The beggars of Delhi are proverbial for their importunity, and on the steps of the mosque they glean a rich harvest. The maimed, the halt, the blind, pursued us till we were fain to take refuge in the carriage from the armless stumps, the twisted and distorted limbs, that were thrust forward, to excite our pity. Not less troublesome are the hawkers and vendors, who swarm everywhere in the verandahs of the hotels, but nowhere worse than at Delhi. They leave you no peace, pursue you everywhere, and even insinuate themselves in at your bedroom door. They are the pest of Indian travellers.
Driving in the afternoon through the Queen's Gardens, the abode of the horrid yellow pariah dogs of the city, we reached the outskirts of the town, and came to the old fort, made 500 years old. It consists of some ruined walls, so massive that, judging from the aperture of the loopholes, they must be at least eleven feet thick. On the top of a large pile of ruins, nobly placed, stands the Lat, or Staff of Feroz Shah, another of Asoka's columns. It is like those we have seen at Benares and Allahabad, only this one is of more ancient date, being 2200 years old. The Lat is a single shaft of sandstone tapering very slightly towards the top. The inscription in Pali, the oldest language in India, is almost illegible, but it consists of "certain edicts for the furtherance of religion and virtue, enacted by a king called Dhumma Asoka Piyadasi," who must have changed his character after ascending the throne, which he only reached by the murder of the ninety relations who had prior claims. A kite perched on its broken summit, looked curiously monumental, and there were others sitting in solemn rows on the ruins around, with heads turned towards the commissariat building below, whence they were expecting their daily meal of refuse. Others were also swooping around the river banks, waiting for one of the dead bodies which are so frequently seen floating down the Jumna.
We returned to the town, and found our way through a very slummy lane to a beautiful little gem, a Jain temple, most exquisitely carved outside, though this was almost hidden and lost in the narrow street and the shadow of the overhanging houses. We pass the passage leading round to the further side of the temple, where the women worship apart from the men. Lately we have been seeing many mosques and temples with cupolas, domes, and minarets of all sizes and forms, but now we see one of a totally different design. There is a kind of cupola with a gilded top, but it is a very squat one, and the effect produced is as by a cushion crushed down by the weight of a crown.
The idol, with legs doubled under him, is sitting cross-legged under the canopy inlaid with gold leaf. Jain, the god, was naked, and in this he differs from the Hindu gods, who are always represented clothed. This used to give rise to serious riots on the day in the year when Jain was paraded through the streets in procession, the Hindus pelting him with mud, and a free fight generally ensuing between the different followers. A military force is brought out now on this day of the year for the protection of Jain, at the expense of his believers.
The Hindus also parade their god Ganesh once a year, on June 17th, and we went to see the Juggernaut car used on this occasion, and kept in a stable adjoining the Jamma Mosque. The car is entirely covered with gold leaf, and cost, it is said, 25,000l. We noticed particularly the several railings which surrounded the seat of the god, placed there by the priests to catch the money thrown to him in the streets. It is drawn by four prize bullocks, who have been previously fattened on an allowance of from four to five pounds of melted butter daily, conveyed to them through the trough of a hollow stick.
On our way home we drove through the Chandi Chowk. It is the finest native bazaar in India, the street being a mile long, and so broad that there is room for four avenues, with two roads, and three pavements. In the Chowk there is the Kotvale and the little mosque perched up among the roofs of the houses, where Nadir Shah sat and ordered the massacre in which he killed 100,000 people. Midway the street is intersected, and the harmony of the quaint old houses with their overhanging wooden balconies, much disturbed by the modern red building of the Delhi Museum and Institute, and by the Gothic clock-tower immediately opposite. It was in the Chandi Chowk that we bought some of those lovely embroideries in gold and silver thread on satin and velvet, for which Delhi is justly celebrated. We saw also some very valuable Cashmere shawls, one being valued at 4000 rupees.
Wednesday, January 28th.—A tremendous thunderstorm, with hailstones as large as beans, kept us awake during part of the night. The lightning shone in from the little windows high up in the wall, and was the most vivid I have ever seen. When morning came, we thought the weather was going to fail us for the first time since we have been in India, so violent was the downpour of rain; but by eleven it cleared, and we were able to start with a fine sky for our eleven miles' drive to the Kutub Column.
There are a multitude of things to be seen on the way, and it would be hard to surpass in interest the drives about Delhi. Endless are the antiquarian remains that are scattered about the plain for miles around, They are all ruins of old Delhis, for nine separate cities have at different times been built and abandoned within a radius of twenty miles of the present one. Thus, as you drive along, the ruin of an old fort, or the remains of a city wall, are pointed out to you as Delhi number four or Delhi number eight.
Our driver chose that we should not stop, as is customary, outside the grand fort of the "old" Delhi, the most ancient of all the ruins, and see the mosque inside the Octagonal Library, where the Emperor Humayoon met his death by falling down the stairs of the tower. A mile further on we come to the tomb of the emperor, a splendid mausoleum, standing in a garden. It is rendered so imposing from the huge chabutra of red sandstone on which it stands, open to the surrounding country. In the centre of the circular room under the dome is the plain sarcophagus of the emperor, the father of Akbar. As usual, the surrounding rooms forming the corners of the circular room are full of the tombs of the wives, sons, and daughters of the great man, and in one corner, side by side, are the tombs of five mullahs. The trellis-work is shown of one of the windows where it was broken by Captain Hodgson at the capture of the King of Delhi in 1857. The king had taken refuge in the corner pointed out, behind a bronze door, and the window was broken as being an easier access. A bright blue enamelled dome near here is supposed to have been the residence of the Begum's bangle-seller, and a brick one adjoining, that of the royal barber. This might have been the case, for these Eastern mausoleums were often used as palaces, previous to the death of the person by whom they were built.