The legend of Krishna’s babyhood is a curious echo of the birth of our Lord and the crossing of the Red Sea combined. It seems that a wicked Tyrant wanted to kill the child but his foster-father carried him over the river near Muttra, and as soon as the water touched the infant’s feet it receded and they passed over dry shod. In memory of this event little brass basins are sold with an image within of the man carrying the child in his arms. The child’s foot projects, and if one pours water into the basin it runs away as soon as it touches the toe. I do not know what may be the hydraulic trick, but certainly it is necessary to put the brass basin into a larger one before trying the experiment to receive the water which runs out at the bottom. The little birthplace building was in the courtyard of a mosque—part of which was reserved for the Hindus.
The Seth had built a temple in Muttra itself, where he annually expended large sums in feeding the poor, and he and his family had erected a still finer one at Brindaban, a famous place of pilgrimage in the neighbourhood, where they had set up a flag-staff 120 feet high overlaid with real gold. Seth Lachman Das maintained at his own expense twenty-five priests and fifteen attendants besides fifty boys who were fed and instructed in the Shastras. As at Madura, we were struck by these rich men’s apparent faith in their own religion.
After visiting Deeg and Bhurtpore, we reached the pretty Italian-looking town of Ulwar. The Maharajah, who was an enlightened potentate, had unfortunately gone into camp, but we were interested in the many tokens of his care for his subjects and of his artistic tastes. He kept men executing illuminations like the old monks.
When we visited the jail I was admitted to the quarters of the female prisoners, who seemed quite as anxious to show the labels which they carried recording their crimes, as schoolchildren are to display their exercises or needlework when one visits a school. One smiling woman brought me a label inscribed “Bigamy,” which struck me as rather ludicrous considering the circumstances, and also a little unfair to the criminal. Indian men are allowed several wives—why was she punished for having more than one husband? Probably, however, she was safer locked up in prison than left at the mercy of two husbands, one of whom would almost certainly have cut off her nose if he had an access of jealousy.
After Ulwar we spent a few days at that most attractive city, Jeypore, called by Sir Edwin Arnold the “City of Victory,” a victorious Maharajah having transferred his capital there from the former picturesque town of Amber. The principal street of Jeypore has houses on either side painted pink, which has a brilliant effect in the sunlight, but when we were there the paint certainly wanted renewing. The Maharajah was a rarely intelligent man, and he had a particularly clever and agreeable Dewan—or Prime Minister. We made great friends with the English doctor—Dr. Hendley—who not only attended some of the native nobles, but also was able to superintend the English lady doctor and thereby help the native ladies. Formerly when a child was born a live goat was waved over its head and the blood of a cock sprinkled on it and its mother. Mother and child were then kept for a fortnight without air, and with a charcoal fire constantly burning, more charcoal being added if the child cried. Mercifully the younger ladies and their husbands were beginning to realise the comfort of English treatment on these occasions.
THE JAINS
On our way from Muttra to Ahmedabad we slept at the Rajpootana Hotel, about sixteen miles from Mount Abu Station, in order to visit the Dilwarra Temples of the Jains. The Jains are a sect of very strict Buddhists—almost the only representatives of the Buddhists left in Hindustan proper. Ceylon and Burmah are Buddhist, so are some of the lands on the Northern Frontier, but the Brahmins contrived to exterminate Buddhism in the great Peninsula in the eighth century after it had spread and flourished there for about a thousand years. These Dilwarra temples are well worth a visit. The pious founder is said to have bought the land for as many pieces of silver as would cover it, and to have paid £18,000,000 sterling for building, besides £560,000 for levelling the site on the steep hill.
Without attempting to guarantee the accuracy of these figures, it may safely be said that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find any buildings in the world of which the interiors present an equal amount of highly finished artistic labour. Outside the temples are low and not imposing, inside they are one mass of minute and elaborate sculpture. You stand beneath a dome with saints or angels worthy of a Gothic cathedral rising to its central point. Around are arcades with pillars and arches, beyond which are numerous small chapels or shrines, each with the figure of a large cross-legged Rishi or Saint with little rishis in attendance. Every inch of arch, arcade, and ceiling is adorned with marvellous carving of ornaments, or of men, ships, and animals. We were told that the central figure in each temple was “Of the Almighty,” who seemed to exact as tribute to his power a fearful noise of cymbals and tomtoms. He appeared to be not exactly a deity, but a divine emanation. The really perfect Jain wore a piece of muslin over his mouth to avoid destroying the life of even invisible insects, but such extreme virtue was, I fancy, rare and must have been highly uncomfortable.
THE MAHARAJAH OF BHOWNUGGER
From Ahmedabad we went to Bhownugger, where we were received in great state by the young Maharajah symptuously attired in green velvet and the Star of India, and attended by his high officials and a guard of honour. We felt very dirty and dusty after a hot journey (thermometer in railway carriages nearly 100°) when received with so much splendour, but we liked the Maharajah immensely and he became devoted to my husband.