THE KHARĪTĀ
1838, June 29th.—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī did me the honour to send me a kharītā, that is, a letter enclosed in a long bag of kimkhwāb, crimson silk, brocaded with flowers in gold, contained in another of fine muslin: the mouth of the bag was tied with a gold and tasselled cord, to which was appended the great seal of her Highness,—a flat circular mass of sealing-wax, on which her seal was impressed. Two smaller bags were sent with it, as represented in the plate, each containing a present of bon-bons. The kharītā, as well as one of the small bags, is represented divested of its outer case of transparent muslin; the other little bag has on its white cover, and the direction is placed within the transparent muslin. The autograph of the Bāiza Bā’ī is on the right hand side of the page; the letter was written in Urdū (the court language), in the Persian character, by one of her Highness’s mūnshīs, and signed by the Bā’ī herself: the paper is adorned with gold devices. The letter commenced in the usual complimentary style; after which her Highness writes, that—“The light of my eyes—the Gaja Rājā—has been very ill; she has recovered, and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, having heard of her illness, has come from Gwalior to see her.” Kharītās of this sort pass between the mighty men of the East, and between them and the public functionaries of Government.
THE ḴH̱ARĪṬA.
فاني پارکس
July 3rd.—I rode over to Cloud End, inspected the new house, and trained young convolvulus plants over the bamboo hedge around the garden: the rain descended in torrents; it was very cold and uncomfortable. At 7 P.M., being anxious to get home before dark, although it was still raining, I ordered my gūnth; my relative wrapped me up in his military cloak, and put a large Indian-rubber cape above it; in this attire I hoped to keep myself dry during my ride home of seven miles. I had not proceeded a mile from the estate when the storm came on in the fearful style of mountain tempests; the thunder burst roaring over my head, the lightning spread around in sheets of flame, and every now and then the flashes of forked lightning rendered me so blind I could not see the path for some minutes. I had two servants with me; they walked before the gūnth, but were unable very often to trace the road, it was so dark amidst the trees, and the whole time the rain fell in torrents. I saw a dark space in front of the horse, and asked, “What is that?” “Oh, nothing,” said the sā’īs, “ride on.” But I stopped, and sent him forward. At this spot three or four trees had been thrown across a precipice; over these earth had been laid to some depth to form a road; the earth had been entirely washed away by the force of a stream of water, produced from the heavy rain, and had fallen into the precipice:—the darkness was the hollow produced by the chasm! I dismounted; the trees were still below, across the hollow; with difficulty I clambered down, got over the trunks, and up the other side; it was almost perfectly dark. I called the gūnth; the cunning little fellow looked at the hollow, stamped his fore-feet on the ground as if he disliked it, sprang up the bank on the other side, and was in safety by me. I remounted him and proceeded,—an act that required a good deal of quiet courage.
“The darkness of the night is a collyrium to the eyes of the mole[30].” It certainly was not to mine: after I had been out two hours I found that I had advanced four miles on a path that was covered by high trees on every side, rendering it the more dangerous; the lightning was very vivid, and I saw a flash strike the roof of a house; suddenly a faintness came over me, with difficulty I kept in my saddle, and feeling ill, I desired the servant to lead the gūnth to the first gentleman’s house he came near. As soon as we arrived at a bungalow we went up to the verandah, when an officer, hearing a lady was exposed to such a storm, and wished for shelter, came out and took me into the house: I was so much exhausted, the tears ran down my face, and I almost fainted away. They gave me wine, and took off the Indian-rubber cloak, which, most likely, was the cause of the extreme oppression that overcame me.
The lady and gentleman in whose house I had taken refuge were very kind; dry clothes soon replaced my wet habit, and they gave me a bed; however, I was far too much excited to go to sleep, and was disturbed by queer sounds in an outhouse, not far from my sleeping room. I got up, opened my door, wished to call my host, but not knowing his name, lay down again and listened. In the morning the mystery was explained: a lady staying at the house had two she-asses for her baby, which were in an outhouse near my room; the night before my arrival a leopard had broken into the outhouse in which the donkeys were fastened, and had killed them both; they were found dead with their halters on. The night I was there the leopard came again, tore one of the carcases from the halter, and carried it down the khud;—this was the strange noise that prevented my sleeping. Quite a night of adventures. The carcases had been left on purpose, and some of the officers of the Buffs were to have laid wait for the leopard that night, but the storm prevented their quitting their houses.
Captain S⸺ came to Landowr the next day: he was surprised at my having passed the broken road in the darkness of the storm; even by daylight, he passed over it with difficulty—perhaps the darkness aided me, as it prevented my being giddy.
11th.—Rode to the Botanical Gardens; observed several young tea plants, which were flourishing. The bright yellow broom was in full flower; it put me in mind of the country by the sea-side at Christchurch, Hants, where the broom is in such luxuriance. We feasted on Cashmere apricots, which, though not to be compared to those of Europe, were agreeable to the taste.
12th.—Storms, storms,—rain, rain,—day by day,—night by night: thermometer at noon, 66°.
17th.—A bear having been killed, I procured several bottles of bear’s grease. Apricot oil was recommended also for the hair.
I bought some Dēodar oil, made from the white cedar; the smell is vile; it is good for rheumatic pains; if rubbed in too much it will produce a blister.
Baskets full of currants were brought for sale; they were only fit for tarts. Fresh figs, pretty good, were sent me, also some tolerable pears of good size. Tar, called cheer-ke-tel, is excellent in the Hills.
25th.—Was persuaded to go to a ball given by the bachelors of Landowr and Mussoorī, an event in my quiet life. Cholera has appeared in the bazār: the Hill-men are so much alarmed that they run away from service. My paharīs came to request I would let them all depart and pay them their wages: this I refused to do: they pleaded their fear of the cholera. At length they agreed to remain, if I would give them a kid to sacrifice to the angry goddess who resides in the mountain, and whom they believe has brought the illness amongst them—they are extremely superstitious. What can you expect from uneducated men? “If grass does not grow upon stones, what fault is it in the rain[31]?”—i.e. it is unreasonable to expect learning from him who has not the means or capacity to acquire it.
August 17th.—As to our military movements, something will be done, and danger is to be anticipated; but Russia will not be so foolish as to enter heartily into the quarrels of Persia. As for the Persians,—bah! I spit upon them, as Hājī Baba tells us they say of us. I was amused by a letter in the paper to-day, which, speaking of the Russian Invasion, says, “We are being hemmed in all round like a pocket-handkerchief, and like it coming to blows.” Are they afraid the bloodthirsty and ambitious Nicholas should push us from our stools and rob us of our salt? Eating the Company’s salt is the native mode of expression for their wages of labour done under it.
Preparations for war are going on. Fifteen thousand men from Bengal, and ten thousand from Bombay are to march to Cabul, and defend that part of India in case of an attack from Russia and Persia. Burmah and Nepaul are looking hostile; we shall have war in abundance shortly. The Mahrattas talk about the “Russes;” indeed the whole bazār at Allahabad is full of it; they would have even a worse time with these Cupidons du Nord, as the French called the Cossacks, than even with us, resumption regulations included.
20th.—For the last three weeks we have had rain night and day; sometimes it has cleared in the evening for two hours; any thing more unpleasant you cannot well imagine; certainly the rains are very disagreeable in the Hills.—Another plague.—The houses swarm with fleas. At first they did not attack me; for the last few nights I have hardly closed my eyes on account of their sharp fierce bites; they will worry me into a fever. To counterbalance this plague we have no musquitoes; and the climate is too cold to render a pankha necessary. How often have I remembered a poetical epistle of Mr. W. S. Rose’s, beginning,
“These cursed fleas, they bite and skip so,
In this Island of Calypso!”
The Hill-men say there is a certain stone which possesses a charm and keeps away fleas; this stone they put into their beds, and vow it keeps off the biters. My ayha tells me she borrowed the charm, and put it into her bed, the fleas were nevertheless as ravenous as ever; she says the stone has the smell of a peach.
“What are you doing?” said I to my darzī, who was one day groping about the floor with something in his hand, “Trying to find my needle with this iron-stone; there is plenty of it in the Hills.” Shortly afterwards the needle, attracted by the magnetic qualities of the iron-stone, stuck to it; and the darzī brought it to me in triumph. Sang-i-miknātīs is the native name for loadstone.
21st.—Two of my fat sheep have been stolen: an officer in the engineers has given me a fine Hill dog, by name Khobarah; he must be chained in the sheep-house.
22nd.—Another fat sheep has disappeared: according to the shepherd, carried off by an hyena,—according to my belief, sold to the butcher.
23rd.—We are blessed with a gleam of sunshine, and the man is off with his net to catch butterflies; this fine day will tempt them forth.
A Hill-man brought in a basket of fresh kajgee, walnuts; they were a novelty; we cracked them, Hill fashion, between the door and the sill, and found them excellent, sweet, and fresh.
The paharīs brought down curious-looking white stones, which they called booteah chharrā, and used as shot. According to their account these stones are found in a waterfall, and brought from Almorah. On first inspection they have the appearance of being a mineral crystallization, but on more minute examination, it will be found that the number of faces or flattened sides is irregular, some having eight, others nine, ten, or eleven faces. On splitting one open as shown in the plate entitled “[Jugunnath],” Fig. 7, which represents the two halves, a beautiful little round kernel presents itself, enclosed in the outer case. It is very probable, therefore, that they are the ripe seeds or berries of some tree or plant in the vicinity, which, falling into, or being washed by the rains into some water highly impregnated with carbonate of lime, become petrified, and entirely changed into this substance, which frequently happens under the supposed circumstances. The little flattened faces may thus be accounted for, by the pressure of the grains in their conglomerated state against one another, at the time the berries are either in a soft or ripe state; at any rate, they are now simple carbonate of lime, completely dissolving in diluted muriatic acid, with evolution of carbonic acid, and without sediment.
In the plate above mentioned (Fig. 6) the grains are represented en masse, about half their proper size. Fig. 8 represents them exactly the size of the original; one is split open, showing the centre of the rays. Fig. 7 is a grain split open, showing the beautiful little white polished berry,—if berry it be.
I have numerous specimens of leaves and branches of trees from Almorah, petrified in the waterfalls, covered with a thick white or brownish crust, through which the fibres of the leaves can be distinctly traced.
Amongst other curiosities in the Hills, I must not omit the flexible stone; Major S⸺ showed me a large specimen, which was decidedly flexible. Since I have applied myself to lithography, it appears to me that the stone we cut out of his mountain at Cloud End, Landowr, with which his house was built, had greatly the appearance of the German lithographic stone; I well remember thinking it rotten when first cut out, and finding it hardened completely on exposure to the air in ten days or a fortnight: I know not if this peculiarity belong to the lithographic stone. The latter dissolves completely in muriatic acid, and water, leaving no sediment.
31st.—A most fearful storm during the night,—one that was sufficient to make me quit my bed, to look after my little widow and the bābās, i.e., children. The paharīs informed me a few days ago that the banglā or thatched house in which I am living has been three times struck by lightning, and twice burned to the ground!—an agreeable reminiscence during so violent a storm. As the lightning, if it strike a house, often runs round the walls of a room, from the iron of one wall shade to that of another, and then pursuing its course down to the grate, tears out the bars, and descends into the earth, we took the precaution of sitting in the centre of the room, avoiding the sides. My fair friend laughed, in spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:—
“Ellen, from lightning to secure her life,
Draws from her pocket the attractive knife;
But all in vain, my fair, this cautious action,
For you can never be without attraction.”
Sept. 1st.—A most delightful day,—sunshine, absolute sunshine,—the Hills so gay and beauteous after the deluge of so many weeks: the ponies came to the door, and we enjoyed the day to its fullest extent. Some leaf butterflies were caught and brought to me; they are very large and curious,—the back of the wing is like two autumnal leaves laid upon one another. It is said that every month the appearance of the leaf butterfly changes, varying with the leaves. Those that were caught for me were like autumnal leaves, and were of two kinds. I made a large collection of butterflies, both at Allahabad and in the Hills; in the latter place many rare and valuable sorts are found. The Map butterfly, so called from the map-like tracery on its wings, is difficult to catch, it flies so high; it is very beautiful. The large black butterfly, that has four brilliant purple eyes on its wings, is perhaps as handsome as any; but it has a rival in the emerald green long-tailed one, whose under wings are dashed with purple, and edged with rose-coloured spots. There is also a long-tailed black butterfly, the upper wings of which exhibit stripes of black and white, while the under ones have seven rose-coloured spots and four white marks in the centre. I am told the most valuable are the small purple ones with long tails. It were too long a task to enumerate the various beautiful specimens procured for me of these “insect queens of eastern spring.” The privates of the Lancers and Buffs added to my collection, and were very anxious to give their butterflies in return for the beer brewed in the Hills; which, though it cannot be compared to Bass’s or Allsopp’s Pale Ale, is very fair, when you consider it is country made.
5th.—A letter informed me of the bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Allahabad: the Ganges poured through the gap, inundating the whole country, until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, leaving the latter completely insulated. Our house, being close to the bank of the Jumna, escaped, but was on every side surrounded by water. M. mon mari had two large boats anchored near, to receive himself, his horses, his flocks, and his herds, should the river rise any higher. The Bāndh burst on the 23rd of August; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge, carrying away all the thatched huts, the brick houses alone escaping. The Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank on which the chabūtara (terrace) in our garden is placed. The damage done to the crops and villages is estimated at four lākh; besides this, the force of the water rushing upon the bastion of the Fort has caused it to fall in; it will cost forty or fifty thousand rupees to repair the bastion.
6th.—Ill: my ayha is so kind and so careful of me: what a good servant I find her! Apropos—grain is at present very dear at Landowr; gram, twelve seer per rupee.
“One wife is enough for a whole family[32].” “Where do you live?” said I to one of my servants, a Paharī (mountaineer), who had just deposited his load of rhododendron wood, or, as he calls it, flower wood, in the verandah. “Three days’ journey from this, in the pahar (mountain,)” said the man. “Are you married?” said I. The man looked annoyed; “Who will marry me? How can I have a wife? there are but three of us.” Having heard of the singular customs of the Paharīs with regard to marriage, I pursued my interrogation. “Why cannot you marry?” “We are only three brothers; if there were seven of us we might marry, but only three, who will marry us?” The greater the number of the family the more honourable is the connexion, the more respected is the lady. “But who claims the children?” “The first child belongs to the eldest brother, the second to the second brother, and so on, until the eighth child is claimed by the eldest brother, if there be a family of seven.”
I have heard that the Hill women destroy their female offspring, thinking the lot of woman too hard to endure. The price of a wife is high, from the scarcity of women, and may account for the disgusting marriages of the Paharīs.
Mr. Vigne, in his travels in Cashmir, remarks,—“My classical companion pointed out to me the following passage of Cæsar’s Commentaries, showing that a similar custom existed amongst the Ancient Britons:—‘Uxores habent deni duodenique inter se communes, et maxime fratres cum fratribus, et parentes cum liberis. Sed si qui sunt ex his nati, eorum habentur liberi, a quibus primùm virgines quæque ductæ sunt.’”—Cæsar, de Bello Gallico, lib. v. cap. 14.
I am told that honesty was the distinguishing characteristic in former times of the Paharīs, but intercourse with civilized Europeans has greatly demoralized the mountaineers.
CHAPTER LVI.
ELEVATION OF THE HIMALAYA.
“Not vainly did the early Persian make
His altar the high places, and the peak
Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take
A fit and unwall’d temple, there to seek
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak,
Uprear’d of human hands. Come, and compare
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,
With nature’s realms of worship, earth and air,
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!”
The Great Peak of Bhadrināth—No Glaciers in the Snowy Ranges—Ceremonies performed on visiting Holy Places—Kedarnāth—Moira Peak—Gangoutrī—The Jaunti Peak—Jumnotrī—The Himalaya Range formed by Mahadēo—Palia Gadh—The Dewtas—Bandarponch—Hŭnoomān—The Cone—Height of the Himalayas.
1838, Sept.—You wish me to send home some sketches from the Hills; I will strive to comply with the request, and in the mean time will forward you a map, copied from a portion of a survey: it will show you the elevation of the Himalaya, and give you a definite idea of the shape of the mountains.