; he was in high spirits, very agreeable, and I was quite sorry when he rose to depart. In the evening, he sent down a charming little elephant, only five years old, for me to ride; which I amused myself with doing in the beautiful grounds around the house, sitting on the back of the little beauty, and guiding him with cords passed through his ears.

The next evening the Nawāb sent his largest elephant, on which was an amārī,—that is, a howdah, with a canopy,—which, according to native fashion, was richly gilt, the interior lined with velvet, and velvet cushions; the elephant was a fast one, his paces very easy, and I took a long ride in the surrounding country.

The Muhammadans have a fondness for archery, for which the following extract accounts:—“There was an Arabian bow in the hand of the Prophet, and he saw a man with a Persian one, and said, ‘Throw away the Persian bow, and adopt the Arabian, and appropriate arrows and spears; because God verily will assist with them in religion, and will make you conquerors of cities.’” “Verily, God brings three persons into Paradise, on account of one arrow; the first, the maker of it, being for war; the second, the shooter of it in the road of God; the third, the giver of the arrow into the hands of the archer.”

“His Highness entered Mecca on the day of taking it with his sword ornamented with gold and silver; and he had two coats of mail on the day of the battle of Oh’ud, and wore one over the other; the Prophet had two standards, one large, the other small; the large one was black, and the small one white; verily, the Prophet came into Mecca with a white ensign.”

We were speaking to-day of the practice of burying money, so much resorted to by the natives, when a gentleman remarked,—“It is a curious circumstance, that when a native buries treasure, in order to secure it, the only persons who know the secret are a low, debased caste, called Chamārs; these men are faithful to their employer; they will bury lākhs of rupees, and never betray the spot; they dig the ground, and guard it; as long as their employer lives they keep the secret; the moment of his death, they dig up, and are off with the money; they consider they have a right to it in that case, and they would not give it up to his son.” This is a curious fact, and accounts for their strict secrecy during the life of the owner.

Buried treasures, consisting of jewels, as well as the precious metals, to the extent of lākhs and lākhs, are supposed to exist in the East; the inhabitants in ancient, and even in modern times, being in the habit of thus securing their property from plunder in wars and invasions; but they have not sufficient faith in their Mother Earth to leave their valuables in her care without the aid of necromancy (jādū); and, as before mentioned, the Akbarābādee, or square gold mohur, as represented by Fig. 7 in the plate entitled “[Superstitions of the Natives],” is had recourse to, and buried with the treasure. Those who are not fortunate enough to possess a square gold mohur, substitute an Akbarābādee rupee, Fig. 5; or a square eight ānā piece, Fig. 4. It is also stated that an animal, sometimes a man, is killed, and buried with it as a guard; this animal is called jak, and receives orders to allow no one else to take up the treasure. It is not surprising the natives should behold the researches of English antiquaries with a jealous eye; and it must be some consolation to them that they believe a fatality awaits the appropriation, by the discoverer, of a hidden treasure.

15th.—Having despatched the pinnace to await my arrival at Cawnpore, I started dāk for that place, which I reached the next day, after a most disagreeable journey; I was also suffering from illness, but the care of my kind friends soon restored me to more comfortable feelings.

22nd.—I accompanied them to dine with the Nawāb Zulfecar Bahādur, of Banda. The Nawāb is a Muhammadan, but he is of a Mahratta family, formerly Hindoos; when he changed his religion, and became one of the faithful, I know not. Three of his children came in to see the company; the two girls are very interesting little creatures. The Nawāb sat at table, partook of native dishes, and drank sherbet when his guests took wine. The next day, the Nawāb dined with the gentleman at whose house I was staying, and met a large party.

24th.—I quitted Cawnpore in the Seagull, and once more found myself on the waters of the Gunga: a comet was plainly visible through a glass; its hazy aspect rendered it a malignant-looking star. The solitude of my boat is very agreeable after so much exertion.

25th.—Anchored off a ship-builder’s yard, and purchased six great trees; sal, shorea robusta, and teak (tectona grandis); what they may turn out I can scarcely tell; I bought them by torch-light, had them pitched into the river, and secured to the boats; the teak trees to make into tables and chairs; the sal for a thermantidote; we have one at home, but having seen one very superior at Fathīghar, induced me to have the iron-work made at that place; I have brought it down upon the boats, and have now purchased the wood for it, en route, timber being reasonable at Cawnpore.

26th.—Here are we,—that is, the dog Nero and the Mem sāhiba,—floating so calmly, and yet so rapidly, down the river; it is most agreeable; the temples and ghāts we are now passing at Dalmhow are beautiful; how picturesque are the banks of an Indian river! the flights of stone steps which descend into the water; the temples around them of such peculiar Hindoo architecture; the natives, both men and women, bathing or filling their jars with the water of the holy Gunga; the fine trees, and the brightness of the sunshine, add great beauty to the scene. One great defect is the colour of the stream, which, during the rains, is peculiarly muddy; you have no bright reflections on the Ganges, they fall heavy and indistinct.

28th.—Lugāoed the pinnace in the Jumna, beneath the great peepul in our garden, on the banks of the river.

31st.—Dined with Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor; and the next day a lancet was put into my arm, to relieve an intolerable pain in my head, brought on by exposure to the sun on the river.

Nov. 6th.—The Lieutenant-Governor gave a farewell ball to the Station, on resigning the appointment to Mr. Ross. The news arrived that her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having been forced to quit Fathīghar, by order of the Government, is on her march down to Benares; at which place they wish her to reside. Una Bā’ī, one of her ladies, having preceded her to Allahabad, called on me, and begged me to take her on board the Calcutta steam-vessel, an object of great surprise to the natives.

9th.—The gentlemen of the Civil Service, and the military at the Station, gave a farewell ball to the Lieutenant-Governor; I was ill, and unable to attend. Oh! the pain of rheumatic fever! The new Lieutenant-Governor arrived; he gave a few dinners, and received them in return; after which Allahabad subsided into its usual quietude, enlivened now and then by a Bachelor’s Ball.

1836, Jan. 16th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī arrived at Allahabad, and encamped about seven miles from our house, on the banks of the Jumna, beyond the city. A few days after, the Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, came to me, to say her Highness wished to see me; accordingly I went to her encampment. She was out of spirits, very unhappy and uncomfortable, but expressed much pleasure at my arrival.

Feb. 5th.—Her Highness requested the steam-vessel should be sent up the river, opposite her tents; she went on board, and was much pleased, asked a great many questions respecting the steam and machinery, and went a short distance up the river. Capt. Ross accompanied her Highness to Allahabad, and remained there in charge of her, whilst her fate was being decided by the Government.

9th.—The Bā’ī gave a dinner party at her tents to twenty of the civilians and the military; in the evening there was a nāch, and fireworks were displayed; the ex-Queen appeared much pleased.

There is a very extensive enclosure at Allahabad, called Sultan Khusrū’s garden; tents had been sent there, and pitched under some magnificent tamarind trees, where a large party were assembled at tiffin, when the Bā’ī sent down a Mahratta dinner, to add to the entertainment. In the evening, her two rhinoceroses arrived; they fought one another rather fiercely; it was an amusement for the party. Captain Ross having quitted Allahabad, Mr. Scott took charge of her Highness.

March 1st.—The Brija Bā’ī called to request me to assist them in giving a dinner party to the Station, for which the Bāiza Bā’ī wished to send out invitations; I was happy to aid her. The guests arrived at about seven in the evening; the gentlemen were received by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the ladies were ushered behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I have never described the parda which protects the Mahratta ladies from the gaze of the men: In the centre of a long room a large curtain is dropped, not unlike the curtain at a theatre, the space behind which is sacred to the women; and there the gaddī of the Bā’ī was placed, close to the parda; a piece of silver, about six inches square, in which a number of small holes are pierced, is let into the parda; and this is covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bā’ī wished to see the gentlemen, her guests, she raised the bit of white muslin, and could then see every thing in the next room through the holes in the silver plate—herself unseen. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bā’ī conversed with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see perfectly well.

Dancing girls sang and nāched before the gentlemen until dinner was announced. Many ladies were behind the parda with the Bāiza Bā’ī, and she asked me to interpret for those who could not speak Urdu. I was suffering from severe rheumatic pain in my face; her Highness perceiving it, took from a small gold box a lump of opium, and desired me to eat it, saying, she took as much herself every day. I requested a smaller portion; she broke off about one-third of the lump, which I put into my mouth, and as it dissolved the pain vanished; I became very happy, interpreted for the ladies, felt no fatigue, and talked incessantly. Returning home, being obliged to go across the country for a mile in a palanquin, to reach the carriage, the dust which rolled up most thickly half choked me; nevertheless, I felt perfectly happy, nothing could discompose me; but the next morning I was obliged to call in medical advice, on account of the severe pain in my head, from the effect of the opium.

The table for dinner was laid in a most magnificent tent, lined with crimson cloth, richly embossed, and lighted with numerous chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next apartment, but within sight of the guests; her Highness and her grand-daughter, from behind the parda, looked on. About two hundred native dishes, in silver bowls, were handed round by Brahmans; and it was considered etiquette to take a small portion from each dish. On the conclusion of the repast, the Governor-General’s agent rose, and drank her Highness’s health, bowing to the parda; and Appa Sāhib returned thanks, in the name of the Bā’ī. The dinner and the wines were excellent; the latter admirably cooled. Fireworks were let off, and a salute was fired from the cannon when the guests departed. Her nephew was there in his wedding dress—cloth of gold most elaborately worked. The Bā’ī expressed herself greatly pleased with the party, and invited me to attend the wedding of her nephew the next day, and to join her when she went in state to bathe in the Jumna. I was very glad to see her pleased, and in good spirits.

March 4th.—This being the great day of the wedding, at the invitation of the Bā’ī we took a large party to the camp to see the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. Having made our salām to her Highness, we proceeded with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile from those of the bridegroom. The ceremony was going on when we entered. The bridegroom, dressed in all his heavy finery, stood amongst the priests, who held a white sheet between him and the bride, who stood on the other side, while they chanted certain prayers. When the prayers were concluded, and a quantity of some sort of small grain had been thrown at the lady, the priest dropped the cloth, and the bridegroom beheld his bride. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, over which was a dopatta of crimson silk, worked in gold stars; this covered her forehead and face entirely, and fell in folds to her feet. Whether the person beneath this covering was man, woman, or child, it was impossible to tell: bound round the forehead, outside this golden veil, was a sihrā, a fillet of golden tissue, from which strings and bands of gold and silver fell over her face. The bridegroom must have taken upon trust, that the woman he wished to marry was the one concealed under these curious wedding garments. It was late at night; we all returned to the Bā’ī’s tent, and the ladies departed, all but Mrs. Colonel W⸺ and myself; the Gaja Rājā having asked us to stay and see the finale of the marriage. The young Princess retired to bathe, after which, having been attired in yellow silk, with a deep gold border, and covered with jewels, she rejoined us, and we set out to walk half a mile to the tents of the bride; this being a part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies, and attendants, Mrs. W⸺, and myself, walked with her in parda; that is, the canvas walls of tents having been fixed on long poles so as to form an oblong inclosure, a great number of men on the outside took up the poles and moved gently on; while we who were inside, walked in procession over white cloths, spread all the way from the tent of the Bā’ī to that of the bride. It was past 10 P.M. Fireworks were let off, and blue lights thrown up from the outside, which lighting up the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies, gave a most picturesque effect to the scene. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her slight form and brilliant attire, looked like what we picture to ourselves a fairy was in the good old times, when such beings visited the earth. At the head of this procession was a girl carrying a torch; next to her a nāch girl danced and figured about; then a girl in the dress of a soldier, who carried a musket and played all sorts of pranks. Another carried a pole, on which were suspended onions, old shoes, and all sorts of queer extraordinary things to make the people laugh. Arrived at the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā seated herself, and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the tent of the bride, where many more ceremonies were performed. During the walk in parda, I looked at Mrs. W⸺, who had accompanied me, and could not help saying, “We flatter ourselves we are well dressed, but in our hideous European ungraceful attire we are a blot in the procession. I feel ashamed when the blue lights bring me out of the shade; we destroy the beauty of the scene.”

I requested permission to raise the veil and view the countenance of the bride. She is young, and, for a Mahratta, handsome. The Bā’ī presented her with a necklace of pure heavy red gold; and told me she was now so poor she was unable to give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then presented to all her ladies. We witnessed so many forms and ceremonies, I cannot describe one-fourth of them. That night the bridegroom took his bride to his own tents, but the ceremonies of the wedding continued for many days afterwards. I returned home very much pleased at having witnessed a shādī among the Hindoos, having before seen the same ceremony among the Muhammadans.

The ex-Queen had some tents pitched at that most sacred spot, the Treveni, the junction of the three rivers; and to these tents she came down continually to bathe; her ladies and a large concourse of people were in attendance upon her, and there they performed the rites and ceremonies. The superstitions and the religion of the Hindoos were to me most interesting subjects, and had been so ever since my arrival in the country. Her Highness was acquainted with this, and kindly asked me to visit her in the tents at the junction whenever any remarkable ceremony was to be performed. This delighted me, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing the worship, and conversing on religious subjects with the ladies, as well as with the Brahmans. The favourite attendant, the Brija Bā’ī never failed to call, and invite me to join their party at the time of the celebration of any particular rite. At one of the festivals her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies assembled there: the tents were pitched close to the margin of the Ganges, and the canvas walls were run out to a considerable distance into the river. Her Highness, in her usual attire, waded into the stream, and shaded by the kanāts from the gaze of men, reached the sacred junction, where she performed her devotions, the water reaching to her waist. After which she waded back again to the tents, changed her attire, performed pooja, and gave magnificent presents to the attendant Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the ex-Queen to the sacred junction, as they returned dripping from the river, their draperies of silk and gold clung to their figures; and very beautiful was the statue-like effect, as the attire half revealed and half concealed the contour of the figure.

15th.—The hot winds have set in very powerfully; to-day I was sent for by the Bāiza Bā’ī, who is in tents; great sickness is prevalent in the camp, and many are ill of cholera.

22nd.—Sir Charles Metcalfe arrived to reside at Allahabad, on his appointment to be Lieutenant-Governor of Agra. The hot winds are blowing very strongly; therefore, with tattīs, the house is cool and pleasant; while, out of doors, the heat is excessive. Her Highness, having been unable to procure a house, still remains encamped; the heat under canvas must be dreadful.

May 1st.—She sent for me, and I found the Gaja Rājā ill of fever, and suffering greatly from the intense heat.

May 9th.—Was the Sohobut Melā, or Fair of Kites, in Alopee Bāgh; I went to see it; hundreds of people, in their gayest dresses, were flying kites in all directions, so happily and eagerly; and under the fine trees in the mango tope, sweetmeats, toys, and children’s ornaments, were displayed in booths erected for the purpose. It was a pretty sight, that Alopee ke Melā.

The kites are of different shapes, principally square, and have no tails; the strings are covered with mānjhā, a paste mixed with pounded glass, and applied to the string, to enable it to cut that of another by friction. One man flies his kite against another, and he is the loser whose string it cut. The boys, and the men also, race after the defeated kite, which becomes the prize of the person who first seizes it. It requires some skill to gain the victory; the men are as fond of the sport as the boys.

The string of a kite caught tightly round the tail of my horse Trelawny, and threatened to carry away horse and rider tail foremost into mid-air! The more the kite pulled and danced about, the more danced Trelawny, the more frightened he became, and the tighter he tucked in his tail; the gentleman who was on the horse caught the string, and bit it in two, and a native disengaged it from the tail of the animal. A pleasant bite it must have been, that string covered with pounded glass! Yah! yah! how very absurd! I wish you had seen the tamāshā. In the evening we dined with Sir Charles Metcalfe; he was residing at Papamhow. He told me he was thinking of cutting down the avenue of nīm trees (melia azadirachta), that led from the house to the river; I begged hard that it might be spared, assuring him that the air around nīm trees was reckoned wholesome by the natives, while that around the tamarind was considered very much the contrary. In front of my rooms, in former days, at Papamhow, was a garden, full of choice plants, and a very fine young India-rubber tree; it was pleasant to see the bright green of the large glossy leaves of the caoutchouc tree, which flourished so luxuriantly. In those days, many flowering trees adorned the spot; among which the katchnar (bauhinia), both white and rose-coloured and variegated, was remarkable for its beauty. Sir Charles had destroyed my garden, without looking to see what trees he was cutting down; he had given the ruthless order. I spoke of and lamented the havoc he had occasioned; to recompense me, he promised to spare the avenue; which, when I revisited it years afterwards, was in excellent preservation.

14th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent for me in great haste; she was in alarm respecting the Gaja Rājā, who was ill of epidemic fever. Having lost her daughter, the Chimna Bā’ī, of fever, when she was driven out of Gwalior by her rebellious subjects, she was in the utmost distress, lest her only remaining hope and comfort, her young grand-daughter, should be taken from her. I urged them to call in European medical advice; they hesitated to do so, as a medical man might neither see the young Princess, nor feel her pulse. I drove off, and soon returned with the best native doctress to be procured; but, from what I heard at the consultation, it may be presumed her skill is not very great.

The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī is very ill; I fear his days are numbered.

The murder of Mr. Frazer, by the Nawāb Sumshoodeen, at Delhi, who bribed a man called Kureem Khan to shoot him, took place when I was at Colonel Gardner’s; no one could believe it when suspicion first fell upon the Nawāb; he had lived on such intimate terms with Mr. Frazer, who always treated him like a brother. The Nawāb was tried by Mr. Colvin, the judge, condemned and executed. The natives at Allahabad told me they thought it a very unjust act of our Government, the hanging the Nawāb merely for bribing a man to murder another, and said, the man who fired the shot ought to have been the only person executed. On Sunday, the 13th March, 1835, Kureem Khan was foiled in his attempt on Mr. Frazer’s life, as the latter was returning from a nāch, given by Hindoo Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī. He accomplished his purpose eight days afterwards, on the 22nd of the same month. In the Hon. Miss Eden’s beautiful work, “The Princes and People of India,” there is a sketch of Hindoo Rāo on horseback; his being the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī is perhaps his most distinguishing mark; I have understood, however, he by no means equals the ex-Queen of Gwalior in talent.

June 7th.—Sir Charles Metcalfe gave a ball to the station: in spite of all the thermantidotes and the tattīs it was insufferably hot; but it is remarkable, that balls are always given and better attended during the intense heat of the hot winds, than at any other time.

9th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent word she wished to see me ere her departure, as it was her intention to quit Allahabad and proceed to the west: a violent rheumatic headache prevented my being able to attend. The next morning she encamped at Padshah Bāgh, beyond Allahabad, on the Cawnpore road, where I saw her the next evening in a small round tent, entirely formed of tattīs. The day after she quitted the ground and went one march on the Cawnpore road, when the Kotwal of the city was sent out by the magistrate to bring her back to Allahabad, and she was forced to return. Her grand-daughter is very ill, exposed to the heat and rains in tents. I fear the poor girl’s life will be sacrificed. Surely she is treated cruelly and unjustly. She who once reigned in Gwalior has now no roof to shelter her: the rains have set in; she is forced to live in tents, and is kept here against her will,—a state prisoner, in fact.

The sickness in our farm-yard is great: forty-seven gram-fed sheep and lambs have died of small-pox; much sickness is in the stable, but no horse has been lost in consequence.

25th.—Remarkably fine grapes are selling at one rupee the ser; i.e., one shilling per pound. The heat is intolerable; and the rains do not fall heavily, as they ought to do at this season. The people in the city say the drought is so unaccountable, so great, that some rich merchant, having large stores of grain of which to dispose, must have used magic to keep off the rains, that a famine may ensue, and make his fortune!

CHAPTER XLIII.
TŪFĀNS IN THE EAST.

A Storm on the Jumna—An Amazonian Mahratta Lady—Putlī Coins—The Mint at Gwalior—East India Company’s Rupees—Departure of Sir Charles Metcalfe—Murder of two Ladies in a Zenāna—The Steamer and Tug—Rajmahal Tiger—Cotton Seed—Nagapanchmee—Wreck of the Seagull—A fierce Tūfān—Arrival of Sir Henry Fane—Visit to the Bāiza Bā’ī—River Voyage to Calcutta—Chunar—The God Burtreenath—Ghāt of Appa Sāhib—Ghāt of the Bāiza Bā’ī—Her Treasury seized by the Government—The Chiraghdanīs—The Minarets—Native Merchants—Kimkhwāb Manufactory—The Junéoo—House of the Bāiza Bā’ī—The Iron Chests of Gold Mohurs—Rooms full of Rupees, of Copper Coins, and of Cowries—Vishwŭ-Kŭrma, the Architect of the Gods.

1836, June 28th.—A hurricane has blown ever since gun-fire; clouds of dust are borne along upon the rushing wind; not a drop of rain; nothing is to be seen but the whirling clouds of the tūfān. The old peepul-tree moans, and the wind roars in it as if the storm would tear it up by the roots. The pinnace at anchor on the Jumna below the bank rolls and rocks; the river rises in waves, like a little sea. Some of her iron bolts have been forced out by the pressure of the cables, and the sarang says, she can scarcely hold to her moorings. I am watching her unsteady masts, expecting the next gust will tear her from the bank, and send her off into the rushing and impetuous current. It is well it is not night, or she would be wrecked to a certainty. I have not much faith in her weathering such a tūfān at all, exposed as she is to the power of the stream and the force of the tempest. High and deep clouds of dust come rushing along the ground, which, soaring into the highest heaven, spread darkness with a dull sulphureous tinge, as the red brown clouds of the tūfān whirl swiftly on. It would almost be an inducement to go to India, were it only to see a hurricane in all its glory: the might and majesty of wind and dust: just now the fine sand from the banks of the river is passing in such volumes on the air, that the whole landscape has a white hue, and objects are indistinct; it drives through every crevice, and, although the windows are all shut, fills my eyes and covers the paper. It is a fearful gale. I have been out to see if the pinnace is likely to be driven from her moorings. The waves in the river are rolling high with crests of foam; a miniature sea. So powerful were the gusts, with difficulty I was able to stand against them. Like an Irish hurricane it blew up and down. At last the falling of heavy rain caused the abatement of the wind. The extreme heat passed away, the trees, the earth, all nature, animate and inanimate, exulted in the refreshing rain. Only those who have panted and longed for the fall of rain can appreciate the delight with which we hailed the setting in of the rains after the tūfān.

3rd.—This morning the Bā’ī sent down two of her ladies, one of whom is a celebrated equestrian, quite an Amazon: nevertheless, in stature small and slight, with a pleasant and feminine countenance. She was dressed in a long piece of white muslin, about eighteen yards in length; it was wound round the body and passed over the head, covering the bosom entirely: a part of it was brought up tight between the limbs, so that it had the appearance of full trousers falling to the heels. An embroidered red Benares shawl was bound round her waist; in it was placed a sword and a pistol, and a massive silver bangle was on one of her ancles. Her attendants were present with two saddle horses, decked in crimson and gold, and ornaments of silver, after the Mahratta fashion. She mounted a large bony grey, astride of course, and taking an extremely long spear in her hand, galloped the horse about in circles, performing the spear exercise in the most beautiful and graceful style at full gallop; her horse rearing and bounding, and showing off the excellence of her riding. Dropping her spear, she took her matchlock, performing a sort of mimic fight, turning on her saddle as she retreated at full gallop, and firing over her horse’s tail. She rode beautifully and most gracefully. When the exhibition was over, we retired to my dressing-room: she told me she had just arrived from Juggernāth, and was now en route to Lahore to Runjeet Singh. She was anxious I should try the lance exercise on her steed, which I would have done, had I possessed the four walls of a zenāna, within which to have made the attempt.

What does Sir Charles Metcalfe intend to do with the poor Bā’ī? what will be her fate? this wet weather she must be wretched in tents. The Lieutenant-Governor leaves Allahabad for Agra, in the course of a day or two.

In the evening I paid my respects to her Highness. I happened to have on a long rosary and cross of black beads; she was pleased with it, and asked me to procure some new rosaries for her, that they might adorn the idols, whom they dress up, like the images of the saints in France, with all sorts of finery.

She showed me a necklace of gold coins, which appeared to be Venetian: the gold of these coins is reckoned the purest of all, and they sell at a high price. The natives assert they come from the eastward, and declare that to the East is a miraculous well, into which, if copper coins be thrown, they come out after a time the very purest of gold. In the sketch entitled “[Superstitions of the Natives],” No. 8 represents a coin of this enchanted well: they are called Putlī, and the following extract makes me consider them Venetian:—

“It was in the reign of John Dandolo, 1285, that gold zecchini (sequins) were first struck in Venice. But before they could be issued, the Doge had to obtain the permission of the Emperor and the Pope. These zecchini bore the name and image of the Doge, at first seated on a ducal throne, but afterwards he was represented standing; and, finally, in the latter times of the Republic, on his knees, receiving from the hands of St. Mark the standard of the Republic.”

The necklace, which was a wedding present to the bride, consisted of three rows of silken cords, as thickly studded with these coins as it was possible to put them on, the longest string reaching to the knees: it was very heavy, and must have been valuable. Another Mahratta lady wore a necklace of the same description, but it consisted of a single row, which reached from her neck to her feet: people less opulent wear merely one, two, or three putlīs around the neck.

An old Muhammadan darzī of the Shī’ā sect asked me one morning to be allowed to go to the bazār to purchase a putlī (a doll) to bind upon his forehead, to take away a violent pain in his head. This request of his puzzled me greatly: at the time I was ignorant that putlī was also the name of the charmed coin, as well as that of a doll. He told me he had recovered from severe headache before in consequence of this application, and believed the remedy infallible. The Bā’ī mentioned that she struck mohurs and half mohurs at Gwalior, in her days of prosperity. I showed her some new rupees struck by the East India Company, with the king’s head upon them, which, having examined, she said, “These rupees are very paltry, there is so little pure silver in them.”

5th.—The ladies of the station held a fancy fair at the theatre for the benefit of the Blind Asylum, which realized one hundred and eighty pounds.

8th.—Sir Charles quitted this station for Agra, leaving Allahabad to return to its usual routine of quietness. The thermantidotes have been stopped, rain has fallen plentifully, the trees have put on their freshest of greens, and the grass is springing up in every direction. How agreeable, how pleasant to the eye is all this luxuriant verdure!

The report in the bazār is, that a native of much wealth and consideration went into his zenāna tents, in which he found two of his wives and a man; the latter escaped; he killed both the women. A zenāna is a delightful place for private murder, and the manner in which justice is distributed between the sexes is so impartial! A man may have as many wives as he pleases, and mistresses without number;—it only adds to his dignity! If a woman take a lover, she is murdered, and cast like a dog into a ditch. It is the same all the world over; the women, being the weaker, are the playthings, the drudges, or the victims of the men; a woman is a slave from her birth; and the more I see of life, the more I pity the condition of the women. As for the manner in which the natives strive to keep them virtuous, it is absurd; a girl is affianced at three or four years old, married, without having seen the man, at eleven, shut up and guarded and suspected of a wish to intrigue, which, perhaps, first puts it into her head; and she amuses herself with outwitting those who have no dependence upon her, although, if discovered, her death generally ends the story.

27th.—How weary and heavy is life in India, when stationary! Travelling about the country is very amusing; but during the heat of the rains, shut up in the house, one’s mind and body feel equally enervated. I long for a bracing sea breeze, and a healthy walk through the green lanes of England; the lovely wild flowers,—their beauty haunts me. Here we have no wild flowers; from the gardens you procure the most superb nosegays; but the lovely wild flowers of the green lanes are wanting. Flowering trees are planted here on the sides of the roads, and I delight in bringing home a bouquet.

A steamer comes up every month from Calcutta; she tows a tug, that is, a large flat vessel, which carries the passengers. The steamers answer well; but what ugly-looking, mercantile things they are!

I must give an extract from the letter of a friend, describing an adventure, such as you would not meet with in the green lanes of Hampshire:—“The boat was getting on slowly, and I went into the hills at Rajmahal, to get a deer or peacock or jungle-fowl, in fact, something for the kitchen. Some way in the interior I heard a queer noise, which one of my servants said was a deer; as I could not draw the shot in my gun (which is a single barrel flint) to substitute a ball, having only a make-shift ramrod, I consoled myself that the shot was large, and pushed on in the direction of the noise, which still continued. As I came on the upper end of a hollow in the side of the hill, filled with jungle and long grass, some animal jumped up at about fifteen yards in front; he was evidently large, and what the great composers of the ‘Sporting Magazine’ term, of a fulvous colour; he was decidedly, in the opinion of the beaters, a very heavy deer, of three or four mŭns. Hark forward! was now the word, as the same great composers would again say; we crossed a hollow road, entered the jungle on the opposite side, a little below the direction the animal had taken, and had not gone fifteen yards when up rose, without hurry, a handsome large tiger, just out of arm’s length, and a little from behind me; his gait was slunk and shuffling; I saw at once that he was going from me, and, owing to that circumstance, I passed in review his sleeky flank and black stripes with much pleasure. I was a good deal excited, it being my first wild beast sight au naturel; I almost felt an inclination to slap my shot at him.”

The sketch, entitled “[The Spring Bow],” was taken in the Rajmahal hills, not far from the jungle in which my friend saw the tiger; the bête sauvage represented in it might perhaps have been the very one whose sleeky flank and black stripes he viewed with so much pleasure.

August.—The cows are now in the finest order possible; they are fed on Lucerne grass and cotton seed, and go out grazing. The cotton seed is considered very fattening for cattle; it is separated, by the aid of a very simple machine, from the fine white cotton in which it is immersed in the cells of the capsule; and this work is usually performed by women. Butter is made every morning and evening; and, now and then, a cream cheese. The butter is very fine, of a bright yellow colour, and the cream cheese excellent. The extra butter having been clarified, and sealed down in jars, keeps good for twelve months.

9th.—Nagapanchmee: This day is sacred to the demigods, in the form of serpents; the natives smear the doors of their houses with cow-dung and nīm-leaves, to preserve them from poisonous reptiles. Nīm-leaves are put amongst shawls and clothes, and also in books, to defend them from moths and insects.

23rd.—During the night it began to blow most furiously, accompanied by heavy rain and utter darkness; so fierce a tūfān I never witnessed before. It blew without cessation, raining heavily at intervals; and the trees were torn up by their roots. At 4 A.M. the storm became so violent, it wrecked twenty large native salt boats just below our house; the river roared and foamed, rising in high waves from the opposition of the wind and stream. Our beautiful pinnace broke from her moorings, was carried down the stream a short distance, driven against the broken bastions of the old city of Prag, which have fallen into the river, and totally wrecked just off the Fort; she went down with all her furniture, china, books, wine, &c., on board, and has never been seen or heard of since; scarcely a vestige has been discovered. Alas! my beautiful Seagull; she has folded her wings for ever, and has sunk to rest! We can only rejoice no lives were lost, and that we were not on board; the sarang and khalāsīs (sailors) swam for their lives; they were carried some distance down the stream, below the Fort, and drifted on a sandbank. The headless image of the satī, that graced the cabin, had brought rather too much wind. When the sarang lamented her loss, I could only repeat, as on the day he carried off the lady, “Chorī ke mal nā’īch hazm hota,”—stolen food cannot be digested: i.e. ill deeds never thrive.

The cook-boat was swamped. On the going down of the river, although she was in the mud, with her back broken, she was sold, and brought the sum we originally gave for her when new;—such was the want of boats, occasioned by the numbers that were lost in the storm! The next morning, three of the Venetians and the companion-ladder of the pinnace were washed ashore below the Fort, and brought to us by a fisherman. We were sorry for the fate of the Seagull; she was a beautifully built vessel, but not to be trusted, the white ants had got into her. The mischief those white ants do is incalculable; they pierce the centre of the masts and beams, working on in the dark, seldom showing marks of their progress outside, unless during the rains. Sometimes a mast, to all appearance sound, will snap asunder; when it will be discovered the centre has been hollowed by the white ants, and the outside is a mere wooden shell. Almost all the trees in the garden were blown down by the gale.

Sept. 6th.—I visited the Mahratta camp, to witness the celebration of the anniversary of the birth of Krishnŭ; an account of the ceremonies and of the life of Kaniyā-jee shall be given in a separate chapter.

Oct. 19th.—The Commander-in-Chief, Sir Henry Fane, arrived; his tents are pitched before the Fort, on the side of the Jumna; the elephants, the camels, and the horses in attendance form a picturesque assemblage, much to my taste.

21st.—The station gave a ball to Sir Henry and his party; he is a magnificent-looking man, with good soldier-like bearing, one of imposing presence, a most superb bow, and graceful speaking. I admire his appearance, and think he must have merited his appellation, in olden times, of the handsome aide-de-camp.

27th.—Sir Henry Fane reviewed the troops of the station, and a ball took place in the evening, at the house of Mr. Fane, the brother of the Commander-in-Chief. A few days afterwards, the ladies of his family requested me to accompany them to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, which I did with much pleasure, and acted as interpreter.

Nov. 3rd.—We dined with Sir Henry in camp, and he promised to show me tiger-shooting in perfection, if I would accompany his party to Lucnow.

7th.—Some friends anchored under our garden, on their way to Calcutta; the sight of their little fleet revived all my roaming propensities, and, as I wished to consult a medical man at the Residency, in whom I had great faith, I agreed to join their party, and make a voyage down the river. The Bāiza Bā’ī was anxious to see my friends; we paid her a farewell visit; she was charmed with Mr. C⸺, who speaks and understands the language like a native, and delighted with the children.

13th.—Our little fleet of six vessels quitted Allahabad, and three days afterwards we arrived at Mirzapore, famous for its beautiful ghāts and carpet manufactories.

17th.—Anchored under the Fort of Chunar, a beautiful object from the river; it was not my intention to have anchored there, but the place looked so attractive, I could not pass by without paying it a visit. The goats and sheep, glad to get a run after their confinement in the boat, are enjoying themselves on the bank; and a boy, with a basket full of snakes (cobra di capello), is trying to attract my attention. In the cool of the evening we went into the Fort, which is situated on the top of an abrupt rock, which rises from the river. The view, coming from Allahabad, is very striking; the ramparts running along the top of the rising ground, the broad open river below; the churchyard under the walls, on the banks of the Gunga, with its pretty tombs of Chunar stone rising in all sorts of pointed forms, gives one an idea of quiet, not generally the feeling that arises on the sight of a burial-place in India; the ground was open, and looked cheerful as the evening sun fell on the tombs; the hills, the village, the trees, all united in forming a scene of beauty. We entered the magazine, and visited the large black slab on which the deity of the Fort is said to be ever present, with the exception of from daybreak until the hour of 9 A.M., during which time he is at Benares. Tradition asserts that the Fort has never been taken by the English, but during the absence of their god Burtreenath. We walked round the ramparts, and enjoyed the view. The church, and the houses which stretch along the river-side for some distance, and the Fort itself, looked cheerful and healthy; which accounted for the number of old pensioners to be found at Chunar, who have their option as to their place of residence.

As you approach Benares, on the left bank of the river, stands the house of the Rājā of Benares, a good portly looking building. The appearance of the Holy City from the river is very curious, and particularly interesting. The steep cliff on which Benares is built is covered with Hindoo temples and ghāts of all sizes and descriptions; the first ghāt, built by Appa Sāhib, from Poona, I thought handsome; but every ghāt was eclipsed by the beauty of the one which is now being built by her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī; the scale is so grand, so beautiful, so light, and it is on so regular a plan, it delighted me; it is the handsomest ghāt I have seen in India; unfinished as it is, it has cost her Highness fifteen lākh; to finish it will cost twenty lākh more; should she die ere the work be completed it will never be finished, it being deemed unlucky to finish the work of a deceased person. The money, to the amount of thirty-seven lākh, which the Bā’ī had stored in her house at Benares, to complete the ghāt, and to feed the Brahmāns, whose allowance was two hundred rupees, i.e. £20 a day, has been seized by the Government, and put into the Company’s treasury, where it will remain until the point now in dispute is settled; that is, whether it belong to the Bā’ī or to her adopted son, the present Mahārāj of Gwalior, who forced her out of the kingdom. Several Hindoo temples are near this ghāt; a cluster of beauty. Two chiraghdanīs, which are lighted up on festivals, are curious and pretty objects; their effect, when glittering at night with thousands of little lamps, must be beautiful, reflected with the temples, and crowds of worshippers on the waters below; and great picturesque beauty is added to the scene by the grotesque and curious houses jutting out from the cliff, based on the flights of stone steps which form the ghāts. How I wished I could have seen Benares from the river during the Dewalī, or Festival of Lights! At sunset we went up the Minarets, built by Aurunzebe; they are considered remarkably beautiful, towering over the Hindoo temples; a record of the Muhammadan conquest.

On my return to my budjerow, a number of native merchants were in waiting, hoping to dispose of their goods to the strangers; they had boxes full of Benares turbans, shawls, gold and silver dresses, kimkhwāab, and cloth of gold. This place is famous for its embroidery in gold, and for its tissues of gold and silver. I purchased some to make a native dress for myself, and also some very stiff ribbon, worked in silk and gold, on which are the names of all the Hindoo deities; the Hindoos wear them round their necks; they are holy, and called junéoo. The English mare and my little black horse met me here, en route to Calcutta.

The Bāiza Bā’ī told me by no means to pass Benares without visiting her ghāt and her house; some of her people having come down to the river, I returned with them to see the house; it is very curiously situated in the heart of the city. Only imagine how narrow the street is which leads up to it; as I sat in my palanquin, I could touch both the sides of the street by stretching my arms out, which I did to assure myself of its extreme narrowness. All the houses in this street are five or six stories high. We stopped at the house of the Bā’ī; it is six stories high, and was bought by her Highness as a place in which to secure her treasure. It is difficult to describe a regular Hindoo house such as this; which consists of four walls, within and around which the rooms are built story above story; but from the foundation to the top of the house there is a square in the centre left open, so that the house encloses a small square court open to the sky above, around which the rooms are built with projecting platforms, on which the women may sit, and eat the air, as the natives call it, within the walls of their residence. I clambered up the narrow and deep stone stairs, story after story, until I arrived at the top of the house; the view from which was unique: several houses in the neighbourhood appeared much higher than the one on which I was standing, which was six stories high. The Mahratta, who did the honours on the part of her Highness, took me into one of the rooms, and showed me the two chests of cast iron, which formerly contained about eighteen thousand gold mohurs. The Government took that money from the Bā’ī by force, and put it into their treasury. Her Highness refused to give up the keys, and also refused her sanction to the removal of the money from her house; the locks of the iron chests were driven in, and the tops broken open; the rupees were in bags in the room; the total of the money removed amounted to thirty-seven lākh. Another room was full of copper coins; another of cowries; the latter will become mouldy and fall into dust in the course of time. One of the gentlemen of the party went over the house with me, and saw what I have described. Atr and pān were presented, after which we took our leave and proceeded to the market-place. The braziers’ shops were open, but they refused to sell any thing, it being one of the holidays on which no worker in brass is allowed to sell goods.

The worship of Vishwŭ-kŭrma, the son of Brŭmha, the architect of the gods, was perhaps being performed. On that day blacksmiths worship their hammer and bellows; carpenters, the mallet, chisel, hatchet, saw, &c.; washermen, their irons; and potters, the turning-wheel, as the representative of this god. The festival closes with singing and gaiety, smoking and eating.

19th.—The hour was too early, and but few shops were open, which gave a dull look to this generally crowded and busy city.

The air is cool and pleasant; we float gently down the river; this quiet, composed sort of life, with a new scene every day, is one of great enjoyment.

I must not forget to mention that, after a considerable lapse of time, the treasure that was detained by the Government on behalf of the young Mahārāj of Gwalior, was restored to her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī.

CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SPRING-BOW.

Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nāwab of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghāt—Buxar—The Stud—Bulliah Melā—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming an Elephant—A Day too late for the Fair—Hājīpūr—The Gunduc river—Thieves—Futwa—Tarie-trees—Monghir—The Seeta Khoond—Janghīra—Mosque and Graves—Rocks of Kuhulgaon—Desertion of the Dāndees—Sikrī-galī—An Adventure in the Hills of Rajmahal—Tiger Tracks—The Spring-bow—By’ā Birds—The Hill-man—Poisoned Arrows—The Thumb-ring—Bauhinia Scandens.

1836, Nov. 21st.—Arrived early at Ghāzīpūr, the town of Ghāzī, also called, as the Hindūs assert, Gādhpūr, from Gādh, a Rājā of that name. We went on shore to view the tomb of a former Governor-General, the Marquis Cornwallis, who lies buried here, aged sixty-seven. The sarcophagus is within a circular building, surmounted by a dome, and surrounded by a verandah; it is of white marble, with appropriate figures in half relief by Flaxman; in front is a bust of the Marquis; the coronet and cushion surmount it; the iron railings are remarkably handsome and appropriate; the whole is surrounded by a plantation of fine young trees, and kept in excellent order; in front is a pedestal, intended, I should imagine, for a statue of the Marquis. The view from the building is open and pretty; it is situated in the cantonment on the banks of the Ganges. There are four figures in mourning attitudes on the tomb, in half relief; that of a Brahmān is well executed. The pakka houses of the European residents at Ghāzīpūr, stretching along the river’s side, have a pleasing effect.

The ruins of the palace of the Nawāb of Ghāzīpūr are situated on a high bank, in front of which the rampart, with four bastions, faces the river. The house is falling into ruins. I admired it very much, the plan on which it is built is charming; what a luxurious abode during the hot winds! It is situated on a high bank overlooking the Gunga; in the centre is an octagonal room; around this, four square rooms alternate with four octagonal rooms, which are supported on light and handsome arches. There are no walls to the rooms, but each is supported on arches. Around the centre room is a space for water, and a great number of fountains played there in former times. Between the arches hung rich pardas; how delightfully suited to the climate! Imagine the luxury of sitting in the centre room, all the air coming in cooled by the fountains, and screened from the glare by the rich pardas! One of the octagonal rooms has fallen in completely. A gentleman of our party, not finding any game in the surrounding fields, shot five anwarī fish that were sporting about on the surface of the river. Rose-water and cloth was brought for sale in abundance. The fields by the river-side are in parts a perfect Golgotha, strewn with human skulls. The Company’s stud is here, but we did not visit it.

Off the village of Beerpūr I saw from ten to twenty satī mounds, under some large trees by the river-side; the idea of what those wretched women must have suffered made me shudder.

Off Chounsah I was most thoroughly disgusted; there is on the bank of the river a murda ghāt, or place for burning the dead bodies of the Hindūs; about twenty charpāīs (native beds) were there cast away as unclean, the bodies having been carried down upon them. Some of the bodies had hardly been touched by the fire, just scorched and thrown into the water. The dogs and crows were tearing the flesh from the skeletons, growling as they ate, to deter other dogs that stood snarling around from joining in the meal. A gentleman fired at them, drove off some of the dogs, and killed others; you have no idea how fierce and hungry the wretches were; a bullet from a musket only scared them for a moment, and then they returned to the corpse. I was glad to get beyond the murda ghāt; the sight and smell of such horrors made me ill.

Anchored at Buxar, and visited the stud; the only stable I went into was a most admirable one, lofty, airy, ventilated, clean, and spacious. It contained two hundred horses, all looking clean, and in excellent condition; the horses in this stable are all three years old, remarkably fine young animals. You may have the choice of the stable for £100, i.e. 1000 rupees; these horses ought to be good, they come from the best imported English, Arab, and Persian horses, and are reared with great care. The animals stand in a long line, without any separation or bar between them in the stable; the head is tied to the manger, the heels at liberty, no heel-ropes. They appear perfectly quiet, although they stand so close to each other. About six hundred horses are at Buxar, and more on the other side of the river; I derived much pleasure from seeing the stud at this place, and regret I did not visit that at Ghāzīpūr. Every day, from 7 to 8 A.M., the whole of the young horses are turned loose into a paddock, to run and gallop about at pleasure; it must be a pretty sight.

23rd.—The melā at Bulliah is held on this day, the last of the month of Kartik. The scene for five miles was very gay; a great Hindū fair and bathing day; boats full of people going to the fair, numbers on the cliff, and crowds in the river, at their devotions,—an animated scene. The gentlemen are firing ball at the great crocodiles, as they lie basking on the sandbanks; they have killed a very large one. When crocodiles are cut open, silver and gold ornaments are sometimes found in the interior; the body of a child—the whole body—was found in a crocodile, a short time ago, at Cawnpore.

25th.—This morning our little fleet passed the Soane river at its junction with the Ganges; I went on deck to look at the kala panī, the black water, as the natives call it, on account of the deep blue tinge of the Soane, which forms a strong contrast to the dingy milky hue of the stream of the Gunga. In this river, agates, amethysts, cornelians, &c., are found. Crossing the river, which was considerably agitated by a very powerful wind, to go to the fair at Hājīpūr, I saw a man apparently standing on the waters in the centre of the river; it was blowing a stiff gale; the man stood in an erect and easy position. On coming nearer I perceived he was standing on the back of an elephant; the whole of the animal’s body, with the exception of his head, was under water; he put up the end of his trunk every now and then, and was swimming boldly and strongly forward directly across the enormous river. The wind blew so heavily, it was surprising the man could keep his balance; he held a string in one hand, the other contained the ankus, with which the mahāwat drives his elephant; the string was, perhaps, the reins fastened in the animal’s ears, with which they often guide them.

On the evening of the 25th we arrived at Hājīpūr; it was very provoking to see all the tents being struck, and the vessels going down the stream, as we were rowing up it,—a day too late for the fair. Hājīpūr is situated at the junction of the Gunduc with the Ganges; the Gunduc is such a rapid stream, it is hardly possible to stem it, at least with a foul wind, such as we had at the time of our arrival. We went on shore, and procured provisions; returning, we crossed the Gunduc in a boat hollowed out of the stem of a tree,—not a very safe sort of concern, but very common on the Ganges.

What an uncomfortable night I spent! awakened every half-hour by the falling in of the sandbank to which my budgerow was moored; I feared my cook boat would have been swamped. In the middle of the night a great cry was raised of “Chor, Chor!” and a number of people rushed down to seize a thief, who was floating down the rapid Gunduc, with a gharā (an earthen pot) over his head; a trick common to thieves, that they may pass unperceived. I got up, hearing the noise, and looked out of the cabin window; seeing a man in the water close under the window, and imagining him to be one of the sailors, I said, “What is all this noise about?” The thief, for it was he, finding he was not concealed by the shadow of the vessel, swam off; and, although a boat pursued him, he escaped by either crossing the Ganges or floating down it. These thieves are most wonderfully skilful, and infest the great fairs of India; my servants say he had a large box with him in the water, and floated down upon it; it was stolen from the tent of a rich native.

Off the village of Futwa I purchased a quantity of Patna tablecloths, napkins, and cloth; the manufactory is at this place; and the people bring their goods off to the passing vessels.

The whole way from Allahabad to Patna the fan palm trees (borassus flabelliformis) are extremely scarce; immediately below Patna the river’s bank is covered with them. The natives call them tar or tarie trees; the juice is used as leaven for bread, also as urruk. A single leaf is sufficient to form the large hand pankhās used by the bearers, and paper is also manufactured from the tarie tree. They add greatly to the picturesque and Eastern beauty of the scene.

29th.—Arrived at Monghir: the place looks very well from the river with its old Fort. On anchoring we were assailed by a number of people, all anxious to sell their goods,—chairs, work-tables, boxes, straw bonnets and hats, birds in cages, forks, knives, guns, pistols, baskets, kettles; and to the noise of such a collection of people, all howling and shouting, was added the whining of a host of beggars.

We went on shore, and walked through the bazār, buying a number of queer things. After tiffin we proceeded in palkees to the Seetā Khoond, about five miles from Monghir, the road very good, date and palm trees in abundance; and the country around Seetā’s Well makes one imagine that one is approaching the sea-shore; there is a remarkably volcanic appearance in the rocks. The Seetā Khoond is a brilliantly clear spring of boiling hot water, which bubbles and boils up most beautifully, and is enclosed in a large space, with steps descending to the water. I never saw so beautiful a spring, or such living water! There are four springs close to it, but they are all of cold water, and have none of the clearness or beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water is contained in an enclosure of stone, in which it rises up sparkling and bubbling from its rocky bed. The steps on which you stand are very hot, and a hot steam rises from the surface; the water is so clear you can see the points at which it springs up from its bed of rock. The stream from the Seetā Khoond is constantly flowing into the jheel below in a little rivulet, that gradually widens, and in which the presence of the hot water is perceptible in a cold morning for about one hundred yards from the spring.

Several years ago, an artilleryman attempted for a wager to swim across the basin, and although he succeeded in getting over, it was necessary to convey him to an hospital, where he died within a few hours from the effect of the hot water; not having tested it by a thermometer, I cannot tell the precise heat. The Brahmāns say, so holy is the well, by the power of the goddess Seetā, that, although boiling, it performs the miracle of keeping rice and eggs thrown into it in an uncooked state. I saw a great quantity of rice which remained unswollen in the water; not being a pious Hindū, I conclude the water to be below the boiling point.

A pretty Hindū temple has been erected close to the spring, dedicated to Seetā, in which are four idols; one of the god Rām, his beloved Seetā, his brother Lutchman, and their champion the monkey god Hoonumān; in the verandah is also a statue of Hoonumān. I put the points of my fingers into the water, but the heat was too near the scalding point to allow of my putting in my hand; the view from the spring is remarkably beautiful; in front is a jheel, a large space of shallow water, bounded by the Kurrukpūr mountains at various distances; these mountains are rather rocks than mountains, and the stones took all sorts of grotesque forms as the sun declined behind them. On the right and left of the spring were rocks, which appeared to have been thrown up by an earthquake. The jheel looking like a place in which snipe and wild ducks would be plentiful, one of the party took his gun and shot over it, but had no sport; the morning is the time for finding birds there. I walked half-way down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at the spring, with the dark green mango tope behind, and the wild-looking, rocky scenery on either side, had a pleasing effect. The palkee-bearers told me, in the centre of the opposite mountains, the Kurrukpūr, about six miles from the Seetā Khoond, there is a hot spring, called Reeçee Khoond, which, from being in the jungles, is little known; that every third year a fair is held there, when people assemble to bathe and do pooja. My friends filled many bottles at the spring; it is necessary to bring corks, as they are not procurable at Monghir. The water is so pure, it keeps like the Bristol water on a long voyage; people returning to England make a point of stopping here on that account.

30th.—We anchored at the Fakīr’s rock at Janghīra. The abode of the Fakīr is on a high bold rock, rising abruptly in the midst of the stream, completely isolated; the temple is placed on the very summit; there are four small temples also a little below; some large trees spring from the crevices of the rock: the whole reflected in the Ganges, with the village of Janghīra beyond, and the mountains of Karrak in the distance, form a good subject for the pencil. On the outside, carved on the solid rock, are a great number of Hindoo images; amongst them, one of Narasingh is very conspicuous, tearing open the bowels of the king who disbelieved the omnipresence of the Deity. We passed over in a little boat to see this temple; the fakīrs showed it with great good will, and gained a small reward. There is a remarkably fine tree, the plumeria alba, springing from the side of the rock, the goolachin or junglee champa, as the natives call it. On our return to the main land, we climbed a cluster of rocks, just opposite Janghīra; on the summit of these rocks, which are well wooded, stand the ruins of an ancient mosque; no one inhabits the place; the view from the platform is remarkably good. The graves of the Kāzī Biskermee’s family are there; the Kāzī formerly lived there, but I could not gain much information from our guide on the subject. The little burial-ground, with its eleven graves, looked so quiet, and afar from the turmoil of the world, I took a fancy to the spot. There must, or there ought to be, some little history attached to this picturesque mosque and its ruined graves; it stands on a high rock, well wooded, rising abruptly from the Ganges.

Dec. 1st.—We quitted the Janghīra rocks ere daybreak, with a fair wind, and floated down the stream most agreeably; in the evening we arrived at Colgong, which presents much picturesque beauty; four rocky islands of considerable height, rock piled on rock, rise and stretch across the centre of the Ganges. As we sailed past them, I saw five or six of the smallest, lightest, and most fairy-looking little boats gliding about the rocks, in which men were fishing; the fish are large, excellent, and abundant. No one resides on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon, commonly called Colgong, is situated under some hills, and prettily wooded. The cook boat not having arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his gun off, to direct the men where to find us; the sound was returned from the rocks four times, distinctly and loudly, with an interval of four or five seconds between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr. ⸺ killed a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a curious-looking animal, with a most intelligent little face; the body was covered with hair; its leathern wings measured from tip to tip three feet eight inches and a half.

No one ought to take up-country dāndees; they ensure much plague and trouble. The Bengalees having their homes in Calcutta, do not desert going down the river. At Monghir the mānjhī and six dāndees deserted to their homes; this detained and annoyed us.

2nd.—Early in the evening we anchored at Sickrī-galī, a place close upon the Rajmahal Hills, and went out shooting. The dāndees, with long poles, accompanied us to beat the bushes. The people say wild beasts often come to this place at night, and a few miles below there is good tiger shooting; we found no game, being too near the village: had we proceeded further into the hills, we must have had some sport in the wild country around them. Night came on ere we regained the boats.

THE SPRING BOW.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

3rd.—Mr. ⸺ sallied forth with his beaters to try the marshy plain under the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning tempted me out, and the first person whom I saw was an indigo planter standing near his bungalow, the only European dwelling-house at the place. On asking him where good shooting was to be found, he said the road the gentleman had taken was one in which game of all sorts abounded, but that on account of tigers it was dangerous. He showed me the marks of tiger’s paws in his garden. His account rather gave me a curiosity to see the sort of plain where such animals may be found; and with a chaprāsī, and a bearer carrying a large chatr, I took the road to the rocks. After a very long walk, we came to a most suspicious-looking spot, surrounded by very high jungle-grass, beyond which stretched the deep woods and hills of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot frequented by tigers, here they may be found;” and we pushed through the heavy jungle grass from nine to twelve feet in height, and so thick it was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” said the man, “and here, on its edge, the prints fresh on the marshy soil of the feet of a tiger! Look, look, mem sāhiba, it is true, it is true, here they are!” I forced a passage for myself through the grass, and saw the foot-marks. “He who has never seen a tiger, let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen a thief, let him look at a butcher[14].”

My anxiety to see a bête sauvage, a royal Bengal tiger, in his native wilderness, making me forgetful that his presence might prove dangerous, induced me to scan the jungle on every side. “Are we likely to see a tiger?” said I to the man. “Not at this hour, mem sāhiba, see, the sun is high in heaven;” pointing to the hill, “they are up there in the recesses of the mountain, in the shade of the deep forests; when the shadows of evening fall, if the mem sāhiba will return to this spot she will be sure to see the tigers, at that hour they come down to quench their thirst at this water.” At night, on my return to the boats, I remembered the words of the chaprāsī, but did not feel inclined to go out on such a “will-you-come-and-be-killed” expedition.

On this spot the baghmars, (tiger killers,) set up the spring-bow with a poisoned arrow: the bow is made of strong bamboo, supported on two cross sticks, to one end of which a string is fastened that crosses the wild beast’s track; as soon as the tiger touches the cord in crossing it to the water’s edge, it releases the bow-string, and the arrow, being immediately discharged with great force, enters the body of the beast just about the height of his heart. A poisoned arrow was thus set for a tiger in Assam, who was found dead sixty yards from the spot—so quickly does the deadly poison take effect. A further account of this bow will be found in a subsequent chapter. The place was one of great interest; the water was surrounded by the high grass; on one side was a cluster of forest trees, and beneath them the slight and delicate bābul. The By’ā birds were flitting about; they delight in placing their long nests on the extreme end of the slight branches of the bābul, pendant over a stream or pool for security. For a further account of these sagacious little birds, see [vol. i. page 220].

The bright sunshine, the deep reflections on the water, the idea that there was danger lurking around, all combined to render this picturesque and secluded spot one of great interest.

The dāndees from the boats that anchor at Sikrī-galī, go up the hills in gangs to cut wood for firing, and bring it down in great quantities. Following their track, I soon joined the party who were shooting snipes in the marsh at the foot of the hills, and at the moment of my arrival, Mr. ⸺ was busily pulling the leeches off his ancles, which had stuck to them in passing through the water. Being fagged with the walk, I got a hackery from a village; it is a sort of cart made of bamboos with small, heavy, clumsy, wooden wheels, drawn by two bullocks. Seated in this conveyance, I desired the man to drive me into the hills. My bones were half dislocated, bumping up and down in such a jungle of a place, over high stones that all but upset the cart, or through the marsh in which the bullocks sometimes being unable to keep on their feet, took six or seven steps on their knees; it was a marvel how the little animals got on, or through such places as we crossed. I went deep into the hills, admiring the beautiful climbers that were in the greatest profusion, and the bearer gathered all the novelties, which made me quite happy in my cart, surrounded by specimens new to me. At last the driver said he could proceed no further; therefore I walked up the hill some distance until I was fagged: the view was very pleasing, looking down the valley over the plain to the Ganges, where the vessels were sailing past. At a bright running stream I gladly quenched my thirst, having taken no breakfast, and it being now nearly eleven A.M. Mounted on my bone-breaking cart, I rejoined my friend, who had only killed five snipe and another bird. He saw but one black partridge, no deer; the game was very scarce.

Elephants here are absolutely necessary to enable a man to enjoy shooting amidst the high grass and thorny thickets. The place is so much disturbed by the people who go into the hills for wood, that the game retreat farther into the jungle. Had we had an elephant, we might have found a tiger; until I have seen one in his own domains, I shall not sleep in peace. The khidmatgārs arrived on a cart with bread, meat, tea, and wine. It being one P.M., and the sun powerful, we seated ourselves under a tree, and made an excellent breakfast, which was most refreshing after such a ramble.

As we were tossing the bones to the little spaniels, we met with an adventure, which, bringing for the second time in my life uncivilized beings before me, quite delighted me. The footpath from the interior of the hills led to the place where we were seated. Down this path came a most delightful group, a family of savages, who attracted my attention by the singularity of their features, the smallness and activity of their bodies, their mode of gathering their hair in a knot on the top of their heads, and their wild-looking bows and arrows. We called these good-natured, gay-looking people around us; they appeared pleased at being noticed, and one of the women offered me some young heads of Indian corn, which she took from a basket she carried on her head containing their principal provision, this boiled and mashed Indian corn. She also carried a child seated astride upon her hip. A child is rarely seen in a woman’s arms, as in Europe. The same custom appears to have existed amongst the Jews: “Ye shall be borne upon her sides, and dandled upon her knees.”—Isaiah.

The party consisted of a man and three boys, apparently eight, twelve, and sixteen years of age, two women, and a little girl. The man said he had come from a place four coss within the hills, by our calculation eight miles, but hill measurement of distance being generally liberal, I should suppose it double that distance. Their descent at this time to the plains, was to help in gathering in the present crop of uncut rice, for which purpose the owners of the fields had asked them to come down. The man appeared to be about five feet in height, remarkable for lightness and suppleness of limb, with the piercing and restless eye that is said to be peculiar to savages. His countenance was round and happy; the expression had both cunning and simplicity; the nose depressed between the eyes, and altogether a face that one laughed to look at. His black hair drawn tight up in a knot on the very top of the head, the ends fastened in with a wooden comb. His only clothing a small piece of linen bound around his middle. He carried a bow of hill bamboo, the string of which was formed out of the twisted rind of the bamboo, and the four arrows were of the common reed, headed with iron barbs of different shapes; one of the barbs was poisoned. The hill-man said he had bought the poison into which the barb had been dipped of a more remote hill tribe, and was ignorant of its nature: he begged us not to handle the point. The natives will not mention the name of the plant from which the poison is procured; it appears to be a carefully-guarded secret. On each arrow were strips of feather from the wing of the vulture. The boy was similarly dressed, and armed. The woman, who carried the child, appeared to be the favourite from the number of ornaments on her person. She was extremely small in stature, but fat and well-looking. Unlike the women of the plains, she wore no covering on her head, and but little on her body. Two or three yards of cloth were around her waist, and descended half way below the knees; whilst a square of the same was tied over her shoulders like a monkey mantle; passed under the left arm it was drawn over the bosom, and the ends tied on the shoulder of the right arm. Her hair was tied up in the same fashion as the man’s. Around the rim of each ear were twenty-three thin ear-rings of brass; and three or four necklaces of red and white beads hung down to her waist in gradations. Her nose-ring was moderately large in circumference, but very heavy, pulling down the right nostril by its weight; it was of silver, with four large beads, and an ornament of curious form. She had thick purple glass rings on her arms, called churees, of coarse manufacture, and other ornaments which I forget, something of the same sort.

She talked openly and freely. I took the man’s bow, and shot an arrow after the English fashion; at which the whole family laughed excessively, and appeared to think it so absurd that I should not draw a bow in the style of a mountaineer. I begged the man to show me the proper method; he put a sort of ring on my thumb, placed my right forefinger straight along the arrow, and bid me draw it by the force of the string catching on the thumb-ring. I did so, and shot my arrow with better aim than when pursuing the English method. His happiness was great on my giving him a rupee for a bow, two arrows, one of which was the poisoned one, and the thumb-ring. He said his employment consisted principally in shooting animals at night by laying in wait for them. He crouched down on the ground to show the way of laying in wait for wild hogs. On seeing a hog near, he would immediately spring to his feet and shoot his arrow, drawing it quite to the head. Sometimes they kill hogs with poisoned arrows; nevertheless they feed upon the animals, taking care to cut out the flesh around the arrow the instant the hog falls. He told us he had but one wife, his tirī, the hill-man’s name for wife, whom he had left at home; perhaps the tirī was an abbreviation of istirī, or tiriyā, wife.

After our long conversation with the savages we bade them adieu, and my parting present was a pink silk handkerchief for his tirī in the Hills. We returned at two P.M. to the boats, completely fagged, with the accompaniment of headaches from the heat of the sun: unmoored the vessels, and with a good breeze reached Rajmahal at dark. During our absence some hill-men came to the boats, and offered bows to the dāndees, begging in exchange a piece of linen. They parted with them afterwards for one halfpenny a piece. I must not omit to mention the magnificent wild climber, the Cachnár, Bauhinia scandens, which I gathered in the pass. The leaves are of immense size, heart-shaped, and two lobed: they collapse during the night. It is called Bauhinia from two botanical brothers, John and Caspar Bauhin, who, like its leaves, were separate and yet united. The Cachnár at Allahabad is a beautiful tree, but its leaves are not so luxuriantly large as those of the wild creeper of the Rajmahal Hills. A cold bath and a late dinner restored me to comfortable feelings, and thus ended my adventures, and a happy day in the Hills of the Sikrī-galī Pass.

CHAPTER XLV.
THE RUINS OF GAUR.

Sporting at Rajmahal—Ruins of the Palace of the Nawāb—Brahmanī Ducks—The Ruins of Gaur—The Dakait—An Adventure—Beautiful Ruins—Pān-gardens—The Kadam Sharīf—Curious Coins—Jungle Fever—Casowtee Stone—Fields of the Mustard Plant—Ancient Bricks—Fakīrs tame Alligators—Salt Box—An Account of the Ruins of Gaur.

1836, Dec. 4th.—Early this morning Mr. S⸺ crossed the river opposite Rajmahal, with his beaters and two little spaniels; he killed six brace of birds, but was unable to secure more than seven of them, from the jungly nature of the ground; the birds are partridges of a particular sort, only found, sportsmen say, at Rajmahal and one other place in India, the name of which I forget. At one spot the beaters were uncertain whether they saw a stranded boat or an alligator; it was a magar, the snub-nosed alligator. Mr. S⸺ put a bullet into his body about the fore-paw, the animal turned over in the river with a great splash, beating up the mud with his tail in his agony, and disappeared under the water. The magars are bold and fierce, the crocodiles timid, and it is supposed they do not venture to attack mankind; nevertheless, young children have been found in their bodies when caught.

During this time I rambled over the ruins of the old palace, which is fast falling into the river; the principal rooms still standing now contain a quantity of coal, the warehouse of the steamers; it must have been a handsome building in former days; the marble floor of the mosque remains, and a fine well. My guide told me that at Gaur is a fine place, belonging to this Nawāb, now in ruins. All around Rajmahal is a beautiful jungle of magnificent bamboos; such fine clumps, interspersed with date palm trees, overshadowing the cottages, around which were a number of small cows, and fowls of a remarkably good breed; every thing had an air of comfort. The walks in all directions were so cool and pleasing, that it was very late ere I could induce myself to return to breakfast. The inhabitants of this pleasant jungle are accounted great thieves; an idea quite the contrary is given from the comfortable appearance of their cottages under the clumps of bamboos, close to the river, which is covered with vessels passing up and down.

5th.—The ruins of the ancient city of Gaur are laid down as at no very great distance from the Ganges. We were very anxious to visit the place, and therefore, quitting the Ganges, entered the little river, the Baugruttī sotā, up which, at the distance of half a mile, is the village of Dulalpūr: off the latter place we moored our vessels, being unable to proceed higher up from the shallowness of the water.

We explored the nālā in a dinghee, a small boat, and seeing two wild fowl (murghābī), I requested my companion to shoot one. “They are Brahmanī ducks, I do not like to kill them,” he replied; I persisted; he fired, and shot the male bird, the chakwā, it fell into the nālā, close to the boat; the hen bird, utterly unmindful of the gun, flew round and round the dinghee, uttering the most mournful cries over the dead body of her mate; poor bird, with merciful cruelty we let her live;—never again will I separate the chakwā, chakwī. The following is an extract from Forbes’ Hindūstanī Dictionary:—“Duck (wild) chākwī, chakaī. This is the large duck or goose, well known in India by the name of Brahmanī goose or duck, and in the poetry of the Hindūs, is their turtle-dove, for constancy and connubial affection, with the singular circumstance of the pair having been doomed for ever to nocturnal separation, for having offended one of the Hindū divinities in days of yore; whence—

“Chakwā chakwī do jane ... in mat māro ko,e;

Ye māre kartār ke ... rain bichhorā ko,e.”

(Let no one kill the male or female chakwā;

They, for their deeds, are doomed to pass their nights in separation.)

“According to the popular belief, the male and female of these birds are said to occupy the opposite banks of a water or stream regularly every evening, and to exclaim the live-long night to each other thus:—

“Chākwī, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwā.

Chakwā, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwī.”

The dārogha, the head man of the adjacent village, came down to the boats to make salām, and offered me the use of two horses for visiting Gaur; and a gentleman from the indigo factory of Chandnī Kothī, two miles distant, had the kindness to say he would lend me an elephant.

Dec. 6th.—Early in the morning a man was seen watching and lurking about the boats; therefore I desired the khidmatgār to put as few spoons and forks on the breakfast-table as possible, lest the sight of silver might bring thieves to the boats at night: the suspicious-looking man carried in his hand a long and peculiarly shaped brass lota, a drinking-vessel.

The dārogha sent the horses, and the elephant arrived, with an invitation to our party to go to the factory, where we found Mr. S⸺ very weak, recovering from jungle fever; but his friend, Mr. M⸺, promised to show us the ruins. They detained us to tiffin at 3 P.M., after which, my side-saddle having been put on one of the horses, I was ready to start; when Mr. M⸺ recommended my going on the elephant, on account of the deepness of the swamps we should have to pass over. Accordingly I mounted the elephant; a number of men attended us, amongst whom were three hill-men, with their bows and arrows; Mr. M⸺ mounted his horse; we went on, and lost sight of him. The factory is situated in the midst of jungle, the ground park-like around, good trees, a great number of tanks of fine water, and a large space of morass in different directions, filled with high jungle grass. My companion took his gun, he is an excellent shot; nevertheless, on account of the unusual motion on a pad, from the back of the elephant he missed his game most strangely. We started by far too late, in spite of which we saw eight wild boars, three hog deer, one black partridge, two snipe, and nine or ten monkeys. Mr. M⸺ did not join us, and we marvelled at his non-appearance. On our return he assisted me as I descended the ladder from the back of the kneeling elephant, and said he had been almost murdered. He related that he quitted the house, and having gone half a mile, was looking for us, when a man tending cows called to him, and said, “A party on an elephant are gone that way.” Mr. M⸺ turned his horse to the point indicated, when the cowherd struck him two blows with a stick, which almost knocked him from his horse; as the fellow aimed the third blow, Mr. M⸺ wrenched the stick from his hand, and cut his forehead open with a blow over the eye. The dākait, or dākū, for he was a robber by profession, ran away; the gentleman followed. The dākait, who had a brass vessel full of water in his hand, swung it round most dexterously from the end of a string, not suffering the water to escape, and sent it right at Mr. M⸺; it missed him, and fell on the horse’s head. The robber then seized him by the collar, and pulled him from his horse; they struggled together, trying to throttle each other, and the dākū hit him severely in several places; at last Mr. M⸺ made him a prisoner, returned to the factory, and having bound his arms, he secured him to a pillar in the verandah, tying his long hair also to the post, to prevent his escape. We returned from the shooting expedition just after all this had happened, and found the ground at the man’s feet covered with blood; he appeared to be a daring and resolute character. On being questioned as to his motives by the gentlemen, he pretended not to understand Hindūstanī, and to be an idiot. I went alone into the verandah: “O, my grandmother, my grandmother! Nānī Ma, Nānī Ma, save me!” exclaimed the man; “did I not bring you milk this morning?” “Yes,” said my bearer, “that is true enough; I know the man by the peculiar shape of his brass lota; he was lurking about the vessel, and when spoken to said he had brought milk; the khidmatgār took it for his own use, refusing to give me a portion.” This was the man I had observed in the morning; he was remarkably well formed, light and active, with muscles well developed; the beauty of his form was not hidden by any superfluous clothing, having merely a small portion of linen around his loins; his body was well oiled, and slippery as an eel,—a great advantage in a personal struggle, it being scarcely possible to retain hold on a well-oiled skin. He told me he had been sent by an indigo-planter from the other side of the river, to take Mr. M⸺’s life. On mentioning this to the gentlemen, I found the men of his factory on the opposite side the river had quarrelled about a well with the men of another factory, and in the affray, one of Mr. M⸺’s hill-men had run the head man of the opposite party right through the body with an arrow; it was unknown whether it had proved fatal, and Mr. M⸺ had crossed the river, awaiting the result of the unfortunate affair. It was supposed the dākait had been on the watch for some time, prowling about the place as a cowherd, and attacked the indigo-planter, finding him alone and far from his servants, the latter having proceeded with the party on the elephant. The robber tending the cows was serving under the orders of the dārogha of the village, who had lent me the horses; I was informed the latter was a regular dākait, and was recommended to remove my boats from the vicinity of his village, which, I understand, is full of robbers, and close to Dulalpūr. We returned to our boats; this most disagreeable adventure made me nervous; the guns and pistols were looked to, that they might be in readiness in case of attack; it was late at night, and I proposed crossing to the other side of the Ganges; but the manjhī assured me there was more to be feared from the violence of the stream, if we attempted to cross the river during the darkness of the night, than from the vicinity of the dākaits.

7th.—We breakfasted at the factory, and then, having mounted a fine tractable male elephant, well broken in for sporting, and showing very large tusks, we proceeded towards Gaur, visiting all the ruins en route, and shooting from the back of the elephant as game arose in the thick jungle and amongst the fine trees which surrounded the tanks in every direction. The country around one of the principal ruins is remarkably beautiful; the ruin stands on a rising ground, covered with the silk cotton tree, the date palm, and various other trees; and there was a large sheet of water, covered by high jungle grass, rising far above the heads of the men who were on foot.

On the clear dark purple water of a large tank floated the lotus in the wildest luxuriance; over all the trees the jungle climbers had twisted and twined; and the parasitical plants, with their red flowers, were in bunches on the branches. The white granite pillars in some parts of the ruin were erect, in others prostrate; a number of the pillars were of black stone.

The Mahāwat, as we were going over this ruin, told us, “This is the favourite resort of tigers, and in the month of Bysak they are here in considerable number; now you may meet with one, but it is unlikely.” My curiosity so far overcame any fear, I could not help looking with longing eyes into the deep jungle-grass, as we descended into and crossed the water, half-hoping, half-fearing, to see a tiger skulking along.

The Sonā Masjid, or Golden Mosque, most particularly pleased me; its vastness and solidity give the sensation one experiences in the gloomy massive aisles of a cathedral. I will not particularly describe the ruins, but will add a description I was allowed to copy, written by Mr. Chambers, an indigo-planter, who, having lived at Gaur for thirty-six years, has had the opportunity of more particularly inspecting them than was in my power. I brought away many of the ornamented bricks, and those glazed with a sort of porcelain, something like Dutch tiles.

The gateway of the fort, with its moat below, is fine; the ramparts are covered with large trees. Lying in a field beyond the ramparts is a tombstone of one single block of black marble, an enormous mass of solid marble. At 5 P.M. the khidmatgārs informed us that two chakor (perdix chukar) and a wild duck, having been roasted in gipsy fashion under the trees, dinner was ready; we seated ourselves near one of the ruins, and partook of refreshment with infinite glee. No sooner was it ended, than, remounting the elephant, we went to the ruins of a hunting tower: approaching it from every point, it is a beautiful object seen above the woods, or through the intervals between the trees. Akbar beautified the city, and may probably have built this circular tower,—a column of solid masonry, within which winds a circular stair. At Fathīpūr Sicrī is a tower, somewhat of a similar description, built by Akbar, and used as a hunting tower; people were sent forth to drive the game from every part towards the minār, from the top of which the emperor massacred his game at leisure. This tower at Gaur, much more beautifully situated, with a greater command of country, may have been used for a similar purpose. The building is on a larger scale, and much handsomer than the one at Fathīpūr Sicrī.

My companion mounted the hunting tower; climbing up the broken stones, a feat of some difficulty, he went up to the dome, which is now in ruins, though its egg shape may be clearly traced. The view pleased him: he was anxious I should ascend; but I was deterred by the difficulty of climbing up to the entrance porch, which is of carved black stone and very handsome.

There is one thing to observe with relation to the buildings: judging from the exterior ornaments on the stones, they would be pronounced Muhammadan; but, on taking out the stones, the other side presents Hindoo images; as if the conquerors had just turned and ornamented the stones according to their own fashion. The Hindoo idols around Gaur have generally been broken; the interior of the buildings, presenting pillars of massive stone, appear to me Hindoo: this point I leave to the learned, and rest content myself with admiring their fallen grandeur. The peepul tree and the banyan spring from the crevices, twisting their roots between the masses of stone, destroying the buildings with great rapidity; the effect, nevertheless, is so picturesque, one cannot wish the foliage to be destroyed. Crossing a bridge, we saw what I supposed to be the dry trunk of a tree; it was a large alligator asleep on the edge of a morass. Mr. S⸺ fired, the ball struck him just below the shoulders, and from the paralyzed appearance of the animal must have entered the spine; he opened his enormous jaws and uttered a cry of agony. A second bullet missed him; he made an effort, and slipped over into the water, which became deeply dyed with his blood. Every tank is full of alligators. He sank to the bottom, and the dāndees lost a meal, by them considered very agreeable. I roamed on the elephant until it was very dark, when I got into the palanquin; one of the party rode by its side, and amused himself by catching fire-flies in his hand, and throwing them into the palkee. How beautifully the fire-flies flitted about over the high jungle grass that covered the morasses! As they crossed before the dark foliage of the trees, they were seen in peculiar brilliancy.

In the jungle, I saw several pān gardens, carefully covered over. Pān (piper betel), a species of pepper plant, is cultivated for its leaves; the vine itself is perennial, creeping, very long, and rooting at all the joints; the leaves have an aromatic scent and pungent taste. In India, of which it is a native, it is protected from the effect of the weather by screens made of bamboo. The root of the pān, called khoolinjān, as a medicine, is held in high estimation, and is considered an antidote to poison.

In one of the buildings you are shown the kadam sharīf, or the prints of the honoured feet of the prophet; over which is a silken canopy. The door is always fastened, and a pious Musalmān claps his hands three times, and utters some holy words ere he ventures to cross the threshold. This ceremony omitted, is, they say, certain and instantaneous death to the impious wretch: but this penalty only attaches itself to the followers of the prophet, as we found no ill effect from the omission. In the Qanoon-e-islam the history of the kadam-i-rasūl, the footstep of the prophet, is said to be as follows: “As the prophet (the peace and blessing of God be with him!), after the battle of Ohud (one of the forty or fifty battles in which the prophet had been personally engaged), was one day ascending a hill, in a rage, by the heat of his passion the mountain softened into the consistence of wax, and retained, some say eighteen, others forty impressions of his feet. When the angel Gabriel (peace be unto him!) brought the divine revelation that it did not become him to get angry, the prophet (the peace! &c.) inquired what was the cause of this rebuke. Gabriel replied, ‘Look behind you for a moment and behold.’ His excellency, when he perceived the impressions of his feet on the stones, became greatly astonished, and his wrath immediately ceased. Some people have these very impressions, while others make artificial ones to imitate them. Some people keep a qudum-e-russool, footstep of the prophet, or the impression of a foot on stone in their houses, placed in a box, and covered with a mahtabee or tagtee covering; and this, they say, is the impression of the foot of the prophet (the peace! &c.).

“On this day (the bara-wufât) such places are elegantly decorated. Having covered the chest with moqeish and zurbaft, they place the qudum-e-moobarik (blessed foot) on it, or deposit it in a taboot; and place all round it beautiful moorch’huls or chawn-urs; and as at the Mohurrum festival, so now, they illuminate the house, have music, burn frankincense, wave moorch’huls over it. Five or six persons, in the manner of a song or murseea, repeat the mowlood, dorood Qoran, his mowjeezay (or miracles), and wafat nama (or the history of his death); the latter in Hindostanee, in order that the populace may comprehend it, and feel for him sympathy and sorrow.”

Some Muhammadan tombs are also shown here: the place is embowered in fine trees, on the branches of which are hundreds of monkeys flinging themselves from branch to branch in every direction. The fakīr in charge of the kadam-i-mubārak, the blessed foot, asked alms; which I promised to bestow, if he would bring me some of the old rupees, or any coin dug up in Gaur. Coins in great numbers are continually found, but the poor people are afraid of showing any treasure in their possession, for fear of being made to give it up to the Company. I was unable to procure any; still I hope, through my friends at the factory, to get a few. The silver coins are very large and thin. A curiosity of carved sandal-wood was shown in the building of the Kadam Sharīf: its name I forget.

After this long day spent in exploring the ruins, we stopped at the factory. Mr. S⸺ blamed us highly for having remained so late in the jungle, on account of the fever, so likely to be caught after sunset. With him we found Mr. Chambers, also an indigo-planter, who gave me a specimen taken out of a casowtee stone. In boring the stone for some water in the factory, a portion, which appeared to consist of gold and silver, incorporated with the stone, fell out. The casowtee stone is esteemed very valuable; its colour is black: this was dug up in the Rakabud Mosque at Gaur. Having thanked our new acquaintances for their great attention and hospitality, we returned to the boats. I was much over-fatigued, and ached in every limb from the motion of the elephant, one accounted exceedingly rough. The former night the fear of robbery had rendered me sleepless; that night I was so much fatigued, a dākait would have had hard work to awaken me.

The country around Gaur is very open, interspersed with innumerable fine tanks, surrounded by large trees. The fields present one sheet of golden colour in every direction; the sarson was in full flower, its yellow flowers looking so gay amidst the trees, the old ruins, and the sheets of water. The sarson (sinapis dichotoma) is one of the species of mustard plant cultivated in Bengal in great quantities on account of the oil extracted from the seeds, which is used for burning in lamps and in Hindustanī cookery. The bricks of which the buildings are composed are very small and thin, very strongly burned, and very heavy, united with lime alone, no mortar having been used with it, which accounts for the durability of the ruins, and the great difficulty of detaching a brick from any part, so firm is the cement.

I am told the tanks are full of alligators; the crocodile is in the Ganges, but not in the tanks at Gaur; and these fierce snub-nosed alligators in some tanks are quite tame, coming up at the call of the fakīrs, and taking the offerings of living kids from their hands: cattle are often seized and devoured by them.

8th.—I awoke much too weary to attempt hog-hunting, although the elephants were attired on the bank. Close to, and on the right of Dulalpūr, hares, black partridge, and peacocks were numerous. In the marshes were wild hogs in droves of from two to three hundred; and little pigs squeaking and running about were seen with several of the droves.

The gentleman who went out on the elephant returned, bringing with him two large wild boars and a young hog. We had the tusks extracted, and gave the meat to the servants, I being too much a Musalmanī myself to eat hogs’ flesh of any sort or description. The Rajpūts will eat the flesh of the wild boar, although they abhor the flesh of domesticated swine.

Mr. Chambers came down to the river, where he had eight boats containing indigo to the value of two lakh. He showed me some fine old casowtee stones covered with Hindoo images, dug up in Gaur, and gave me some specimens of the Gaur bricks; the stones he is sending home to the owner of the factory, Lord Glenelg. From the hill-men in charge of the indigo boats, I procured what is used by them as a salt-box, and was of their own making; merely one joint of a thick bamboo curiously carved and painted, in the hollow of which they carry their salt. They gave me also an arrow for bruising, with a head of iron like a bullet. Thus ended a most interesting visit; and to this account I will add Mr. Chambers’ description of the place, copied from his manuscript.

“THE RUINS OF GAUR.

“The ancient city of Gaur, said to have been the capital of Bengal, seven hundred and fifty years before the commencement of the Christian era, is now an uninhabited waste. It is situated on the east side of the Ganges, and runs nearly in a direction with it from S.E. to N.N.W., about twenty-five miles below Rajmahal. It lies in N. lat. 24° 53′, and in E. long. 88° 14′, and is supposed by Rennell to be the Gangia regia of Ptolemy. It has borne various names; it was formerly called Lutchmavutee or Lucknowtee, as well as Gaur; and when repaired and beautified in 1575, by the great Akbar, who is said to have been particularly attached to this city, it received from him the name of Zennuttabad, from his fancying it a kind of terrestrial Paradise. The extent of the city appears, from the old embankments which enclosed it on every side, to have been ten miles long and two miles broad. These banks were sufficiently capable of guarding it from floods during the rising of the Ganges, when the rest of the country was inundated, as well as defending the place from an enemy, as there are mounds of earth from thirty to forty feet in height, and from one to two hundred feet broad at the base, the removal of the earth forming deep broad ditches on the outside of the banks. Some of these embankments were defended by brickwork. On the outside, the city has two embankments two hundred feet wide, running parallel to each other, at five hundred and eighty feet asunder, probably for greater security against a large lake to the eastward, which in strong weather drives with great violence against it during the season of the inundations. The principal passes through these banks to the city had gateways, two of which, one at the south end, and the other at the north end, are still standing, and the remains of others that have been destroyed are visible. The suburbs extended (there being sufficient vestiges of them to be traced) at least to a distance of four miles from each of those gates. Two grand roads led through the whole length of the city, raised with earth and paved with bricks, terminating with the gate at the south end. Where drains and canals intersected the roads, are the remains of bridges built over them.

“The buildings and mosques must have been very numerous; the rubbish and stones of which still left, point out the places where they stood. The two called golden mosques, and the Nuttee Musjeed, are doubtless the best buildings of that kind.

“In the midst of the city stood a fort, nearly square, and extending about a mile on every side, which had a bank or rampart forty feet high: there is a wall now remaining nearly a quarter of a mile in extent, and in some places between seventy and eighty feet in height, which surrounds a space many feet long and wide, parted into three divisions, and is supposed to have surrounded the king’s palace. The gates leading to the fort, and another to Shah Husain’s tomb are partly left, but covered with trees, and as full of bats and reptiles as the ditches are of alligators.

“The whole of this extensive boundary, including the fort and city, contains innumerable tanks and ponds of various sizes. The Saugur-dighee tank is a mile in length, by half a mile in breadth; three or four others, with this, are the best and largest cisterns of water in the place.

“At one of the tanks the Musselmāns make offerings to the alligators, which has made them so tame, they come to the shore and take away what is offered.

“The following observations on the ruins which still remain sufficiently entire, commence with the great

“GOLDEN MOSQUE.

“This noble building appears to stand nearly in the centre of this ancient capital. It is built of brick, but is ornamented on all sides with a kind of black porphyry stone. This mosque appears to have been surrounded with a wall, which, on the east side of the building, formed a court about three hundred feet in length and two hundred and fifty in breadth. The mosque itself formed a building one hundred and seventy feet in length from north to south, and one hundred and thirty in breadth. These dimensions are easily ascertained, as the north and south doors of the mosque, which mark its length, remain entire, and the breadth is easily computed from the one range and the ruins of the rest which yet remain. Its height within is about sixty feet, but it is probable that the spires of its lofty domes rose to the height of one hundred feet from the ground. Its internal structure presents a singular appearance. Its breadth is divided into six ranges resembling the aisles of a church. These aisles are in breadth twelve feet; and as they extend the whole length of the building from north to south, they are somewhat better than a hundred and fifty feet in length.

“The six walls which once divided them and supported the roof were eight feet in thickness, built of brick, and covered with black porphyry to a considerable height. These ranges of aisles are not formed of solid masonry; each of them is intersected by eleven openings from east to west, of somewhat more than six feet in breadth. This, in reality, divided the wall which supports the roof of each range into twelve massy columns of eight feet square, so that the whole building contained seventy-two of these columns, eight feet both in length and breadth, of which the six outer ones on the two sides north and south adhering to the outside wall, left sixty within to support the roof. These rows of columns closed over each aisle, and thus formed six semicircular roofs, covering and extending the whole length of each aisle. It was, however, only that part furnished by each column which formed the arches of these six semicircular roofs; the eleven spaces which intersect each range, were formed above into domes about eleven feet in diameter within, and terminating in a point without. Of these six ranges or aisles, only one, that on the east side, is now entire, although traces of the other five are still visible. Of the domes in this range, the roofs of five are entire; those of two more are merely open at the top; in three more the roof has entirely fallen in; and the roofs on the rest having half fallen, seem to threaten the spectator with instant destruction, should any part of the mouldering ruin fall whilst he is walking underneath.

“The outward walls are nine feet in thickness. They are built of small bricks, extremely hard, and with excellent cement. The whole building seems to have suffered far less from depredation than from the numerous shrubs and trees which grow upon it, and which, insinuating their roots into the breaches of the walls, threaten the whole with unavoidable and speedy dissolution.

“Proceeding about a mile distant from the above-mentioned mosque, there is a large

“OBELISK,

“which stands alone, completely separate from any other building. It is supposed to have been erected for an observatory, or for the sake of calling the inhabitants to the regular performance of their daily devotions. It contains four stories, with a staircase within. The first story, about twelve feet from the ground, must be entered by a ladder. The wall is marked by many small windows placed over each other in a perpendicular line. The top is now completely open, but appears to have been formerly surmounted by a dome. On the wall within is discerned the vestiges of numerous former visitors, and their initials cut in the stones with the date annexed. Many of these names were identified: directing attention to the most ancient, to discover, if possible, how long this has been the resort of European visitors, we traced ‘W. Harwood, April 17th, 1771;’ ‘G. Grey, 1772;’ ‘I. Henchman;’ ‘G. W.;’ ‘H. C.;’ and many others: inspecting more narrowly the initials ‘M. V., 1683,’ are deciphered. This was the remotest date ascertained: this reaches into the middle of the famous Aurunzebe’s reign, and it may easily be supposed that the place had fallen into decay at least a hundred and eighty years, if not more. Who this European traveller could have been is a matter of conjecture; but it is agreed that he was some gentleman from Holland or Portugal. This date, if Gaur had fallen into decay previous to his visit, might ascertain the time of its having been abandoned.

“If the Emperor of Delhi, Akbar, who was contemporary with our Elizabeth, repaired and beautified it, the period between this visit and the meridian glory of Gaur could not have been more than ninety years.

“The height of the upper story from the ground is seventy-one feet. When to this is added the height of the cupola, &c., it seems probable that one hundred feet was the original height of the building. The diameter of the area in the upper story is precisely ten feet: as the extreme diameter at the bottom is only twenty-one feet, if the thickness of the two walls is reckoned at about three and a half, the extreme diameter of the upper story will be seventeen feet, so that in a height of seventy feet, its diameter has lessened little more than three feet, a circumstance which reflects the highest credit both on the architect and the materials of the building, as it has resisted the strongest hurricanes for so many hundred years. The steps of the staircase, which remain entire, are about fifty, but in many instances the intermediate ones are worn away. The windows are formed of black porphyry, which appears to have been intended for support as well as ornament, as the stones about two feet in length and one in breadth, and nearly a foot in thickness, support each other by means of tenons formed in the stone itself; and they, in several instances, stand firm, although the brickwork has fallen from them, whilst they are really firm; however, they assume so threatening an aspect from their appearing loose, that the visitor is almost afraid of being crushed beneath them.

“To the southward, about half a mile beyond the obelisk, is the

“NUTTEE MUSJEED,

“by some Europeans termed the China mosque, from the bricks of which it is built being ornamented with various colours. This building, however, has nothing of the mosque beyond some little resemblance in its external appearance, nor is there any thing within it corresponding with the internal appearance of the great Golden Mosque; it appears evidently intended for purposes of amusement. It is the most entire of any structure now remaining at Gaur. Its extreme length from east to west is about seventy-two feet, its breadth about fifty-four feet, and its height about seventy feet. The outer walls, nine feet in thickness, are formed of bricks, extremely small, not exceeding four inches in length, three in breadth, and one inch and a half in thickness; but these bricks are so well made, and the cement is so firm, that the building has almost the solidity of stone. The surface of these bricks is painted and glazed, yellow, white, green, and blue in alternate succession; and the whole appears to have been finished with a neatness approaching to finery. The east, the north, and the south sides have three doors, forming nine in the whole; on the west side it is closed. The arch of the middle door on each side is about eleven feet in height, the other two about nine feet high. The breadth is somewhat about six feet. On entering the east door, a partition wall presents itself, forming a space twelve feet in extent, and the whole breadth of the building. This marks the east as having been the front entrance, as this formed a kind of porch to the vestibule, in which probably servants remained.

“The space within this forms a beautiful room, about thirty-six feet square, the four walls closing above, and forming a majestic dome. The height of this spacious room we had no means of ascertaining exactly, but, from its appearance, it may be from forty to fifty feet. So spacious and lofty a room, without a pillar, beam, or rafter, is a real curiosity; and when the antiquity of the building, the smallness of the bricks which compose it, and its present high state of preservation are considered, it seems evident that the art of building, as far as durability is considered, was far better understood in Bengal formerly than is indicated now by any modern edifice in the metropolis of India. Are European science and skill completely distanced by the former knowledge of a nation deemed only half-civilized?

“THE SOUTH GATE

formed the southern boundary of the city; its majestic arch still remains, it is thirty-five feet wide; on each side is a piece of masonry sixty feet square, and in height nearly equal to the outside of the arch surmounting the gateway, which is somewhat better than sixty feet. The masonry is united both on the east and west side by a rampart of earth, which is also sixty feet high, and is covered with trees of various kinds. This rampart, however, would have formed but a feeble defence against an army of Europeans, whatever it might have been esteemed against an Indian army.

“Many mosques, and the remains of old buildings, as well as a great number of fine stone pillars which once supported splendid edifices, are to be seen entangled by jungle and high grass, completely covered up in some places, and in other places prostrate, the foundations having been excavated for bricks and stones. The towns of Malda, Rajmahal, and Moorshadabad have been supplied with building materials from Gaur, which to this day are continually carried to the populous adjacent towns and villages, to build native dwellings.

“In passing through so large an extent of that which was once a scene of human grandeur, nothing presents itself but these few remains; trees and grass now fill up the space, giving shelter to a variety of wild creatures; buffaloes, deer, wild hogs, monkeys, peacocks, and the common fowl, now become wild; the roar of the tiger, the cry of the peacock, the howls of the jackals, with the company of bats and troublesome insects, soon become familiar to those inhabiting the neighbourhood.”

Extracts from an old work on India.

‘India was first discovered by the Portuguese in 1497, at which time, and even at the commencement of the reign of the Emperor Akbar, in 1556, Gaur was a flourishing city.’

From the History of Portuguese Asia.

‘Gaur, the principal city in Bengal, is seated on the banks of the Ganges, three leagues in length, containing 1,200,000 families, and well fortified. Along the streets, which are wide and straight, rows of trees shade the people, who are so very numerous, that sometimes many are trodden to death.’

“To the contemplative mind, what a striking example must a review of Gaur present of the uncertain state of sublunary things!”

“The Ruins of Gaur,” with eighteen coloured plates, was published in 1817, in one volume quarto, from the manuscript and sketches of the late H. Creighton, Esq.; it is a scarce and interesting work.

CHAPTER XLVI.
SKETCHES IN BENGAL—THE SUNDERBANDS.

Toll at Jungipūr—Bengālee Women—Palace of the Nawāb of Moorshadabad—Mor-pankhī—Snake Boats—Kāsim Bazār—Berhampūr—Cintra Oranges—Cutwa Cloth—Culna—The Timber Raft—Chandar-nagar—Sholā Floats—The Hoogly—Chinsurah—Barrackpūr—Serampūr—Corn Mills—The Shipping—Chandpaul Ghāt—River Fakīrs—M. le Général Allard—Assam Leaf Insect—The Races—Kalī Mā’ī—Dwarkanath Tagore—The Foot of a Chinese Lady—Quitted Calcutta—The Steamer and Flat—The Sunderbands—Mud Islands—Tigers—The Wood-cutters—Kaloo-rayŭ—Settlements—Culna—Commercolly—Rājmahal—Monghir—Coolness of a Native—Pleasures of Welcome—The Vaccine Department—The Gaja Rājā performs Pooja as a Fakīr—The Eclipse—The Plague—The Lottery—Conversations in the Zenāna—The Autograph—Delicacy of Native Ladies—Death of the King of Oude—The Padshah Begam—Moona Jāh—The King’s Uncle raised to the Throne.

1836, Dec. 9th.—Arrived at Jungipūr, where a toll was levied of six rupees on my bajrā, usually called budjerow, and two rupees on the cook boat,—a tax for keeping open a deep channel in the river. During the hour we anchored there, and the servants were on shore for provisions, I was much amused watching the women bathing; they wade into the stream, wash their dresses, and put them on again all wet, as they stand in the water; wash their hair and their bodies, retaining all the time some part of their drapery, which assumes the most classical appearance. They wear their hair fastened behind in the Grecian fashion, large silver nose-rings, a great number of white ivory churees (bracelets) on their arms, with a pair of very large silver bangles on the wrists, and massive ornaments of silver on their ankles; their drapery white, with, perhaps, an edge of some gay colour; bright brass vessels for water (gāgrī), or of porous red earthenware (gharā), in which they carry back the river water to their dwellings. Having bathed, they repeat their prayers, with their hands palm to palm raised to their faces, and turning in pooja to particular points. After sipping the water a certain number of times, taking it up in their hands, they trip away in their wet drapery, which dries as they walk. The skin of the women in Bengal is of a better tinge than that of the up-country women; they are small, well-formed, and particularly graceful in their movements.

10th.—The Bhaugruttī, as you approach Moorshadabad, is remarkably picturesque, and presents a thousand views that would make beautiful sketches. At this moment we are passing the Nawāb’s residence, or rather the palace that is building for him; it is situated on the side of the river, which presents a beautiful expanse of water, covered with vessels of all sorts and sizes, of the most oriental and picturesque form. A fine breeze is blowing, and the vessels on every side, and all around me, are in every sort of picturesque and beautiful position. The palace, which is almost quite completed, is a noble building, an enormous and grand mass of architecture, reared under the superintendence of Colonel Macleod.

The mor-pankhī, a kind of pleasure boat, with the long neck and head of a peacock, most richly gilt and painted, and the snake boats, used on days of festival, are fairy-like, picturesque, fanciful, and very singular. Pinnaces for hire are here in numbers. The merchant-boats built at this place are of peculiar and beautiful form, as if the builder had studied both effect and swiftness; the small boats, over which rafts are fastened to float down wood; the fishermen’s little vessels, that appear almost too small and fragile to support the men, and which fly along impelled only by one oar; the well-wooded banks, the mosques, and the mut’hs (Hindoo temples), mixed with curiously built native houses;—all unite in forming a scene of peculiar beauty. Kasīm bazār adjoins Moorshadabad; both are famous for silk of every sort. In the evening we anchored at Berhampūr; the budgerow was instantly crowded with people, bringing carved ivory toys, chess-men, elephants, &c., for sale, and silk merchants, with handkerchiefs and Berhampūr silk in abundance; all asking more than double the price they intended to take. Four more dāndees having deserted, I have been obliged to apply to the Judge Sāhib to procure other men.

The most delicious oranges have been procured here, the rinds fine and thin, the flavour excellent; the natives call them “cintra;” most likely they were introduced by the Portuguese. The station extends along the side of the river, which is well banked, and offers a cool and refreshing evening walk to the residents. I was tempted to buy some of the carved ivory chess-men, an elephant, &c., all very cheap, and well carved in good ivory; nor could I resist some silk nets for the horses.

12th.—At Cutwa cotton cloth was offered for sale; I bought some, but the purchase gave more trouble than the cloth was worth. The men asked eighteen sicca-rupees for each piece of eighteen yards, and took eleven Furrukhabad rupees; the mosquito curtains, for which they asked five rupees each, they sold for three.

14th.—Arrived at Culna, to which place the tide comes up. Here we anchored, to buy charcoal and clarified butter for my own consumption, and rice for the dāndees. We have passed a great many timber rafts that are floating down to Calcutta, with wood, for sale; the timber is cut in the hills. The stems of two large trees are lashed across a boat, and, passing over the sides to a considerable distance, support a number of trees, which float on the water, fastened along both sides of the boat; on the boat itself is a thatched shed. On each raft are two hill-men, their black bodies and heads completely shaved; with no clothing but a bit of cloth passed between the limbs, and supported by a string tied round the waist. They have a wild look as they row with their bamboo oars the unwieldy rafts, three or four of which are fastened together;—a picture in itself is the wild and strange-looking timber raft. A small canoe, hollowed out of a single tree, is always the accompaniment to a raft; I saw four men in a canoe of this sort crossing the river; one man steered by using an oar, while the other three, by leaning forward, made use of their hands alone as paddles; you may therefore imagine how narrow the boat was, when a man could use a hand at each side at the same time in the water, to paddle her forward. The men were laughing and shouting most happily. They cut the timber in the hills, and come down with it for scarcely any payment, merely just enough to feed them.

When the boats have delivered their wood in Calcutta, they take up one boat, and put it into another, and in this way the double boats return to the hills; for this reason two men alone come with one boat down the stream, but in returning, more men are required to track against it; the two boats being put one on the other, the four men suffice to take them back again.

15th.—This evening we anchored at Chandar-nagar, the town of Chandar, the moon, commonly called Chander-nagore, and took a walk to see a Bengālee temple, which looked well from the river. The building consisted of a temple in the centre, containing an image of the goddess Kalī, and five smaller temples on each side, each containing an image of Mahadēo; a little further on were two images, gaily dressed in tarnished silk and tinsel; the one a female figure, Unapurna, the other Mahadēo, as a Bairāgī or religious mendicant. The village was pretty. I stopped at a fisherman’s, to look at the curiously-shaped floats he used for his very large and heavy fishing nets; each float was formed of eight pieces of sholā, tied together by the ends, the four smaller within the four larger. When this light and spongy pith is wetted, it can be cut into thin layers, which, pasted together, are formed into hats; Chinese paper appears to be made of the same material. The banks of the river, the whole distance from Hoogly to Chinsurah and Chandar-nagar, presents a view of fine houses, situated in good gardens, and interspersed with the dwellings of the natives. There is a church at Chandar-nagar, where there are also cantonments; and the grand depôt for the wood from the up-country rafts appears to be at this place; the river-side was completely covered with timber for some distance. The natives were amusing themselves as we passed, sending up small fire balloons, and brilliantly blue sky rockets.

The view is beautiful at Barrackpūr; the fine trees of the park stretching along the side of the river; the bright green turf that slopes gently down to the water; the number of handsome houses, with their lawns and gardens; the Government-house and the buildings around it, stuccoed to resemble white stone; the handsome verandahs which surround the houses, supported by pillars; and the great number of boats gliding about, render it peculiarly pleasing.

In front, on the opposite side of the river, is the Danish settlement of Serampūr; its houses, which are large and handsome, are two or three stories high. We are floating gently down with the tide; I can scarcely write, the scenery attracts me so much,—the Bengālee mandaps (places of worship) close to the water, the fine trees of every description, and the pretty stone ghāts. We have just passed a ruined ghāt, situated in the midst of fine old trees; at the top of the flight of steps are the ruins of two Hindoo temples of picturesque form; an old peepul tree overshadows them; its twisted roots are exposed, the earth having been washed away during the rains. A number of women are bathing, others carrying water away in gharās poised on their heads: the men take it away in water vessels, which are hung to either end of a split bamboo, called a bahangī, which is carried balanced on the shoulder. We fly past the objects with the ebbing tide; what an infinity of beauty there is in all the native boats! could my pencil do justice to the scenery, how valuable would be my sketch-book!

The Governor-General, Lord Auckland, lives partly in Calcutta, and partly at the Government-house at Barrackpūr. At Cassipūr is the house of the agent for gunpowder, its white pillars half-hidden by fine trees. At Chitpore is a high, red, Birmingham-looking, long-chimnied building, with another in the same style near it; the high chimneys of the latter emitting a dark volume of smoke, such as one only sees in this country pouring from the black funnel of a steamer: corn is here ground in the English fashion, and oil extracted from divers seeds. The establishment cost a great sum of money, and I think I have heard it has failed, owing to each native family in India grinding their own corn, in the old original fashion of one flat circular mill-stone over another, called a chakkī.

From this point I first caught a view of the shipping off Calcutta: for ten years I had not beheld an English vessel: how it made me long for a glimpse of all the dear ones in England! “The desire of the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale[15].”

Passing through the different vessels that crowd the Hoogly off Calcutta, gave me great pleasure; the fine merchant-ships, the gay, well-trimmed American vessels, the grotesque forms of the Arab ships, the Chinese vessels with an eye on each side the bows to enable the vessel to see her way across the deep waters, the native vessels in all their fanciful and picturesque forms, the pleasure-boats of private gentlemen, the beautiful private residences in Chowringhee, the Government-house, the crowds of people, and vehicles of all descriptions, both European and Asiatic,—form a scene of beauty of which I know not the equal.

We anchored at Chandpaul ghāt, amidst a crowd of vessels. The river-beggars fly about in the very smallest little boats in the world, paddled by one tiny oar: a little flag is stuck up in the boat, and on a mat at the bottom, spread to receive offerings, is a collection of copper coins, rice and cowries, thrown by the pious or the charitable to these fakīrs; who, if fame belie them not, are rascals. “A gooroo at home, but a beggar abroad[16].” I forgive them the sin of rascality, for their picturesque appearance; the gifts they received were very humble. “A kuoree is a gold mohur to a pauper[17].”

There not being room that night for our party at Spence’s hotel, I was forced to sleep on board the budjerow, off Chandpaul ghāt. What a wretched night it was! The heat was intolerable. I could not open a window because the budjerows on either side were jammed against mine: the heat, the noise, the mooring and unmooring, according to the state of the tide, rendered it miserable work. I wished to anchor lower down, but the answer was, “Budjerows must anchor here; it is the Lord Sāhib’s hukm (order).”

17th.—I took possession of apartments in Spence’s hotel: they were good and well furnished. Since I quitted Calcutta, a great improvement has taken place: a road has been opened from the Government-house to Garden Reach, by the side of the river; the drive is well watered, the esplanade crowded with carriages, and the view of the shipping beautiful.

M. le Général Allard, who had just returned from France, and was in Calcutta en route to rejoin Runjeet Singh, called on me; he is the most picturesque person imaginable; his long forked beard, divided in the centre, hangs down on either side his face; at dinner-time he passes one end of his beard over one ear, and the other end over the other ear. The General, who was a most agreeable person, regretted he had not seen me when he passed Allahabad, but illness had prevented his calling and delivering, in person, the bows and arrows entrusted to his charge.

I was much delighted with the General: he asked me to visit Lahore, an invitation I told him I would accept with great pleasure, should I ever visit the Hills, and he promised to send an escort for me. The General took with him to Europe some fine jewels, emeralds, and other valuable stones; he brought them back to India, as they were of less value in Europe than in the East.

I could have remained contentedly at the hotel myself, but my up-country servants complained there was no comfort for them; therefore I took a small house in Chowringhee, and removed into it the furniture from the budjerow. It was comfortable also to have my horses, which had arrived, in the stables.

Went to a ball given in the English style by a rich Bengālee Baboo, Rustam-jee Cowsajee. The Misses Eden were there, which the Baboo ought to have thought a very great honour.

1837, Jan. 1st.—Mr. H⸺ arrived from Assam, suffering from the effects of one of the terrific fevers of that country: he brought me a leaf insect,—a great curiosity.

5th.—Made my salām at the Government-house, as in duty bound.

9th.—The first day of the races: drove to the stand at seven A.M., through a deep, white, thick fog, so usual in the early morning in Calcutta, which did my sore throat and cold no good.

11th.—The second day of the races; the Auckland Cup was to be given to the winner. The cup was of silver, the design remarkable, and very beautiful. It was sketched by Miss Eden, and executed in good style by Messrs. Pittar and Co., jewellers, in Calcutta. The winning horse came in well: twenty yards beyond the post, as the jockey attempted to pull him up, the horse dropped and died instantly. The cup was awarded to the dead horse. It was a piteous sight.

15th.—Accompanied Mr. W⸺ and a party over his racing stables: the sight of the racers all ready for the contest in the morning was pleasing. We then visited a number of imported English and Cape horses that were for sale.

In the evening I drove to see the far-famed Bengālee idol, Kalī Mā’ī, to which, in former times, human sacrifices were publicly offered; and to which, in the present day, and in spite of the vigilance of the magistrate, I believe, at times, a human being is offered up;—some poor wretch who has no one likely to make inquiries about him. The temple is at Kalī Ghāt, about two miles from Calcutta. The idol is a great black stone cut into the figure of an enormous woman, with a large head and staring eyes; her tongue hangs out of her mouth, a great broad tongue, down to her breast. The figure is disgusting. I gave the attendant priests a rupee for having shown me their idol, which they offered with all reverence to Kalī Mā’ī. The instruments with which, at one stroke, the priest severs the head of the victim from the trunk are remarkable.

16th.—A cup of silver, given by a rich Bengālee, Dwarkanath Tagore, was run for: the cup was elaborately worked, and the workmanship good; but the design was in the excess of bad taste, and such as only a Baboo would have approved. It was won by Absentee, one of the horses I had seen in the stable the day before, contrary to the calculation of all the knowing ones in Calcutta.

17th.—The inhabitants of Calcutta gave a ball to the Miss Edens. I was too ill to attend.

30th.—Dined with an old friend at Alipūr, some two miles from Calcutta. The coachman being unable to see his way across the maidān (plain), stopped. The sā’īses, who were trying to find out where they were, ran directly against the walls of the hospital; the fog was so dense and white, you could not see a yard before you; it made my cough most painful, and the carriage was two hours returning two miles.

Feb. 4th.—I spent the day at the Asiatic Society. A model of the foot of a Chinese lady in the collection is a curiosity, and a most disgusting deformity. The toes are crushed up under the foot, so as to render the person perfectly lame: this is a less expensive mode of keeping a woman confined to the house, than having guards and a zenāna—the principle is the same.

Having bid adieu to my friends in Calcutta, I prepared to return to Allahabad, and took a passage in the Jellinghy flat. The servants went up the river in a large baggage boat, with the stores, wine, and furniture. I did not insure the boat, insurance being very high, and the time of the year favourable. The horses marched up the country.

March 6th.—I went on board the Jellinghy flat, established myself and my ayha in a good cabin, and found myself, for the first time, located in a steamer. She quitted Calcutta in the evening, and as we passed Garden Reach, the view of handsome houses in well-wooded grounds, which extend along the banks of the river, was beautiful. The water being too shallow at this time of the year for the passage of the steamer up the Bhaugruttī, or the Jellinghy, she was obliged to go round by the sunderbands (sindhū-bandh). The steamer herself is not the vessel in which the passengers live; attached to, and towed by her, is a vessel as large as the steamer herself, called a flat, built expressly to convey passengers and Government treasure. It is divided into cabins, with one large cabin in the centre, in which the passengers dine together.

7th.—We quitted the Hoogly and anchored in the sunderbands. The sunderbands is a large tract of low muddy land, covered with short thick jungle and dwarf trees. It is an assemblage of islands, the tides flowing between them. A more solitary desolate tract I never beheld. We anchored where three streams met, flowing in from between these low mud islands. When the tide turned in the middle of the night, the steamer swung round on the flat with a crash; several times the two vessels were entangled in this manner; the steamer drove in one of the cabin windows, and it was some time ere every thing was right again. Exposed to the power of the three streams, she was never quiet, never at rest: the children cried, the ducks did not like to be killed, and the vessels were wrestling together for hours—an unquiet night.

8th.—The mud islands are under water at high tide. At this moment we are passing through a very narrow passage; on each side the thick, low, impenetrable jungle comes down to the water’s edge. Not a tree of any size to be seen; not a vessel, not an animal. During the whole of this day I have only seen two paddy birds, and one deer. The thick jungle is full of tigers; so much so, that the Hindoos on board are not allowed to go on shore to cook their food on that account. Going along with the tide in our favour, the swiftness of the steamer is terrific; the velocity with which we pass the banks makes me giddy. We have just passed a spot on which an oar is stuck up on end. The captain of the flat pointed it out to me as a sign that a native had been carried off at that spot by a tiger. It is the custom to leave an oar to point out the spot, or to stick up a bamboo with a flag attached to it—as in Catholic countries a cross is erected on the spot where a murder has been committed.

“Kaloo-rayŭ is a form of Shivŭ: the image is that of a yellow man sitting on a tiger, holding in his right hand an arrow, and in his left a bow. A few of the lower orders set up clay images of this god, in straw houses, and worship them at pleasure. The wood-cutters in the eastern, western, and southern forests of Bengal, in order to obtain protection from wild beasts, adopt a peculiar mode of worshipping this idol. The head boatman raises elevations of earth, three or four inches high, and about three feet square, upon which he places balls of clay, painted red; and, amongst other ceremonies, offers rice, flowers, fruits, and the water of the Ganges carried from the river Hoogly, keeping a fast: the god then directs him in a dream where to cut wood free from danger. There is no authority for this worship in the shastrŭs. Dŭkshina-rayŭ is another god, worshipped in the same manner, and by the same class of persons[18].”

9th.—Last night two boats full of wood-cutters passed us; they said several of their men had been carried off by tigers. We have only overtaken four boats all this time in the sunderbands. During the hot weather people dare not come through this place; fevers are caught from the malaria: at the present time of the year it is safe enough. There are no inhabitants in these parts, the people finding it impossible to live here. We have a very pleasant party on board, most of whom are going to Allahabad. The vessel is a good one; the accommodation good, the food also. It is very expensive, but as it saves one a dāk trip in this hot weather, or a two or three months’ voyage in a country vessel, it is more agreeable. The heat in these vile sunderbands is very great; during the day, quite oppressive; when we enter the Ganges we shall find it cooler. As we were emerging from the sunderbands and nearing the river, the banks presented a scene which must resemble the back settlements in America. Before this time we had scarcely met with a good-sized tree. Here the trees partook of the nature of forest: some people were burning the forest, and had made a settlement. Barley was growing in small portions, and there were several dwarf cows. The scene was peculiar; a little bank of mud was raised to prevent the overflow of the tide; the stumps of the burned and blackened trees remained standing, with the exception of where they had been rooted out, and a paddy field formed. Places for look out erected on high poles were numerous, and thatched over: there a man could sit and watch all night, lest a tiger should make his appearance. There were a few miserable huts for the men, no women were to be seen; nothing could be more primitive and more wretched than these young settlements in the sunderbands. On the morning of the 10th we quitted this vile place, and anchored at Culna to take in a fresh supply of coals.

12th.—We arrived at Commercolly; anchored close to the bank, to take in more coal: it was very oppressive, but the evening was beautiful; the sky studded with stars, and the new moon just visible. I sat on deck enjoying the coolness: we anchored very late, not until it was impossible to see the proper course to steer on the river. We had at last gained the Ganges.

13th.—Passed a great number of boats that were out fishing, and ran over one of them containing four men, three were picked up immediately, the fourth passed under the steamer, from her bows to her stern; he was taken up exhausted, but uninjured. Some of the passengers are playing at chess, others reading novels; some asleep, some pacing the deck under the awning, all striving to find something wherewith to amuse themselves.

14th.—We arrived off Gaur; I looked with pleasure on its woods in the distance, recalled to mind the pleasant days I had passed there, and thought of the well-oiled dākait who had called on me as his grandmother to save him. It was just at this place that coming down the river we turned to the right, and went a short cut down the Bhaugruttī, instead of pursuing the course of the Ganges. A prize this day fell to my share in a lottery, in Calcutta, of a silver vase enamelled in gold; but more of this lottery hereafter.

16th.—I got up early and went on shore at Rājmahal, roamed in the bamboo jungle and amongst the ruins, until the ringing of the bell on board the steamer announced the coals were on board, and the vessel ready to start. Of all the trees in India, perhaps the bāns, bamboo, is the most useful, as well as the most graceful. What can be more picturesque, more beautiful than a clump of bamboos? From Calcutta to Allahabad, the common route by the river is eight hundred miles; round by the sunderbands the distance is nearly eleven hundred.

18th.—Passed the Janghiera rock, and anchored at Monghir: bought lāthīs, that is, solid bamboos, walking-sticks, sixty for the rupee. The male bamboo is solid, the female hollow. I bought them for the use of the beaters when M. mon mari goes out shooting.

20th.—The strong westerly wind sent the fine sand from the banks in clouds all over the vessel, filling the eyes and ears most unpleasantly.

25th.—Anchored at Benares: the steamer started again at 8 A.M.; the view of the ghāts as we passed was beautiful; the number of persons bathing, their diversified and brilliantly coloured dresses, rendered the scene one of great interest and beauty.

26th.—Passed Chunar;—the place had lost much of the beauty it displayed during the rains. A khidmatgār fell overboard, passed under the vessel from head to stern, and was picked up by the boat just as he was on the point of sinking. The skin was torn off the old man’s scalp; he received no further injury. The next day, to my astonishment, he was in attendance on his master at dinner-time, and seemed to think nothing of having been scalped by the steamer!

27th.—Received fruit and vegetables from an old friend at Mirzapore. I am weary of the voyage, the heat for the last few days has been so oppressive: very gladly shall I return to the quiet and coolness of my own home. Aground several times on sandbanks.

29th.—Started early, and arrived within sight of the Fort; were again fixed on a sandbank; the river is very shallow at this time of the year. With the greatest difficulty we reached the ghāt on the Jumna, near the Masjid, and were glad to find ourselves at the end of the voyage. My husband came down to receive and welcome me, and drive me home. The great dog Nero nearly tore me to pieces in his delight. Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī sent her people down to the ghāt to make salām on my landing, to welcome and congratulate me on my return, and to say she wished to see me.

It was pleasant to be thus warmly received, and to find myself once more in my cool and comfortable home on the banks of the Jumna-jee after all the heat and fatigue of the voyage.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the Mahratta ladies, was delighted to see me once again, and performed a certain sort of blessing called balaiyā lenā, or taking all another’s evils on one’s self; which ceremony she performed by drawing her hands over my head, and cracking her fingers on her own temples, in token of taking all my misfortunes upon herself. This mode of blessing I have many times seen performed both by men and women, our dependents and servants, both towards my husband and myself, on our bestowing any particular benefit upon them; it expressed the depth of their gratitude.

April 6th.—The small-pox is making great ravages; some of our friends have fallen victims. Lord William Bentinck did away with the vaccine department, to save a few rupees; from which economy many have lost their lives. It is a dreadful illness, the small-pox in this country. People are in a fright respecting the plague; they say it is at Palee, and has approached the borders of the Company’s territories; we have fevers, cholera, and deadly illnesses enough, without the plague; it is to be trusted that will not be added to the evils of this climate.

The Palee plague, they say, after all, is not the genuine thing: it has not as yet entered our territories; however, the Government of Agra have very wisely adopted preventive measures, and have established boards of health, cordons, and quarantine, with the usual measures as to fumigations and disinfectants. It would be really too bad to give this stranger a playground, in addition to our old friends fever and cholera, already domesticated.

15th.—The first time of using the thermantidote was this morning: how delightful was the stream of cool air it sent into the hot room! how grateful is the coolness and darkness of the house, in contrast to the heat and glare on the river!

15th.—This day is the anniversary of the birthday of the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, and she has sent me an invitation to accompany her to the Trivenī, the sacred junction of the rivers, to see her perform a vow, made for her by her mother. The young Princess from her birth was very sickly, and the mother, fearing the death of her infant, vowed to Mahadēo that if the god would preserve her life, she should do pooja as a fakīr, at the shrine, on each anniversary of her natal day. The time having arrived, the young Mahratta Princess will perform the vow in the evening. How much I regret I am unable to attend; unfortunately illness prevents my quitting the house. Picture to yourself the extraordinary scene. The young Princess doing pooja before the shrine of Mahadēo, a descent on earth of Shivŭ the destroyer. Her delicate form covered from head to foot with a mixture of ashes and Ganges mud; her long black hair matted with the same, and bound round her head like a turban; her attire the skin of a tiger; her necklace of human bones, a rosary in her hand, and a human skull for an alms-dish,—a religious mendicant; or making discordant music on a sort of double-headed hand-drum used by fakīrs, and wandering about within the canvas walls of the zenāna tent like a maniac! The skull borne by religious mendicants is to represent that of Brŭmha. Shivŭ, in a quarrel, cut off one of Brŭmha’s five heads, and made an alms-dish of it. As the Gaja Rājā appeared as a religious mendicant, the form in which the lord of the Bhōōtŭs appeared on earth, I hope some of the ladies represented the latter, a number of whom always attended Shivŭ. The Bhōōtŭs are beings partly in human shape, though some of them have the faces of horses, others of camels, others of monkeys, &c.; some have the bodies of horses, and the faces of men; some have one leg, and some two; some have only one ear, and others only one eye. They would have made charming attendants on the little Princess, who, wrapped in a tiger’s skin, and wandering like a maniac, performed, before the shrine of Mahadēo, the vow made in her name by her mother at her birth!

The Hon. Miss Frances Eden has been with a party at Moorshadabad, tiger shooting; they had indifferent sport, and only killed five tigers, one of which had the happiness of dying before the eyes of the fair lady. They have returned to Calcutta. It must have been warm work in the jungles after the tigers; but when one has an object in view, one is apt to forget the power of an Indian sun, until a good fever reminds one of the danger of exposure.

21st.—Last night, at midnight, the moon was completely eclipsed, and darkness fell over the land. The natives are horror-struck; they say it foretels sickness, disease, and death to a dreadful extent. It is not unlikely their fears may be verified: the plague is raging at Palee; it is expected it will spread ere long to the Company’s territories. Then, indeed, will the natives believe in the direful presages of the eclipse, forgetting the plague was the forerunner not the follower of the signs of wrath in the heavens. Sir Charles Metcalfe has issued all necessary orders to prevent the intercourse of persons from the infected cities, with those of the surrounding country. The small-pox is carrying off the young and the healthy; in every part of the country you hear of its fatal effects.

The Brija Bā’ī, one of the favourite attendants on the Bāiza Bā’ī, came to see me; I showed her a prize I had won in a lottery at Calcutta; a silver vase beautifully enamelled in gold, value £40. She was much pleased with it, and anxious to procure tickets in the next lottery for mechanical curiosities.

22nd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent to me to say she had put into a lottery, and feared, having only taken seven tickets, she might not gain a prize, and her people would say she was unlucky. Therefore, to avert the evil of being called an unlucky person, she wished to procure the whole of the tickets which remained unsold. I tried to persuade her that she had tickets in abundance; nevertheless she sent for thirty more. How curiously superstitious the natives are! She is as much pleased as a child at this little bit of gambling for mechanical curiosities and jewellery.

24th.—The Brija came to request I would visit the camp to show them how to use a magic-lantern; I did so, but it was a failure, being dim and indistinct. In the course of conversation, wishing to remember a circumstance related by one of the ladies in attendance, I noted it in my pocket-book, on a little slate of white china. Her Highness, who observed the action, asked for the pocket-book, examined it, admired the delicately white china, and asking for a pencil wrote her own name upon it. She appeared surprised at my being able to read and write, accomplishments possessed by herself, but uncommon among the Mahratta ladies, who are seldom able to attain them, it being the system of eastern nations to keep their women in ignorance, imagining it gives them greater power over them. They are taught to consider it unfit for ladies of rank, and that it ought to be done for them by their writers and mūnshīs; nevertheless, they were proud of the accomplishments possessed by the Bāiza Bā’ī.

Her Highness returned me the pocket-book, which I received with pleasure, and value highly for the sake of the autograph, of which, in the plate entitled “[The Kharīta],” the writing on the right-hand side is a fac-simile.

All the needlework is done by women in the zenāna: to allow a tailor to make your attire would be considered indelicate, and their clothes are never allowed to be shown to men, lest they should thus be able to judge of the form of the lady purdanishīn, i.e. behind the curtain. Imagine the disgust an Asiatic lady would feel if placed in Regent Street, on beholding figures displayed in shop windows, intended to represent English ladies in corsets, bustles, and under petticoats, turning round on poles, displaying for the laughter and criticism of the men the whole curious and extraordinary arcana of the toilet of an European!

May 5th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī was unable to get the thirty tickets she sent for in the lottery; eighteen were all that were unsold, and these were taken by her. She was very fortunate, and won two prizes; one was an ornament in diamonds attached to a necklace of two strings of pearls, and a pair of diamond ear-rings, valued at 2000 rupees, i.e. £200; the second a clock, valued at 400 rupees, £40: my own ticket proved a blank. The clock is placed on a rock in the picture, on which are trees, a town, and a fort. In front is the sea, on which float a three-decker and a cutter, which roll upon the waves moved by mechanism. The Mahrattas were charmed with it: it is a good specimen, but they will spoil it in a month.

Copy from a native Akhbar (Court Newspaper).

July 7th.—“The King of Oude, Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, died this morning; he had been unwell for some days, but not very ill: he took some medicine, and expired almost immediately, not without some suspicion of having been poisoned. Colonel Lowe, the Resident, went to the palace, and was proceeding to place the late King’s uncle on the throne, by name Nusseer-ood-Deen, when the Padshah Begam, the late King’s mother, attended by fifteen hundred soldiers and two elephants, came to the palace, bringing a boy whom she vowed was the late King’s son, with the intention of putting him on the throne. Finding the palace-gates shut, she ordered them to be burst open by the elephants, entered, placed the boy Moona Jāh (Feredooa Buckht) on the throne, and desired the Resident to do him homage. In the mean time, Colonel Lowe had sent for the troops; on their arrival, he insisted on the Begam’s quitting the palace; this she would not do. The troops were ordered to dislodge her party. The Begam and Moona Jāh were taken prisoners, and sent under a guard to Cawnpore. The soldiers were dispersed, with the loss of about sixty lives on the Begam’s side, and two or three sepoys on the Company’s. Mr. Paton, Assistant to the Resident, was much hurt in the affray. Colonel Lowe placed the King’s uncle on the throne, and proclaimed him King of Oude. It is said the throne was plundered of its jewels to a great amount, and much treasure was carried off by different persons; some of which was recaptured a few miles from the city. Since the arrival of the Padshah Begam and the boy at Cawnpore, every thing has been quiet in Lucnow; she is to be sent a state prisoner to Chunar. It is believed the boy is not the late King’s son, but was made a tool of for the purposes of the Begam.”

By referring to [Chapter the Eighteenth] it will be observed, that, on the 30th January, 1831, Khema Jāh and Moona Jāh were presented with khil’ats (dresses of honour) by his Majesty, who declared the former to be his heir, and both of them his sons; the latter, the Moona Jāh, now en route to prison, alone was believed to be the son of the King. It is rumoured that his Majesty disowned the boys in the hope that his lately-acquired wife, Kurchia-Mahal, as he styled her, might present him with a son, whom he might raise to the throne. Moona Jāh remained at Chunar until his death in 1846. The King’s uncle, Muhammad Ulee Shah, an old man, was placed on the masnad; and Mossem-ood-Dowla, the grandson of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, and son of his daughter, was deprived of his inheritance.—(See the pedigree of the Kings of Oude, [Chapter the Eighteenth, page 186].)

CHAPTER XLVII.
RADHA KRISHNŬ—SPORTING IN ASSAM.

Festival of the Birthday of Krishnŭ—The Rās—The Rākhī—Krishnŭ or Kaniyā—Sports of the Gopīs—The Elephant—The Horse—Gopalŭ—Gopī Nat’hŭ—Radha Krishnŭ—Krishnŭ destroying the Serpent—Monotony of Life in India—The Holy Monkey—Sporting in Assam—Buffalo Shooting—Tiger Hunting on Foot—The Baghmars—The Spring-bow—An Earthquake—Risk of Life in the Bhagmar Department—The Burying-Ground at Goalparah.

1837, Aug.—The first few days in this month we were blessed with cooling and heavy rain. On the 6th, the annual festival of the Jenem, or birthday, and the sports of Krishnŭ, the Bāiza Bā’ī invited me to the camp: on my arrival I found her Highness seated under a large mango tree; from one of its boughs a swing was suspended, in which the Gaja Rājā and another lady were amusing themselves. This festival, in celebration of the sports of the most popular of the Hindoo deities, was held in all due form by the Mahrattas; it took place by torch-light, in the cool of the evening. In the forests on the banks of the Yamuna Krishnŭ passed his time, playing on the flute, swinging under the trees, dancing, and sporting with the gopīs. The young Princess was therefore amusing herself in the swing as a necessary ceremony; after which, some sixty or eighty Mahratta women came forward, and performed several dances sacred to the season, singing as they moved on the turf, in a circular dance called the rās, in imitation of the gopīs; and the “Songs of Govinda,” as addressed by Kaniyā to Radha and her companions, were rehearsed at this festival, with a scenic representation of Kaniyā and the gopīs. “The listener could not depart after once hearing the sound of the flute, and the tinkling of the gopias’ feet; nor could the birds stir a wing; while the pupils of the gopias’ eyes all turned towards Creeshna.”

Her Highness presented a rich dress of yellow silk, embroidered with gold, and a pair of Indian shawls of the same colour, to the Gaja Rājā, and to many of the ladies in attendance; yellow being the favourite and distinguishing colour of the attire of the beloved of the gopīs. On the arms of the young Mahratta Princess and another lady, the rākhī was bound at the desire of the Bāiza Bā’ī; the rākhī is also commemorative of Krishnŭ: the gift is esteemed a high honour, and the mark of the greatest favour. The value of so distinguished an honour may be better estimated by the following extract from Colonel Tod’s “Annals of Mewar.”

“The festival of the bracelet (rākhī) is in spring; and whatever its origin, it is one of the few when an intercourse of gallantry of the most delicate nature is established between the fair sex and the cavaliers of Rajast’han. Though the bracelet may be sent by maidens, it is only on occasions of urgent necessity or danger. The Rajpūt dame bestows with the rākhī the title of adopted brother; and while its acceptance secures to her all the protection of a ‘cavalière servente,’ scandal itself never suggests any other tie to his devotion. He may hazard his life in her cause, and yet never receive a smile in reward; for he cannot even see the fair object, who, as brother of her adoption, has constituted him her defender. But there is a charm in the mystery of such a connexion never endangered by close observation, and the loyal to the fair may well attach a value to the public recognition of being the Rākhī-bund Bha’e, the ‘bracelet-bound brother’ of a Princess. The intrinsic value of such a pledge is never looked to, nor is it requisite that it should be costly, though it varies with the means and rank of the donor, and may be of flock silk and spangles, or gold chains and gems. The acceptance of the pledge and its return is by the katchli or corset of simple silk or satin, or gold brocade and pearls. In shape or application there is nothing similar in Europe, and, as defending the most delicate part of the structure of the fair, it is peculiarly appropriate as an emblem of devotion.”

The rākhī is not exclusively bestowed upon men; a woman may be distinguished by the honour, and would be publicly acknowledged and considered as the “bracelet-bound sister” of the donor.

The evening closed with the performances of some Mahratta nāch girls, after which I was allowed to depart, having first partaken of some sweetmeats, which they presented to me with a jar of dahī (curdled milk); the latter was excellent, and usually presented at this festival as the favourite food of the gopīs. I returned home late at night, accompanied as usual by the horsemen and torch-bearers of the Bāiza Bā’ī.

I have many idols, images of Krishnŭ, in divers forms; a description of which, with a sketch of his life, will be the best explanation of the scenes commemorated at the festival. He has many names, Krishnŭ, Heri, Kaniyā, and is worshipped under many forms; the idols represent this popular god through many of the events of his life.