“Chākwī, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwā.
Chakwā, maïn ā, ūn? Nahīn nahīn, chakwī.”
The dārogha, the head man of the adjacent village, came down to the boats to make salām, and offered me the use of two horses for visiting Gaur; and a gentleman from the indigo factory of Chandnī Kothī, two miles distant, had the kindness to say he would lend me an elephant.
Dec. 6th.—Early in the morning a man was seen watching and lurking about the boats; therefore I desired the khidmatgār to put as few spoons and forks on the breakfast-table as possible, lest the sight of silver might bring thieves to the boats at night: the suspicious-looking man carried in his hand a long and peculiarly shaped brass lota, a drinking-vessel.
The dārogha sent the horses, and the elephant arrived, with an invitation to our party to go to the factory, where we found Mr. S⸺ very weak, recovering from jungle fever; but his friend, Mr. M⸺, promised to show us the ruins. They detained us to tiffin at 3 P.M., after which, my side-saddle having been put on one of the horses, I was ready to start; when Mr. M⸺ recommended my going on the elephant, on account of the deepness of the swamps we should have to pass over. Accordingly I mounted the elephant; a number of men attended us, amongst whom were three hill-men, with their bows and arrows; Mr. M⸺ mounted his horse; we went on, and lost sight of him. The factory is situated in the midst of jungle, the ground park-like around, good trees, a great number of tanks of fine water, and a large space of morass in different directions, filled with high jungle grass. My companion took his gun, he is an excellent shot; nevertheless, on account of the unusual motion on a pad, from the back of the elephant he missed his game most strangely. We started by far too late, in spite of which we saw eight wild boars, three hog deer, one black partridge, two snipe, and nine or ten monkeys. Mr. M⸺ did not join us, and we marvelled at his non-appearance. On our return he assisted me as I descended the ladder from the back of the kneeling elephant, and said he had been almost murdered. He related that he quitted the house, and having gone half a mile, was looking for us, when a man tending cows called to him, and said, “A party on an elephant are gone that way.” Mr. M⸺ turned his horse to the point indicated, when the cowherd struck him two blows with a stick, which almost knocked him from his horse; as the fellow aimed the third blow, Mr. M⸺ wrenched the stick from his hand, and cut his forehead open with a blow over the eye. The dākait, or dākū, for he was a robber by profession, ran away; the gentleman followed. The dākait, who had a brass vessel full of water in his hand, swung it round most dexterously from the end of a string, not suffering the water to escape, and sent it right at Mr. M⸺; it missed him, and fell on the horse’s head. The robber then seized him by the collar, and pulled him from his horse; they struggled together, trying to throttle each other, and the dākū hit him severely in several places; at last Mr. M⸺ made him a prisoner, returned to the factory, and having bound his arms, he secured him to a pillar in the verandah, tying his long hair also to the post, to prevent his escape. We returned from the shooting expedition just after all this had happened, and found the ground at the man’s feet covered with blood; he appeared to be a daring and resolute character. On being questioned as to his motives by the gentlemen, he pretended not to understand Hindūstanī, and to be an idiot. I went alone into the verandah: “O, my grandmother, my grandmother! Nānī Ma, Nānī Ma, save me!” exclaimed the man; “did I not bring you milk this morning?” “Yes,” said my bearer, “that is true enough; I know the man by the peculiar shape of his brass lota; he was lurking about the vessel, and when spoken to said he had brought milk; the khidmatgār took it for his own use, refusing to give me a portion.” This was the man I had observed in the morning; he was remarkably well formed, light and active, with muscles well developed; the beauty of his form was not hidden by any superfluous clothing, having merely a small portion of linen around his loins; his body was well oiled, and slippery as an eel,—a great advantage in a personal struggle, it being scarcely possible to retain hold on a well-oiled skin. He told me he had been sent by an indigo-planter from the other side of the river, to take Mr. M⸺’s life. On mentioning this to the gentlemen, I found the men of his factory on the opposite side the river had quarrelled about a well with the men of another factory, and in the affray, one of Mr. M⸺’s hill-men had run the head man of the opposite party right through the body with an arrow; it was unknown whether it had proved fatal, and Mr. M⸺ had crossed the river, awaiting the result of the unfortunate affair. It was supposed the dākait had been on the watch for some time, prowling about the place as a cowherd, and attacked the indigo-planter, finding him alone and far from his servants, the latter having proceeded with the party on the elephant. The robber tending the cows was serving under the orders of the dārogha of the village, who had lent me the horses; I was informed the latter was a regular dākait, and was recommended to remove my boats from the vicinity of his village, which, I understand, is full of robbers, and close to Dulalpūr. We returned to our boats; this most disagreeable adventure made me nervous; the guns and pistols were looked to, that they might be in readiness in case of attack; it was late at night, and I proposed crossing to the other side of the Ganges; but the manjhī assured me there was more to be feared from the violence of the stream, if we attempted to cross the river during the darkness of the night, than from the vicinity of the dākaits.
7th.—We breakfasted at the factory, and then, having mounted a fine tractable male elephant, well broken in for sporting, and showing very large tusks, we proceeded towards Gaur, visiting all the ruins en route, and shooting from the back of the elephant as game arose in the thick jungle and amongst the fine trees which surrounded the tanks in every direction. The country around one of the principal ruins is remarkably beautiful; the ruin stands on a rising ground, covered with the silk cotton tree, the date palm, and various other trees; and there was a large sheet of water, covered by high jungle grass, rising far above the heads of the men who were on foot.
On the clear dark purple water of a large tank floated the lotus in the wildest luxuriance; over all the trees the jungle climbers had twisted and twined; and the parasitical plants, with their red flowers, were in bunches on the branches. The white granite pillars in some parts of the ruin were erect, in others prostrate; a number of the pillars were of black stone.
The Mahāwat, as we were going over this ruin, told us, “This is the favourite resort of tigers, and in the month of Bysak they are here in considerable number; now you may meet with one, but it is unlikely.” My curiosity so far overcame any fear, I could not help looking with longing eyes into the deep jungle-grass, as we descended into and crossed the water, half-hoping, half-fearing, to see a tiger skulking along.
The Sonā Masjid, or Golden Mosque, most particularly pleased me; its vastness and solidity give the sensation one experiences in the gloomy massive aisles of a cathedral. I will not particularly describe the ruins, but will add a description I was allowed to copy, written by Mr. Chambers, an indigo-planter, who, having lived at Gaur for thirty-six years, has had the opportunity of more particularly inspecting them than was in my power. I brought away many of the ornamented bricks, and those glazed with a sort of porcelain, something like Dutch tiles.
The gateway of the fort, with its moat below, is fine; the ramparts are covered with large trees. Lying in a field beyond the ramparts is a tombstone of one single block of black marble, an enormous mass of solid marble. At 5 P.M. the khidmatgārs informed us that two chakor (perdix chukar) and a wild duck, having been roasted in gipsy fashion under the trees, dinner was ready; we seated ourselves near one of the ruins, and partook of refreshment with infinite glee. No sooner was it ended, than, remounting the elephant, we went to the ruins of a hunting tower: approaching it from every point, it is a beautiful object seen above the woods, or through the intervals between the trees. Akbar beautified the city, and may probably have built this circular tower,—a column of solid masonry, within which winds a circular stair. At Fathīpūr Sicrī is a tower, somewhat of a similar description, built by Akbar, and used as a hunting tower; people were sent forth to drive the game from every part towards the minār, from the top of which the emperor massacred his game at leisure. This tower at Gaur, much more beautifully situated, with a greater command of country, may have been used for a similar purpose. The building is on a larger scale, and much handsomer than the one at Fathīpūr Sicrī.