This spot is famous in Mahratta annals. In 1599 Poonah and Supah were made over to Mahlaji Bhonsli, grandfather of the renowned Sivaji, by the government of the Nizam. In 1750 it was made the capital of the Maharashtra empire under Balaji Baji Rao. It was once more seized and destroyed by the Nizam's forces, by Alih Shah, who had established the Mohgul empire at Haiderabâd in the Deccan. And here again another battle took place in 1802, when Jeshwant Rao Holkar defeated the combined armies of the Peishwa and Scindhia.
With our usual good-fortune we procured a house at Kirkee to stay in during our visit to this neighborhood. It was the residence of a moolah, a Mohammedan bishop, and must have been built many years ago. It is a beautiful spot. A British cavalry regiment is stationed here, and here was fought the battle in which the English gained one of their most remarkable Indian victories over the last Peishwa.
The native city is divided into seven quarters and dedicated to the seven high angels or planets after whom the days of the week are named.
The streets of the city of Poonah are more picturesque and far more Oriental than even those of Bombay. The principal street is long, wide, and furnished with sidewalks, with shops of all sizes and all kinds of merchandise, having open fronts, and the goods are exposed on inclined platforms. The lanes and thoroughfares are thronged with people of all nationalities—the sedate and white-robed Brahman; the handsome Hindoo; the refined and delicate-looking Hindoo woman in her flowing graceful saree and pretty red sandals (for in this city Mohammedan influence has not yet reached the point which it has in other parts of India, and the women are not cooped up in harems, but are met everywhere in the streets, temples, and bazaars); the pompously-dressed Musulman, Arab, and Mahratta horsemen completely armed, prancing along on their splendid chargers; Mahratta foot-soldiers with their lordly swagger, equipped with sword and shield and buckler; emaciated devotees, fakeers, and mendicants of all denominations, some wholly nude, others clothed in the skins of wild beasts, and yet others covered with dust and paint and ashes of cow-ordure; fat, lazy-looking Brahmanee bulls; Jews, Parsees, native Portuguese Christians, and occasionally a British Mahratta sepoy in his neat undress uniform. This moving picture, so strange and incongruous, had the additional fascination of state elephants; splendid cavalcades of the Peishwa's troops decked out in brilliant colors and accompanied by richly-caparisoned led horses; camels trotting along at a quick pace to the sound of merry little tinkling bells suspended from their necks; fighting rams, kept for combats, one of the favorite Mahratta pastimes, parading the streets in long rows, now leaping and butting at dreamy Brahmanee cows. Add to all this that almost every day in the week there are crowded markets, religious processions, passing funerals with gayly-dressed corpses seated on the biers, looking ghastly enough on this dancing bubbling current of human life, and some idea may be formed of the sights and scenes to be met with in the capital of the Mahratta empire.
At my first arrival at Poonah I remember seeing some Hindoo children at play in the square. They were playing at marbles in all respects like the English game, save that the boys had nothing in the world on but a sacred cord round their shoulders and some gold and silver ornaments. New-born infants could not have been more unconscious than they were. The boy who won, a lad about eight or nine, seemed the least elated of the party. The one who lost had a better time; he clapped the winner on the back and cheered him all the way across the square, crying, "Khoop! khoop!" ("Fine! fine!"). There were thirty or more nude little fellows watching the play with intense interest, and evidently having the most enjoyment out of it, to judge from the wild shouts of applause with which they hailed the victor, screaming at the very top of their lungs, "Marliah! marliah!" ("Beaten! beaten!"). How many English or American boys would behave so well?
It would be simply impossible to enumerate all the places of historical interest to be found here. The hillsides are everywhere crowned with forts and religious and military strongholds, where many a battle has been fought and won, and many a treaty formed only to be broken, both by the servants of the East India Company and the contending Mahratta and Mohgul forces, on this debatable land of the Hindoos, Mohguls, and English conquerors.
There are Bambura, or Bampoora, whence in former times an enormous gun, the Mahratta curfew, boomed sunset warnings to honest men to betake themselves home; and Dapooree, where Colonel Ford, C. B., built a palatial residence, and raised and commanded a brigade of magnificent Mahratta troops after the European fashion for the service of the Peishwa Baji Rao.
At Chinchore, near by, a boy is still worshipped as God by the credulous natives. The originator of this curious deception was one Marâbo, who is said to have restored sight to a blind girl, and who effected a like miraculous cure for the great Sivaji.[63] In order to prove his divinity, this Marâbo caused himself to be buried alive in a sitting posture with a holy book in his hands. His son succeeded him as God. For several miracles performed by the latter, especially the feat of transforming a piece of cow's flesh into roses, the emperor of Delhi, Alamghir, presented to this man-god Narayana eight villages in perpetuity.
Then there is another curious old fort, Chakhan,[64] with its ramparts and parapets constructed, according to Hindoo story, by an Abyssian chief named Palighar, A. D. 1295. In 1818 it was captured by the troops of the East India Company. And last, but not least, there is the famous Sing-garh, "the lion's den," a vast triangular-shaped fortress, where the brave Mahwalee soldiers, headed by the braver Tanaji Mahisreh, Sivaji's general, fought against the Rajpoots. The latter lost his life after he had captured from the Rajpoots this stronghold of the Mahrattas, causing Sivaji to exclaim, "The den is taken, but the lion, alas! is slain."
This fortress was finally captured by the English during the Mahratta and English war. The ascent is made by palanquins. Splendid trees and many a wild flower crown the hillsides, creeping over gate and tower and moat, spreading beauty and gladness where once was heard the perpetual war-cry of deadly combatants.