30th.—We anchored at the Fakīr’s rock at Janghīra. The abode of the Fakīr is on a high bold rock, rising abruptly in the midst of the stream, completely isolated; the temple is placed on the very summit; there are four small temples also a little below; some large trees spring from the crevices of the rock: the whole reflected in the Ganges, with the village of Janghīra beyond, and the mountains of Karrak in the distance, form a good subject for the pencil. On the outside, carved on the solid rock, are a great number of Hindoo images; amongst them, one of Narasingh is very conspicuous, tearing open the bowels of the king who disbelieved the omnipresence of the Deity. We passed over in a little boat to see this temple; the fakīrs showed it with great good will, and gained a small reward. There is a remarkably fine tree, the plumeria alba, springing from the side of the rock, the goolachin or junglee champa, as the natives call it. On our return to the main land, we climbed a cluster of rocks, just opposite Janghīra; on the summit of these rocks, which are well wooded, stand the ruins of an ancient mosque; no one inhabits the place; the view from the platform is remarkably good. The graves of the Kāzī Biskermee’s family are there; the Kāzī formerly lived there, but I could not gain much information from our guide on the subject. The little burial-ground, with its eleven graves, looked so quiet, and afar from the turmoil of the world, I took a fancy to the spot. There must, or there ought to be, some little history attached to this picturesque mosque and its ruined graves; it stands on a high rock, well wooded, rising abruptly from the Ganges.
Dec. 1st.—We quitted the Janghīra rocks ere daybreak, with a fair wind, and floated down the stream most agreeably; in the evening we arrived at Colgong, which presents much picturesque beauty; four rocky islands of considerable height, rock piled on rock, rise and stretch across the centre of the Ganges. As we sailed past them, I saw five or six of the smallest, lightest, and most fairy-looking little boats gliding about the rocks, in which men were fishing; the fish are large, excellent, and abundant. No one resides on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon, commonly called Colgong, is situated under some hills, and prettily wooded. The cook boat not having arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his gun off, to direct the men where to find us; the sound was returned from the rocks four times, distinctly and loudly, with an interval of four or five seconds between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr. ⸺ killed a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a curious-looking animal, with a most intelligent little face; the body was covered with hair; its leathern wings measured from tip to tip three feet eight inches and a half.
No one ought to take up-country dāndees; they ensure much plague and trouble. The Bengalees having their homes in Calcutta, do not desert going down the river. At Monghir the mānjhī and six dāndees deserted to their homes; this detained and annoyed us.
2nd.—Early in the evening we anchored at Sickrī-galī, a place close upon the Rajmahal Hills, and went out shooting. The dāndees, with long poles, accompanied us to beat the bushes. The people say wild beasts often come to this place at night, and a few miles below there is good tiger shooting; we found no game, being too near the village: had we proceeded further into the hills, we must have had some sport in the wild country around them. Night came on ere we regained the boats.
THE SPRING BOW.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
3rd.—Mr. ⸺ sallied forth with his beaters to try the marshy plain under the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning tempted me out, and the first person whom I saw was an indigo planter standing near his bungalow, the only European dwelling-house at the place. On asking him where good shooting was to be found, he said the road the gentleman had taken was one in which game of all sorts abounded, but that on account of tigers it was dangerous. He showed me the marks of tiger’s paws in his garden. His account rather gave me a curiosity to see the sort of plain where such animals may be found; and with a chaprāsī, and a bearer carrying a large chatr, I took the road to the rocks. After a very long walk, we came to a most suspicious-looking spot, surrounded by very high jungle-grass, beyond which stretched the deep woods and hills of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot frequented by tigers, here they may be found;” and we pushed through the heavy jungle grass from nine to twelve feet in height, and so thick it was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” said the man, “and here, on its edge, the prints fresh on the marshy soil of the feet of a tiger! Look, look, mem sāhiba, it is true, it is true, here they are!” I forced a passage for myself through the grass, and saw the foot-marks. “He who has never seen a tiger, let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen a thief, let him look at a butcher[14].”
My anxiety to see a bête sauvage, a royal Bengal tiger, in his native wilderness, making me forgetful that his presence might prove dangerous, induced me to scan the jungle on every side. “Are we likely to see a tiger?” said I to the man. “Not at this hour, mem sāhiba, see, the sun is high in heaven;” pointing to the hill, “they are up there in the recesses of the mountain, in the shade of the deep forests; when the shadows of evening fall, if the mem sāhiba will return to this spot she will be sure to see the tigers, at that hour they come down to quench their thirst at this water.” At night, on my return to the boats, I remembered the words of the chaprāsī, but did not feel inclined to go out on such a “will-you-come-and-be-killed” expedition.