Dwakanath Tagore is going to Europe for two years, and is to visit the King of France. The magnet that attracts the Wise Man of the East is the beauty of the opera-dancers, and the delight above all others that he has at the opera in Paris, seeing, as he says, three hundred of the most beautiful women in the world all together;—the baboo is rather beside himself on the subject.
According to the steam regulations, the Civil station of Monghir is half-way from Calcutta,—one hundred and thirty-three miles above Rajmahāl, and twenty-five above the rock of Janghīra. Among the articles manufactured here, the black vases for flowers, turned in white wood, and lacquered whilst on the lathe with sealing-wax, are pretty. The necklaces and bracelets in imitation of jet, at two or three rupees the set, are beautifully made; necklaces of St. Agnes’s beads, monkeys, chameleons, and male bamboos,—every thing is forthcoming in the bazār, with the exception of ducks. The steamer’s passage is from ten to fourteen days to this place,—three hundred and ninety-eight miles by the Bhagirathī, six hundred and eighty-six by Sunderbands, and three hundred and four by dāk; the latter runs in two days and three-quarters. On arrival here the collector’s and the magistrate’s book is sent on board, for entry of all passengers’ names. Two miles S.W. by W. of Monghir are some rocks, with a mark on them,—they were formerly in the steamer’s track, but are now buried in an immense sandbank; steamers stop here three or four hours for coals. Moored off the village of Husseingunge.
11th.—At noon passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty miles above Monghir, with a small river that runs down from the hills; fowls and kids are procurable here, through the jāmadār’s assistance, for boat travellers. Lugāoed off a sandbank; the weather has become very cold,—the thermometer this evening 72°, with a sharp wind.
12th.—The river very uninteresting; the villages dirty and disgusting, filled with pigs and most noisy beggars: moored the boats as far away from a village as we could, and were even then obliged to drive off the beggars, whose incessant noise left us neither peace nor quiet.
13th.—Passed a remarkably fine banyan-tree, the roots of which are exposed, from the river having washed away the earth; would have stopped to sketch it, but could not venture on shore amidst such a crowd of clamorous beggars and filthy swine,—such pigs! so lank and lean, and long-legged and thin-flanked, with staring bristles, all busily employed in turning up the earth with their unringed noses! Old wretched beggar-women, with their skeleton bodies and long white hair, are pursuing the budgerow, uttering their monotonous cries for charity. There is a tope of tamarind-trees that looks most inviting at Bar, and the tar or fan palms are remarkably fine—the natives say they are fifty cubits high. There are many spreading banyan-trees near this place, and the scenery of the interior looks very inviting. The large town and mart of Bar is on the right bank of the river, sixty miles above Monghir, and fifty below Dinapūr, a bye depôt for steamers’ coals; for twenty miles above and below, all this bank of the river is noted for piggery villages and saltpetre manufactories. Lugāoed a little above Bar.
14th.—After a most uninteresting day among shallows and sandbanks, moored off Benīpūr: walked towards a light I saw at a distance, and found a police-station. At the side was a burial-ground of the Faithful; some Mahomedan saint was there entombed. The light was burning in the niche of the pillar at the head of the tomb. It was under a most magnificent old banyan-tree, growing on a bank; the river had washed away the ground from its roots, and they were starting forth in all picturesque forms. Four large suckers having fallen to the ground, had each taken root, and had attained the size of a tree—the great branches spread in every direction. Next to it was a remarkably fine old tamarind-tree: two or three tombs were around under the shadow of these and other trees; the lamp in the tomb rendered them visible, and the young moon shed a bright light between the boughs, but not sufficient to dispel the deep darkness around. One of the banyan-trees to the left was so old, all its branches had fallen off, and its trunk was cleft, open, and hollow. It measured thirty feet in circumference: these ancient trees and tombs would be a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a native at the spot to tear off a small branch of the banyan-tree: he said, “You can gather a bough yourself, if you like, but I cannot break one off from the tree that shades the tomb of a Pīr,”—a saint.
15th.—The “Directory” says, on the right bank, eighty-seven miles above Monghir, and nine miles below the Patna, or rather Bankipūr station, is a large native town, with a river on its upper or western end that flows from the Hills, and has a pukka, i.e. brick or stone bridge, over it. As we passed Futwa early, some fat merchants, who were bathing in the river, asked if we wanted any tablecloths or towels, for which the place is famous. We anchored at a holy spot; the tomb of a saint is there; both the tomb and the pillar are built of mud: it is raised on a high platform of earth, which is well secured from the inroads of the river by a palisade of the trunks of trees, the outside being covered with old planks from vessels. The priest showed it with great glee, and said, “It is the command that the river shall never touch this holy tomb, which has stood here for seven hundred years. You see it is built of mud; the river overflows all the villages around, but this place is untouched. It is the command that the tomb is never to be built of stone.” On my remarking the strength of the palisades, he was much inclined to be abusive, and demanded alms with the outcries and whine of a beggar.
16th.—The first glance on the river this morning delighted me: we were off an old ruined bastion which had partly fallen into the stream; on its top was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another bastion a little further on, and then some temples and two more burūj. We had now arrived at Azīmabad, as the ancient city of Patna is called by the Muhammadans, which extends a great distance along the bank of the river, and is supposed to have been, among others, the site of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindoo appellation is Sri Nagar.
“The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the footpads of Kuhulgaon, and the bankrupts of Patna, are all famous[46].” The Hindoos were coming down in large parties, preceded by tom-toms (native drums), and musical instruments of all sorts, to bring their offerings to the river. They carried baskets filled with fruits or vegetables to the river-side, and great bunches of plantains, and washed them in the river. The Brahmans poured water on the offerings, prayers were repeated, the people bathed and returned home.
It was the festival of the Sun—the Sūraj Pūja. The dresses of the people were of the most brilliant colours. Flags of a bright crimson colour, bearing the image of Hŭnūmān blazoned in white upon them, were flying at the end of long slender bamboos.