23rd.—The melā at Bulliah is held on this day, the last of the month of Kartik. The scene for five miles was very gay; a great Hindū fair and bathing day; boats full of people going to the fair, numbers on the cliff, and crowds in the river, at their devotions,—an animated scene. The gentlemen are firing ball at the great crocodiles, as they lie basking on the sandbanks; they have killed a very large one. When crocodiles are cut open, silver and gold ornaments are sometimes found in the interior; the body of a child—the whole body—was found in a crocodile, a short time ago, at Cawnpore.
25th.—This morning our little fleet passed the Soane river at its junction with the Ganges; I went on deck to look at the kala panī, the black water, as the natives call it, on account of the deep blue tinge of the Soane, which forms a strong contrast to the dingy milky hue of the stream of the Gunga. In this river, agates, amethysts, cornelians, &c., are found. Crossing the river, which was considerably agitated by a very powerful wind, to go to the fair at Hājīpūr, I saw a man apparently standing on the waters in the centre of the river; it was blowing a stiff gale; the man stood in an erect and easy position. On coming nearer I perceived he was standing on the back of an elephant; the whole of the animal’s body, with the exception of his head, was under water; he put up the end of his trunk every now and then, and was swimming boldly and strongly forward directly across the enormous river. The wind blew so heavily, it was surprising the man could keep his balance; he held a string in one hand, the other contained the ankus, with which the mahāwat drives his elephant; the string was, perhaps, the reins fastened in the animal’s ears, with which they often guide them.
On the evening of the 25th we arrived at Hājīpūr; it was very provoking to see all the tents being struck, and the vessels going down the stream, as we were rowing up it,—a day too late for the fair. Hājīpūr is situated at the junction of the Gunduc with the Ganges; the Gunduc is such a rapid stream, it is hardly possible to stem it, at least with a foul wind, such as we had at the time of our arrival. We went on shore, and procured provisions; returning, we crossed the Gunduc in a boat hollowed out of the stem of a tree,—not a very safe sort of concern, but very common on the Ganges.
What an uncomfortable night I spent! awakened every half-hour by the falling in of the sandbank to which my budgerow was moored; I feared my cook boat would have been swamped. In the middle of the night a great cry was raised of “Chor, Chor!” and a number of people rushed down to seize a thief, who was floating down the rapid Gunduc, with a gharā (an earthen pot) over his head; a trick common to thieves, that they may pass unperceived. I got up, hearing the noise, and looked out of the cabin window; seeing a man in the water close under the window, and imagining him to be one of the sailors, I said, “What is all this noise about?” The thief, for it was he, finding he was not concealed by the shadow of the vessel, swam off; and, although a boat pursued him, he escaped by either crossing the Ganges or floating down it. These thieves are most wonderfully skilful, and infest the great fairs of India; my servants say he had a large box with him in the water, and floated down upon it; it was stolen from the tent of a rich native.
Off the village of Futwa I purchased a quantity of Patna tablecloths, napkins, and cloth; the manufactory is at this place; and the people bring their goods off to the passing vessels.
The whole way from Allahabad to Patna the fan palm trees (borassus flabelliformis) are extremely scarce; immediately below Patna the river’s bank is covered with them. The natives call them tar or tarie trees; the juice is used as leaven for bread, also as urruk. A single leaf is sufficient to form the large hand pankhās used by the bearers, and paper is also manufactured from the tarie tree. They add greatly to the picturesque and Eastern beauty of the scene.
29th.—Arrived at Monghir: the place looks very well from the river with its old Fort. On anchoring we were assailed by a number of people, all anxious to sell their goods,—chairs, work-tables, boxes, straw bonnets and hats, birds in cages, forks, knives, guns, pistols, baskets, kettles; and to the noise of such a collection of people, all howling and shouting, was added the whining of a host of beggars.
We went on shore, and walked through the bazār, buying a number of queer things. After tiffin we proceeded in palkees to the Seetā Khoond, about five miles from Monghir, the road very good, date and palm trees in abundance; and the country around Seetā’s Well makes one imagine that one is approaching the sea-shore; there is a remarkably volcanic appearance in the rocks. The Seetā Khoond is a brilliantly clear spring of boiling hot water, which bubbles and boils up most beautifully, and is enclosed in a large space, with steps descending to the water. I never saw so beautiful a spring, or such living water! There are four springs close to it, but they are all of cold water, and have none of the clearness or beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water is contained in an enclosure of stone, in which it rises up sparkling and bubbling from its rocky bed. The steps on which you stand are very hot, and a hot steam rises from the surface; the water is so clear you can see the points at which it springs up from its bed of rock. The stream from the Seetā Khoond is constantly flowing into the jheel below in a little rivulet, that gradually widens, and in which the presence of the hot water is perceptible in a cold morning for about one hundred yards from the spring.
Several years ago, an artilleryman attempted for a wager to swim across the basin, and although he succeeded in getting over, it was necessary to convey him to an hospital, where he died within a few hours from the effect of the hot water; not having tested it by a thermometer, I cannot tell the precise heat. The Brahmāns say, so holy is the well, by the power of the goddess Seetā, that, although boiling, it performs the miracle of keeping rice and eggs thrown into it in an uncooked state. I saw a great quantity of rice which remained unswollen in the water; not being a pious Hindū, I conclude the water to be below the boiling point.
A pretty Hindū temple has been erected close to the spring, dedicated to Seetā, in which are four idols; one of the god Rām, his beloved Seetā, his brother Lutchman, and their champion the monkey god Hoonumān; in the verandah is also a statue of Hoonumān. I put the points of my fingers into the water, but the heat was too near the scalding point to allow of my putting in my hand; the view from the spring is remarkably beautiful; in front is a jheel, a large space of shallow water, bounded by the Kurrukpūr mountains at various distances; these mountains are rather rocks than mountains, and the stones took all sorts of grotesque forms as the sun declined behind them. On the right and left of the spring were rocks, which appeared to have been thrown up by an earthquake. The jheel looking like a place in which snipe and wild ducks would be plentiful, one of the party took his gun and shot over it, but had no sport; the morning is the time for finding birds there. I walked half-way down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at the spring, with the dark green mango tope behind, and the wild-looking, rocky scenery on either side, had a pleasing effect. The palkee-bearers told me, in the centre of the opposite mountains, the Kurrukpūr, about six miles from the Seetā Khoond, there is a hot spring, called Reeçee Khoond, which, from being in the jungles, is little known; that every third year a fair is held there, when people assemble to bathe and do pooja. My friends filled many bottles at the spring; it is necessary to bring corks, as they are not procurable at Monghir. The water is so pure, it keeps like the Bristol water on a long voyage; people returning to England make a point of stopping here on that account.