Tuesday, October 31.—A day or two ago we arose betimes, and before sunrise embarked in the State gig (which was always, apparently, placed at our host’s disposal on demand), and set forth to catch fish for our breakfast, and then proceed to eat the same on one of the island palaces on the lake. We did not catch many fish—the mahseer were shy that morning—but fortunately we did not entirely depend on the caprices of the mahseer for our sustenance, and a remarkably well-fed and contented quartette we were when we got into the gig while the day was yet young, and rowed home as quickly as might be in order to escape the heat which at noonday is still great.
This afternoon we went for a (to us) novel tea picnic. A State elephant appeared by request, and we climbed upon him with ladders, and he proceeded to roll leisurely along at the rate of about two and a half miles an hour towards the foot of a hill, on the top of which stood a small summer palace.
The afternoon was warm, and the rhythmic pace drowsy, but our steed was determined to amuse us and benefit himself. So he blew great blasts of spray at his own forelegs and chest to cool himself, and now and then made shocking bad shots at so large a target, and, getting a trifle too much elevation, nearly swept us from our lofty perch.
Fortunately his stock of spray gave out ere long, or he found that the increasing gradient of the hill took all his breath, for we were left at leisure to admire the widening view until we reached the top.
Here we had tea in one of the cool halls, and then sat watching the sun sink towards the hills that stretch to Mount Aboo.
To the south-east lay Udaipur, milk-white along the margin of its “marléd” waters.
On our way home we met with an adventure. While prattling to my hostess, I observed that our toes were rising unduly, the saddle or howdah being seated somewhat after the fashion of an outside car. Glancing over my shoulder I descried Jane and her partner far below their proper level. The howdah was coming round, and our steed was eleven feet high! Agonised yells to the gentleman who guided the deliberate steps of the pachyderm from a coign of vantage on the back of his neck, awoke him to an appreciation of the situation. The elephant was “hove to” with all possible despatch, and we crawled off his back with the greatest celerity. We then sat down by the roadside and superintended the righting of the saddle and the tautening of the girths by several natives, who “took in the slack” with an energy that must have made the poor elephant very “uncomfy” about the waist! I secretly hoped it was hurting him horribly, as I had not forgiven him for his practical jokes on the way up.
We had no more thrills. Resuming our motor ’bus, in due course, we were landed opposite the top of our host’s verandah, whereupon the beast shut himself up like a three-foot rule, and we got to ground.
The inexorable flight of time brought us all too soon to the limit of our stay at Udaipur. Early on Wednesday the 1st November, therefore, we bade adieu to the capital of the State of Mewar, and, accompanied by our kind host and hostess, set out to spend a day in exploring the ruined city of Chitor before taking train for Bombay.
As we drove to the station, we passed the group of ancient “chatries” or tombs of dead and gone Ranas of Mewar, and halted for a short inspection, as, the train by which we were to travel to Chitorgarh being a “special,” we were not bound to a precise moment for our appearance on the platform.