In 1401, Firuz Shah, who had succeeded Mahmood in 1397, sent from his kingdom an embassy with magnificent presents to the great conqueror Timoor Lâng (Tamerlane), who conferred on him, in addition to the vast provinces he ruled over, the sovereignty of the kingdoms of Guzerat and Malwah; which proved, however, troublesome acquisitions. It was he who caused that famous observatory (the ruins of which may still be seen on the Dowlutabâd Pass) to be built for his Brahman astronomer. The close of his reign is said to have been disastrous. His armies, bent on conquest, were defeated in a battle with Dèo-Rai-Vijya-Nâggur, and Firuz Shah was not only deposed, but strangled, by his own brother in 1422. The ruthless murderer and brother of Firuz Shah was both a warlike and able monarch. He is known in Indian story as Ahmad Shah Bahmani. In 1432 he built the famous fort of Ahmedabâd at Bidhar, still called after him; and not only restored but beautified that ancient city, which more than two thousand years before had been famed in Sanskrit drama as the capital of the Rajah Bhima Selm, the loves of whose exquisitely chaste and beautiful daughter Damayanti and of Nala, the rajah of Malwah, are sung and acted to this day throughout Hindostan.[70]
This province has been the most celebrated for the beauty and rare accomplishments of its Bahyadiers. They formed a large part of its population; so much was the profession favored that many of these public dancers have become queens, and sons born to them have become kings and learned men. A beautiful and romantic story is still sung here of a Bahyadier named Aminah. Having attracted the attention of Burhan Nizam Shah, she sent him word that she loved him, and, in spite of her profession, was worthy to be his wife. Doubting the sincerity of her assertion, Burhan Nizam Shah subjected her secretly, through a friend, to the most painful trials, in every one of which she gave evidence of an innate nobleness of character. Thus, having proved the sincerity of her attachment, he married Aminah, who continued to be his favorite queen and counsellor even after he had espoused (from motives of policy) the princess of Bijapoor.
The appearance of the country of the Nizam's Dominion, however, is not as full of interest as its history. Without forests of any extent, and with but few lakes, it is intersected by innumerable small streams or nullahs[71] and reservoirs, with occasional hills that rise in curious detached blocks, as if accidentally dropped here and there by some Titans at play.
After many days of a painful journey through wide fields of desolation and gigantic cities now crumbling away, we encamped at a dhurrum-sala[72] in the ancient city of Bidhar, once a place of great renown and the capital of the Mahratta kings, who seem to have shifted their capitals as the Bedouin does his tent. Attached to the dhurrum-sala were long sheds, places of shelter for the cattle, side by side with that of the human cattle. These had grass and fodder provided for them gratuitously by the Brahmans in the vicinity.
This old Mahratta town contains some very curious stone buildings carved with the figures of Hindoo gods and goddesses. Its chief attraction, however, is the beautiful Bidharee ware. We bought a little box and the bowl of a hookhah, which were very gracefully ornamented with silver-work. The metal of which these articles were manufactured is a jet-black compound of copper and tin which is capable of a high polish. The natives here seem happy and independent. We saw some very handsome Hindoo women in the bazaars, but the Mohammedan women were those of the lowest castes.
The difficulties of the road very much increased after leaving Bidhar. We were bumped and battered over a stony road, nor was there anything to be seen but a great wilderness for many miles. When we inquired the distance to the next halting-place our guide, who was very musical, stopped his song and replied, "Chulla joa oodhur hai" ("Go along! it is there"). But where we could not make out. Finally, we were obliged to spend the night under a tree in our wagons not far from a great nullah which was thought unsafe to cross after sunset. On the opposite side of us was a large party of men and women, gossains and priests, fellow-travellers, with four wagon-loads of dancing-girls, some of whom were very interesting seen in the dusk. They were a troup of actors and actresses returning from some village theatre to their head-quarters at Oude Gera, a city in this vicinity.
A little after dawn next morning we crossed the nullah, which was by no means as dangerous as represented by our guide. Along the road we saw some beautiful wild flowers and trailing vines, among them a little hardy blossom like the anemone, and of a lovely rose-color. In the afternoon of the next day we crossed the Godaveri, the famous Tyndis of the ancients, rising in the Thull Ghauts and flowing through the length and breadth of the great high plain of the Deccan to pour itself into the Bay of Bengal. We found no difficulty in fording the river at this season, when the rains were over. In some places its banks were high and steep, and here and there were striking views of the country. We met hosts of carts and natives on horses crossing the river at this point. After another long day's journey we took refuge at last at the dhurrum-sala at Aurungabâd. From the verandah of the dhurrum-sala at this truly picturesque Mohammedan city is a most enchanting view—the Dhuna River winding away through the plain; the leafy woods, not very dense, but full of trees noble and stately; the lime-groves in full blossom sweetly scenting the air, while with pertinacious grace the full-blown leaves of many creeping vines droop over the verandah to fan us gently in the evening breeze; in the distance the domes, the tall, graceful minarets, the shining roofs of mosques and palaces of the once-famous city of Aurungabâd amid eternally verdant gardens. Gradually the sun sets on the charming scene, but we still linger and gaze; few lights are seen, but now and then a rushlight or the glimmer of a fire prepared for the evening meal.
Twilight is deepening into darkness as we start for a walk, accompanied by pundit. We see in the distance a tall square tower, dark in color and crowned with half-ruined battlements, and behind it, far away, the mighty Dowlutabâd, grim, silent and watchful, against the dusky sky. Some strangely weird-looking figures of priests and fakeers are returning from a mosque adjoining, and here and there a bright star shines softly upon the tombs of the dead Mohammedans buried on the summit of the far-off Piphlaghaut.
Dowlutabâd, "the abode of fortune," with the fickleness of the goddess after whom it was named, fluctuated between the Mohgul conquerors of the Deccan, the Rajpoots and Mahratta kings, for several centuries, till finally it passed into the possession of the East India Company. We obtained permission from the governor of the fort to visit this remarkable fortress, which is built on a rocky hill, an isolated, prodigious block of stone, with a perpendicular scarp of nearly a hundred and fifty feet all round it. The summit is pointed like a cone, and capped with a curious old tower, on which is mounted a heavy brass gun. The only means of ascending the fort of Dowlutabâd is through a narrow passage hewn out of the rock and leading to a large subterranean chamber, whence a gallery, also excavated out of the heart of the hill, leads to the top. After traversing this gallery the road passes by the khilladar's (or governor's) house, a handsome building with an arched verandah. The fortress is protected by a fosse and a circular wall winding round the hill to the very summit; the lowest part of the wall is made to enclose the little native town lying at its base, now deserted and fast crumbling away. The view from the summit is very inspiring; we could see the country around, far and near, though there was a slight haze on the distant horizon.