Oct. 7th.—Yesterday being the Hindoo festival of the Dewalī, a great illumination was made for my amusement; our house, the gardens, the well, the pinnace on the river below the bank of the garden, the old peepul-tree, and my bower, were lighted up with hundreds of little lamps. My bower on the banks of the Jumna-jee, which is quite as beautiful as the “bower of roses by Bendameer’s stream,” must be described.
It was canopied by the most luxuriant creepers and climbers of all sorts. The ishk-pechā, the “Twinings of Love[117],” overspread it in profusion; as the slender stems catch upon each other, and twine over an arbour, the leaves, falling back, lie over one another en masse, spreading over a broad surface in the manner in which the feathers of the tail of a peacock spread over one another, and trail upon the ground; the ruby red and starlike flowers start from amidst the rich green of its delicate leaves as bright as sunshine. This climber, the most beautiful and luxuriant imaginable, bears also the name of kamalāta, “Love’s Creeper.” Some have flowers of snowy hue, with a delicate fragrance; and one, breathing after sunset, the odour of cloves!
The doodēya[118], so called because it gives forth a milky juice, also denominated chābuk churree, from the resemblance of its long slender shoots to a whip, displayed over the bower its beautiful and bell-shaped flowers; it also bears the name of swallow-wort, from the fancied resemblance of its seed-vessels to a swallow flying.
In wondrous profusion, the gāo-pāt, the elephant climber, spread its enormous leaves over the bower; the under part of the leaf is white, and soft as velvet; the natives say it is like the tongue of a cow, whence it derives its name gāo-pāt[119]. In the early morning, or at sunset, it was delightful to watch the humming-birds as they fluttered over and dived into its bell-shaped flowers, seeking nectar; or to see them glancing over the crimson stars of the ishk-pechā. The bower was the favourite resort of the most beautiful butterflies,—those insect queens of Eastern Spring,—not only for the sake of the climbers, but for the blossoms of the Lucerne grass that grew around the spot. Observing one day there were but few butterflies, I asked the reason of the jāmadār? he replied, “The want of rain has killed the flowers, and the death of the flowers has killed the butterflies.”
From the topmost branches of the surrounding trees, the moon-flower[120] hung its chaste and delicate blossoms, drooping and apparently withered; but as the night came on they raised their languid heads, and bloomed in beauty.
“The Nymphæa[121] dwells in the water, and the moon in the sky, but he that resides in the heart of another is always present with him[122].” The Nymphæa expands its flowers in the night, and thence is feigned to be in love with the moon. The water-lily as it floats on the stream, luxuriating in the warmth of the moonbeams, has a powerful rival in the burā luta, the beautiful moon-flower, whose luxuriant blossoms of snowy whiteness expand during the night.
The sorrowful nyctanthes, the harsingahar, is it not also a lover of the moon, its flowers expanding, and pouring forth fragrance only in the night? Gay and beautiful climber, whence your name of arbor tristis? Is it because you blossom but to die? With the first beams of the rising sun your night flowers are shed upon the earth to wither and decay.
The flowers of the harsingahar, which are luxuriously abundant, are collected by perfumers and dyers; the orange-coloured stem of the white corolla is the part used by the latter. The flowers are sold in the bazār, at one and a half or two rupees the sēr. It is one of the most beautiful climbers I have seen.
My humming-birds were sacred; no one dared molest them, not even a rover with a pellet-bow was allowed a shot at my favourites.
Speaking of a pellet-bow, I have seen small birds and butterflies shot with it. One day a gentleman, seeing a pigeon flying across the garden, just above my spaniel’s head, brought it down with a pellet. The dog looked up, opened his mouth, and caught the stunned bird as it fell upon him. Ever afterwards, he was constantly in the garden watching the pigeons with his mouth wide open, expecting they also would fall into it!