Nāthji Mahārāja.
To be released from such a restraint, Arsi at last resolved on assassinating his uncle; but his valour and giant strength made the attempt a service of danger, and he therefore employed one who, under the cloak of friendship, could use the poniard without risk. Lal Singh was the man, the bosom friend of the Maharaja, who, besides exchanging turbans with him, had pledged his friendship at the altar; a man who knew every secret of his heart, and that there was no treason in it. It was midnight, when a voice broke in upon his devotions, calling on him from the portico by name. No other could have taken this liberty, and the reply, “Come in, brother Lalji; what brings you here at such an hour?” had scarcely passed the lips of Nathji, when, as he made the last prostration to the image, he received the dagger of his friend in his neck, and the emblem of Siva was covered with his blood! For this service, the assassin was rewarded with the fief of Bhainsror, and a seat amongst the sixteen barons of Mewar; but as the number cannot be increased, the rights of the Saktawat chief of Bansi were cancelled; thus adding one crime to another, which however worked out its own reward, and at once avenged the murder of Nathji, and laid Mewar in ruins, causing [656] fresh streams of the blood which had already so copiously flowed from the civil wars arising out of the hostility of these rival clans, the Saktawats and Chondawats.
Lalji did not long enjoy his honours; his crime of “triple dye” was ever present to his mind, and generated a loathsome, incurable disease; for even in these lands, where such occurrences are too frequent, “the still small voice” is heard: worms consumed the traitor while living, and his memory is blasted now that he is dead; while that of Nathji is sanctified, as a spirit gentle, valorous, and devout.
Man Singh, the son of this man of blood, succeeded to the honours of Bhainsror, and was a soldier of no common stamp. At the battle of Ujjain, where the Rana of Mewar made the last grand stand for independence, Man was badly wounded, made captive, and brought in the train of the conquering Mahratta, when he laid siege to Udaipur. As he was recovering from his wounds, his friends attempted to effect his liberation through that notorious class called the Baoris,[[10]] and contrived to acquaint him with the plot. The wounded chief was consoling himself for his captivity by that great panacea for ennui, a nautch, and applauding the fine voice of a songstress of Ujjain as she warbled a tappa of the Panjab, when a significant sign was made by a stranger. He instantly exclaimed that his wounds had broken out afresh, staggered towards his pallet, and throwing down the light, left all in confusion and darkness, which favoured the Baori’s design; who, while one of his friends took possession of the pallet, wrapped the sick chief in a chadar (sheet), threw him on his back, and carried him through the camp of the besiegers to the city. The Rana, rejoiced at his liberation, commanded a salute to be fired, and the first intelligence the Mahratta leader had of his prisoner’s escape was in answer to the question as to the cause of such rejoicing; they then found one of the vassal substitutes of Man still occupying the bed, but the sequel does not mention how such fidelity was repaid. The cenotaph (chhatri) of this brave son of an unworthy sire is at the Tribeni, or point of confluence of the three streams, the Chambal, the Bamani, and the Khal; and from its light and elegant construction, adds greatly to the picturesque effect of the scenery. The present chief, Raghunath Singh, who succeeded Man, has well maintained his independence throughout these perilous times. Bapu Sindhia, whose name will long be remembered as one of the scourges of these realms, tried his skill upon Bhainsror, where the remains of his trenches, to the north-west of the town, are still conspicuous; but he was met with sortie after sortie, while the hill-tribes were nightly let loose upon him, until he was forced to make a precipitate retreat [657].
I cannot conclude the annals of this family without a passing remark on the great moral change effected since the power of Britain has penetrated into these singular abodes. It was my habit to attend on any of the chieftains who honoured me by an invitation to their family fêtes, such as their salgirahs, or ‘birthdays’;[[11]] and on these occasions I merged the Agent of the British Government entirely in the friend, and went without ceremony or parade. Amongst my numerous pagri badal bhai, or ‘adopted brothers’ (as well as sisters), was the Maharaja Sheodan Singh, the grandson and possessor of the honours and estates of Nathji, who still enjoys the domain of Bagor, and from whom I used to receive a share of its melons, which he cultivates with the same ardour as his grandsire. The ‘annual knot’ (salgirah) of my friend was celebrated on the terraced roof of his palace, overhanging the lake of Udaipur, and I was by his side listening, in the intervals of the song, to some of his extemporaneous poetical effusions (on which my friend placed rather too high a value), when amongst the congratulatory names called aloud by the herald, I was surprised to hear, “Maharaja Salamat, Rawat Raghunath Singhji-ka mujra lijo!” or, “Health to the Maharaja, and let him receive the compliments of Rawat Raghunath Singh”: the grandson of the murderer come to pay his respects to the grandson of the murdered, and to press with his knee the gaddi on which he sat! With justice may we repeat their powerful metaphor, on such anomalies in the annals of their feuds—bher aur bakri ekhi thali se pītē hain, ‘the wolf and the goat drink from the same platter.’[[12]] We might thus, by a little attention to the past history and habits of these singularly interesting races, confer signal moral benefits upon them; for it must be evident that the germs of many excellent qualities require only the sunshine of kindness to ripen into goodly fruit; and for the sake of our own welfare, as well as that of humanity, let not the protecting power, in the exercise of patronage, send amongst them men who are not imbued with feelings which will lead them to understand, to appreciate, and to administer fitting counsel, or correction where necessary. The remembrance of these injuries is still fresh, and it requires but the return of anarchy again to unsheath the poniard and drug the cup; but if we consult their real good, the recollection will gradually grow fainter.
Bhainsror attacked by Alāu-d-dīn.
Yasya yasya jāda bhūmis,
Tasya tasya tadā phalam.[[13]]
“Samvat 1302 (A.D. 1246).” This form of sasan, or religious charity, is peculiar, and styled sasan Udayaditya, which proves that the Pramar, of whom this is a memorial, was a feudatory of the prince of Dhar, whose era has been fixed. These discoveries stimulated our research, and my revered friend and Guru, who is now deeply embued with antiquarian enthusiasm, vainly offered a large reward for permission to dig for the image of Parsvanath, his great pontiff, of whose shrine he has no doubt the first inscription is a memorial. When about to leave this place (indeed our baggage had gone on), we were informed of some celebrated temples across the river at a place called Baroli, anciently Dholpur. The shrine is dedicated to Ghateswara Mahadeva, with a lingam revolving in the yoni, the wonder of those who venture amongst its almost impervious and unfrequented woods to worship. As I could not go myself, I dispatched the Guru to hunt for inscriptions and bring me an account of it.
Dābhi, February 20, eleven miles; thermometer 48°.—Reascended the third steppe of our miniature Alp, at the Nasera pass (ghat), the foot of which was exactly five miles from Bhainsror, and three and a half furlongs more carried us to its summit, which is of easy ascent, though the pathway was rugged, lying between high peaks on either side. This alone will give a tolerable idea of the height of the Patar above the level of the river. Majestic trees cover the hill from the base to its summit, through [659] which we could never have found a passage for the baggage without the axe. Besides some noble tamarind (imli) trees, there was the lofty semal, or cotton-tree; the gnarled sakhu, which looks like a leper amongst its healthy brethren; the tendu, or ebony-tree, now in full fruit, and the useful dhao, besides many others of less magnitude.[[14]]—The landscape from the summit was grand: we looked down upon the Charmanvati (vulg. Chambal) and the castle of Raghunath; while the eye commanded a long sweep of the black Bamani gliding through the vale of Antri to its termination at the tombs of the Saktawats. The road to Dabhi was very fair for such a tract, and when within four miles of our tents, we crossed a stream said to have its fountain at Menal, which must consequently be one of the highest points of Uparmal. This rill afforded another means of estimating the height of our position, for besides the general fall to the brink of the chasm, it precipitates itself in a fine cascade of three hundred feet. Neither time nor place admitted of our following this rill to its termination, about six miles distant, through a rugged woody tract. From the summit of the pass of Nasera, we had a peep at the tomb of a Muslim saint, whence the ground gradually shelved to the end of our journey at Kotah.