Our march this morning was but short, and the last two miles were in the plains of Marwar, with merely an occasional rock. Carey joined us, congratulating himself on the ducking which had secured him better fare than we had enjoyed in the pass of Kumbhalmer, and which fastened both on Waugh and myself violent colds. The atmospheric change was most trying: emerging from the cold breezes of the mountains to 96° of Fahrenheit, the effect was most injurious: it was 58° in the morning of our descent into the glen. Alas! for my surviving barometer! Mahesh, my amanuensis, who had been entrusted with it, joined us next day, and told me the quicksilver had contrived to escape; so I lost the opportunity of comparing the level of the desert with the plains of Marwar.
The Chief of Rūpnagar.
The Chief of Ghānērāo. The Rājputs of Mewār and Mārwār compared.—I could well have dispensed with visits this day, the thermometer being 96°; I was besides devoured with inflammatory cold; but there was no declining another polite visit of the chieftain of Ghanerao. His retinue afforded a good opportunity of contrasting the Sesodia Rajput of fertile Mewar with the Rathors of Marwar, and which on the whole would have been favourable to the latter, if we confined our view to those of the valley of Udaipur, or the mountainous region of its southern limit, where climate and situation are decidedly unfavourable. There the Rajput may be said not only to deteriorate in muscular form and strength, but in that fairness of complexion which distinguishes him from the lower orders of Hindus. But the danger of generalizing on such matters will be apparent when it is known that there is a cause continually operating to check and diminish the deteriorating principle arising from the climate and situation (or, as the Rajput would say, from the hawa pani, ‘air and water’) of these unhealthy tracts; namely, the continual influx of the purest blood from every region in Rajputana: and the stream which would become corrupt if only flowing from the commingling of the Chondawats of Salumbar and the Jhalas of Gogunda (both mountainous districts), is refreshed by that of the Rathors of Godwar, the Chauhans of Haraoti, or the Bhatti of the desert. I speak from conviction, the chieftains above mentioned affording proofs of the evil resulting from such repeated intermarriages; for, to use their own adage, “a raven will produce a raven.” But though the personal appearance of the chieftain of Gogunda might exclude him from the table of the sixteen barons of Mewar, his son by a Rathor mother may be exhibited as a redeeming specimen of the Jhalas, and one in every way favourable of the Rajput of Mewar. On such occasion, also, as a formal visit, both chieftain and retainers appear under every advantage of dress and decoration; for even the form of the turban may improve the contour of the face, though [692] the Mertias of Ghanerao have nothing so decidedly peculiar in this way as those of other clans.
After some discourse on the history of past days, with which, like every respectable Rajput, I found him perfectly conversant, the Ghanerao chief took his leave with some courteous and friendly expressions. It is after such a conversation that the mind disposed to reflection will do justice to the intelligence of these people: I do not say this with reference to the baron of Ghanerao, but taking them generally. If by history we mean the relation of events in succession, with an account of the leading incidents connecting them, then are all the Rajputs versed in this science; for nothing is more common than to hear them detail their immediate ancestry or that of their prince for many generations, with the events which have marked their societies. It is immaterial whether he derives this knowledge from the chronicle, the chronicler, or both: it not only rescues him from the charge of ignorance, but suggests a comparison between him and those who constitute themselves judges of nationalities by no means unfavourable to the Rajput.
Godwār.
“Ānwal, ānwal Mewār:
Bāwal, bāwal Mārwār.
“Wherever the anwal puts forth its yellow blossoms, the land is of right ours; we want nothing more. Let them enjoy their stunted babuls, their karil, and the ak; but give us back our sacred pipal, and the anwal of the border.”[[21]] In truth, the transition is beyond credence marked: cross but a shallow brook, and you leave all that is magnificent in vegetation; the pipal, bar, and that species of the mimosa resembling the cypress, peculiar to Godwar, are exchanged for the prickly shrubs, as the wild caper, jawas, and many others, more useful than ornamental, on which the camel browses.[[22]] The argument was, however, more ingenious than just, and the old envoy was here substituting the effect for the cause; but he shall explain in his own words why Flora should be permitted to mark the line of demarcation instead of the rock-enthroned (Durga) Cybele. The legend now repeated is historical, and the leading incidents of it have already been touched upon;[[23]] I shall therefore condense the Pancholi’s description into a summary analysis of the cause why the couplet of the bard should be deemed “confirmation strong” of the bounds of kingdoms. These traditionary couplets, handed down from generation to generation, are the most powerful evidence of the past, and they are accordingly employed to illustrate the Khyats, or annals, of Rajputana. When, towards the conclusion of the fourteenth century, the founder of the Chondawats repaid the meditated treachery of Ranmall of Mandor by his death, he took possession of that capital and the entire country of the Rathors (then but of small extent), which he held for several years. The heir of Mandor became a fugitive, concealing himself in the fastnesses of the Aravalli, with little hope that [694] his name (Jodha) would become a patronymic, and that he would be honoured as the second founder of his country: that Mandor itself should be lost in Jodhpur. The recollection of the feud was almost extinct; the young Rana of Chitor had passed the years of Rajput minority, and Jodha continued a fugitive in the wilds of Bhandak-parao, with but a few horse in his train, indebted to the resources of some independents of the desert for the means of subsistence. He was discovered in this retreat by a Charan or bard, who, without aspiring to prophetic powers, revealed to him that the intercession of the queen-mother of Chitor had determined the Rana to restore him to Mandor. Whether the sister of Jodha, to give éclat to the restoration, wished it to have the appearance of a conquest, or whether Jodha, impatient for possession, took advantage of circumstances to make his entrance one of triumph, and thereby redeem the disgrace of a long and humiliating exile, it is difficult to decide; for while the annals of Mewar make the restoration an act of grace, those of Marwar give it all the colours of a triumph. Were the point worthy of discussion, we should say both accounts were correct. The Rana had transmitted the recall of Chonda from Mandor, but concealed from him the motive, and while Jodha even held in his possession the Rana’s letter of restoration, a concatenation of circumstances, in which “the omen” was predominant, occurred to make him anticipate his induction by a measure more consonant to the Rajput, a brilliant coup de main. Jodha had left his retreat in the Run[[34]] to make known to Harbuji Sankhla, Pabuji, and other rievers of the desert, the changes which the bard had communicated. While he was there, intelligence was brought that Chonda, in obedience to his sovereign’s command, had proceeded to Chitor. That same night “the bird of omen perched on Jodha’s lance, and the star which irradiated his birth shone bright upon it.” The bard of Mandor revealed the secret of heaven to Jodha, and the heroes in his train: “Ere that star descends in the west, your pennon will wave on the battlements of Mandor.” Unless, however, this “vision of glory” was merely mental, Jodha’s star must have been visible in daylight; for they could never have marched from the banks of the Luni, where the Sankhla resided, to Mandor, between its rising and setting. The elder son of Chonda had accompanied his father, and they had proceeded two coss in their [695] journey, when a sudden blaze appeared in Mandor: Chonda pursued his route, while his son Manja returned to Mandor. Jodha was already in possession; his an had been proclaimed, and the two other sons of Chonda had fallen in its defence. Manja, who fled, was overtaken and slain on the border. These tidings reached Chonda at the pass of the Aravalli; he instantly returned to Mandor, where he was met by Jodha, who showed him the letters of surrender for Mandor, and a command that he should fix with him the future boundary of each State. Chonda thought that there was no surer line of demarcation than that chalked out by the hand of nature; and he accordingly fixed that wherever the “yellow blossom” was found, the land should belong to his sovereign, and the bard was not slow in perpetuating the decree. Such is the origin of
Ānwal, ānwal Mewār:
Bāwal, bāwal Mārwār.