'About six or seven generations; the country had before been occupied by a peasantry of the Kalār caste. Our ancestors came, built up mud fortifications, dug wells, and brought the country under cultivation; it had been reduced to a waste; for a long time we were obliged to follow the plough with our swords by our sides, and our friends around us with their matchlocks in their hand, and their matches lighted.'
'Did the water in your well fail during the late seasons of drought?'
'No, sir, the water of this well never fails.'
'Then how did bad seasons affect you?'
'My bullocks all died one after the other from want of fodder, and I had not the means to till my lands; subsistence became dear, and to maintain my family, I was obliged to contract the debt for which my lands are now mortgaged. I work hard to get them back, and, if I do not succeed, my children will, I hope, with the blessing of God.'[13]
The next morning I went on to Kākā, fifteen miles; and finding tents, people, and cattle, without a tree to shelter them, I was much pleased to see in my neighbourhood a plantation of mango and other fruit-trees. It had, I was told, been planted only three years ago by Hīrāman and Mōtīrām, and I sent for them, knowing that they would be pleased to have their good work noticed by any European gentleman. The trees are now covered with cones of thatch to shelter them from the frost. The merchants came, evidently much pleased, and I had a good deal of talk with them.
'Who planted this new grove?'
'We planted it three years ago.'
'What did your well cost you, and how many trees have you?'
'We have about four hundred trees, and the well has cost us two hundred rupees, and will cost us two hundred more.'