Next morning, when we issued into the streets of Nashik once more, the scene that presented itself to our astonished gaze was that of a vast multitude gone mad. Crowds of women dressed in fantastic attire, especially in white- and yellow-spotted muslin sarees, men in curious garbs, boys dressed like sprites or wholly nude and besmeared with yellow paint, fakeers, gossains, ascetics, Hindoos, and Brahmans, were seen in the streets shouting, laughing, throwing red paint about; rude jests were being passed; women were addressed in obscene or ribald language; persons blindfolded in the streets were left to grope their way until they removed the bandage from their eyes, friends sent on bootless errands, etc. In fact, it was a complete saturnalia of the rudest and most grotesque description. It was the festival of the Holi,[79] held in honor of Krishna's sportive character on the night of the full moon in the month of February.
That evening we went out on the banks of the Godaveri to see the termination of the festival, and it is simply impossible to describe the wild enthusiasm of this vast concourse of people. The banks of the river, the steps of the numberless temples, the courts within courts, the shrines, the altars, the great halls and music-galleries with forests of carved pillars, were closely packed with countless throngs of white-robed priests, half-naked gossains, or sparkling dancing-girls, while thousands of men, women, and children lined the banks of the Godaveri, eager and enthusiastic participants in the gay, bewildering scene. As we stood gazing at the strange spectacle we heard the wild, discordant sounds of various musical instruments, the shrill blast of innumerable conch-shells, and the deafening beat of the tom-toms, whereupon huge fires began to blaze almost simultaneously from shore to shore at regular distances, and everywhere round them groups of strangely dressed boys performed weird circular dances, holding each other's hands and going around them; then, suddenly letting loose, they darted and leaped round and round one another and round the fire at the same time. This dance is ostensibly performed to commemorate the dance of the god Krishna with the seven gowpiahs, or milkmaids, but there is scarcely a doubt that this festival originally meant to typify the revolution of the planets round the sun.
The light from these blazing fires streaming out upon the moonlit river, the wild discordant music, the hilarious shouts, the frantic dancers, the sparkle of the dancing-girls, the white-robed figures of the countless multitude, now flashing in sight in the glare of the firelight, and anon vanishing in the deep shadows beyond, the piles of black temples, the great trees with their arms bending down to the river or stretching toward the clear sky,—all combined to render the last night of the festival of the Holi at Nashik a most weird and singularly fantastic sight.
From the first to the last day of our visit here there was nowhere perceptible the least trace of European influence on the people or in the city. The people and the city were just what they might have been in the days when Ptolemy wrote about the latter, purely and wholly Hindoo, and full of a Brahmanic atmosphere of religious mysticism—a civilization quite different from anything we had ever witnessed.
There are a number of curious excavations in this neighborhood, about five miles from the town, in the side of a hill that overhangs the highway from Bombay. The hill as well as these cavern-temples is called Pandulená. We rode out on fine horses hired from a native stable close to the bazaar. The ride out was delightful, the views of the country at once grand and beautiful, but the excavations were much less interesting than had been reported to us by Govind, and in no way comparable to the wondrous structures of Ellora. There is one cave here, however, that has a superior finish. The roof is finely arched; the dogaba, or memorial structure, stands at the end and is well executed. Another cave with idols of seated figures has a flat roof, and is not very interesting, save that near it is carved in a niche a huge figure of Buddha. The chief idol here is called Rajah Dhanna—i. e. "judge of the dead"—and is held most sacred by the pilgrims, who were now beginning to arrive here in strong numbers. The odors of the stuff with which the filthy gossains rub themselves and their altogether disgusting appearance sent us hastily back to our quiet lodge, and early next morning we bade adieu for ever to Nashik.
From Nashik to Trimbak, eighteen or twenty miles, the country is one of unrivalled beauty. Trimbak is a very sacred spot, where the Godaveri really takes its rise, and is wholly given up to the Hindoo and Brahman pilgrims, who were pouring into the place from all the country round. It is filled by a class of priests whose sole duty it is to instruct pilgrims in the right way to worship and to receive the gifts bestowed on the temples. The houses of these priests adjoin the temples; they lodge the pilgrims without any charge, but each person generally leaves at the temple a gift which exceeds the cost of his stay. We had no time to examine the temples here, for we spent only a night at Trimbak, and started next morning, traversing circuitous roads, crossing some small nullahs, and by dint of travelling all day and night reached the next important halting-place, which was no other than Damaun, a famous old Portuguese town.
The town of Damaun, with its ramparts, gateways, and bastions, is picturesquely situated. There is on one side of it a fine old fortress baptized after a Christian saint and called the "Castle of St. Hieronymus," and on the other a deep, navigable river which still bears the favorite Hindoo name of Gunga. The country all round Damaun is well cultivated. The tara palm, the castor oil, the babool, or Acacia arabica,[80] were seen in the gardens and plantations. But the interior of the Portuguese town struck me as gloomy and exceedingly filthy, and, though it was full of people—Mohammedans, Hindoos, and Christians, with even Jews and Parsees—it lacked that air of sprightliness and vivacity so noticeable in a purely Hindoo population. It was neither one thing nor the other—not wholly pagan, and only partially Christian. The Roman Catholic chapel here was once a grand mosque.
Through the kind introduction of a Portuguese friend we were most cordially received in the home of a venerable native Portuguese named Johnna Castello. The household consisted of himself and the families of two married sons; one of the ladies was indisposed, but the other, Donna Caterina, did the honors of hostess in a simple and unpretending manner. Our pundit had an outhouse placed at his disposal. The establishment did not boast of many rooms, and those in which we were lodged were rough and poorly built of wood. Our meals consisted of rice and curry, fish, kabobs,[81] kid and fowl pillau, with a variety of fine fruits and vegetables. Our meals were served apart and in European style, but the quantity of onion and garlic with which almost every dish was seasoned helped much toward shortening our stay here. Besides which, it seemed to me that everything was pickled, from the pork (of which the native Portuguese are very fond) to the young bamboo-shoots. At every fresh course some half a dozen hot, biting pickles were handed around.
My womanly curiosity led me into the kitchen of this very well-to-do Portuguese family. It was in keeping with the rest of the place. It was a low wooden structure, black with smoke and age; a long range of open fireplaces, made of brick and mortar, ran along on one side; on these earthen chatties, or earthen pots, were boiling away, some covered and others uncovered; but hanging from the roof above these pots were long lines of blackened cobwebs that looked as if they had remained undisturbed for a hundred years. The servants were all men, native Christians, and were overlooking the cooking or attending to various culinary duties. They were filthy beyond measure, and so was every nook and corner of the kitchen. The native Portuguese in this old-fashioned city of Damaun struck me as peculiarly uninteresting in their manners and appearance. We saw them in the streets, seated on the verandahs or doorsteps of their houses, chattering or laughing or quarrelling with their neighbors in shrill, harsh tones and with ungraceful gestures. In some aspects Oriental Christianity seems even more degrading than the worst form of paganism.