Coaches, chaises, horses, harness.”
23rd.—We quitted the boats, and went up to stay with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. M⸺; they received us with all that kindness and hospitality for which India is renowned; their bungalow, a very fine one, is well situated at the other end of the station. We met a barouche drawn by two camels, harnessed like horses; they went along at a fine pace, and I envied the possessor that pair of well broken-in carriage camels: in double harness they look well; in single harness,—especially in a Stanhope, or any other sort of buggy,—the animal appears too large for the carriage.
1845, Jan. 11th.—Saw a small comet, the nucleus of which was more distinct than that of the immense comet I saw when at sea, although the tail was so small, that it looked not unlike the thin switch tail of a horse.
18th.—Finding it necessary to remain up the country for a time, we dug a tank and made a house for the wild ducks, and turned sixty-five birds into it. It was amusing to see the delight with which the murghabīs splashed into the water when freed from the baskets in which they had been brought from the jangal, and such a confabulation as there was amongst them!
I omitted to mention that during my former residence at this station, the jamadar came to tell me that a murdār-khor (an eater of carrion), who had lately arrived, was anxious to perform before us. The man did not ask for money, but requested to have a sheep given him; he said he would eat the whole at one meal, body and entrails, leaving only the horns and the skin, which he wished to carry away; the wretch said that he would kill the sheep by tearing open its throat with his teeth, and would drink the blood. This feat they told me he had performed before in the bazār. I saw the man at a distance, and was so much disgusted that I ordered him to be turned out of the compound (the grounds around the house). In Colonel Tod’s “Travels in Western India” there is a most interesting account of the murdi-khor, or man-eaters; he made an attempt to visit the shrine of Kalka, the dread mother, whose rites are performed by the hideous Aghori, whose patroness she is, as Aghoriswara Mata. At one time they existed in those regions, but were only found in the wildest retreats, in the mountain-cave, or the dark recesses of the forest. Colonel Tod saw a man perform pūja at the shrine of Goraknāth, whom he had every reason to believe was one of these wretched people,—but whether he was a murdi-khor he could not determine; although, as he went off direct to the Aghori peak, said to be frequented only by his sect, it is probable that he belonged to the fraternity. It appears that the murdār-khor (the carrion-eater) is almost the same as the ādam-khor or cannibal.
24th.—This life is very monotonous, and the only variety I have is a nervous fever now and then.
March 1st.—During a visit at the house of a friend I received a kharīta from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, and was greatly pleased to see the signature of the dear old lady, and also felt much flattered by her remembrance. After I quitted Allahabad for England her Highness remained there some time; at last, on her positive refusal to live at Bunarus, it was agreed that she should reside at Nassuk, a holy place, about one hundred miles from Bombay. She quitted the Upper Provinces, marched across the country, and established herself at Nassuk. Having heard from some of her people of my return to India, and arrival at Prāg, her Highness did me the honour to write to me, and after the usual compliments with which a native letter always commences, the Bāiza Bā’ī added, “I received your letter in which you acknowledged the receipt of mine; but I have not since heard from you, and therefore beg you will write and tell me how you and the sāhib are; do not be so long again without writing, because it makes me anxious.”
I sent in answer a letter of thanks to her Highness for her kindness in having borne me in remembrance; it was written by a mūnshī in the Persian character, and enclosed in a kharīta. At the same time I sent a bunch of the most beautiful artificial flowers to the Gaja Raja, to testify my respect; it would have been incorrect to have sent the flowers to the Bā’ī. They were Parisian, and remarkably well made; the Gaja Raja, being fond of flowers, will be pleased. I gave the letter and bouquet to one of her attendants, Bulwunt Rāo, who promised to send them across the country to Nassuk. The title of Gaja, i.e. elephant, is curiously applied to the young Princess, her form being fragile, delicate, and fairy-like.
In 1848 I received a letter from a friend at Gwalior, mentioning that the Chimna Raja, the daughter of the Gaja Raja Sāhib, who was born at Allahabad, and who was then about eight years of age, had been betrothed by her great grandmother, the Bāiza Bā’ī, to Jhankī Rāo, the Maharaj of Gwalior; after which ceremony the young bride returned to Oojein with the ex-Queen. This intelligence pleased me greatly, because the marriage of the great grand-daughter of Dāolut Rāo Scindia with the reigning sovereign of the Mahrattas will give great satisfaction to her Highness; and the wandering Hājī rejoices that her great grand-niece (by courtesy) will share the throne of her ancestors with the Maharaj of Gwalior.
5th.—This evening, while cantering at a sharp pace round the Mahratta Bandh, my horse fell, and my companion thus described the accident in a letter to his brother. “Kābul came down upon his nose and knees; nineteen women out of twenty would have been spilt. The Mem Sāhiba sat her horse splendidly, and pulled him up like a flash of lightning. The infernal brute must have put his foot in a hole. The evening passed hearing music, and talking philosophy.”