Guru Nanak’s bythuck—the presence of which on the lake-side led to the above digression—is but a few hundred yards from the west end of Aurangzeb’s bridge and, as there appeared to be nothing of interest on the south side, we crossed over to the island, inspected the Mughal fort and, following the bridge, returned to the principal temple; but before doing so we managed to secure a few photographs of the pretty scene on the east bank as viewed from the bridge.
In the region round Kurukshetra, within a “circuit of one hundred and sixty miles,” says General Cunningham, “there are popularly said to be three hundred and sixty holy sites,” most of which are connected with the names of the heroes of the ‘Mahabharata.’ Many of these are no doubt genuine ancient places, as attested by their high mounds and brick ruins. But the greater number appear to me to be the inventions of modern days. According to the Mahatmyas, of which only one is said to be old, the holy places had lain desolate for several centuries after the Muhammadan conquest, when a Dandi or mendicant, named Ram Chandra Swâmi, came from Kâsi to Kurukshetra. He was grieved to see the desolation and determined to stop there and try to restore the holy places. But, as even the sites of many were unknown, he professed to have obtained a knowledge of them in his dreams; and, accordingly, he wrote a book describing them, which is called the “Mahatmya of 6000 slokas,” and also the “Dandi Mahatmya.” Long afterwards a Pandit of Thanesar, named Banmáli, traced all the holy sites from the positions given by the Dandi, whose account is now accepted as genuine by all Brahmans, although “his only authority for the identification was a dream.”[110]
With the foregoing in mind I was not very eager to visit the sacred places, which have neither scenic nor architectural attractions. However, I could not leave Brahmavarta without seeing the holy Saraswati. The only form of conveyance available at Thanesar was the Ekka and, though I knew from sad experience what ekkas could do in the way of producing discomfort to every limb, I was fain to call them into requisition as the time at my disposal was short. Two ekkas were engaged, one for my son and myself, the other for the indispensable Babu and the Brahman guide. What a sight we two unhindu pilgrims did present as we contorted ourselves into the springless vehicle and set off for the Saraswati! In a drenching downpour of rain our Ekka-wallah drove us, almost jolted to bits, over the worst roads ever made, to a spot where the Samadh of a deceased Rajah of Faridekote now stands. Here we had to dismount and proceed on foot to the river, famous since the time when the Aryans settled in India. Dripping wet, and aching all over, I proceeded with the rest through the grass and slush a hundred yards or so, to find myself on the banks of a tiny stream not twenty yards wide, which was sluggishly flowing at my feet. I had now seen the historic Saraswati and my visit to the sacred land was practically over.
It is at the time of a lunar eclipse, when the waters of all other sacred tanks mingle mysteriously with those of the ponds near Thanesar, that the Brahmans of Kurukshetra reap their harvest of gains; for then tens of thousands of pilgrims crowd to bathe in the sacred pool, and, of course, fee the priests according to the measure of their means and their piety.[111] The Punjab University graduate, already quoted, gives us some curious particulars in regard to the largesses distributed on such occasions by the wealthy. He tells us, with reference to solar eclipses, that “The Rajahs and Maharajahs of the land, too, are not absent on such occasions. They untie their purse-strings, and hundreds and thousands of rupees are considered as nothing when compared with the importance of the moment. The Brahmans, with loads of sweetmeats on their backs and with money in their unknown (sic) pockets, go home cheerfully and thankfully. They do not fail to get many cows in addition, and some fortunate few even receive at the hands of the Rajahs, and other big men, presents of villages or of elephants, which are returned for a paltry sum on the following day. Maharajah Narendra Singh of Patiala is said to have gone the length of parting with one of his wives on a similar occasion and, when on being asked to name her price, the parohit seemed willing to accept a lakh of rupees, the Rani was very angry with him for demanding such a low sum in return for the wife of such a wealthy Rajah.”[112]
The writer of the above curious passage seems strangely unconscious of the real significance of the facts he records, and apparently finds nothing to condemn in the vain display of ostentatious liberality, masking actual meanness, to which he refers, and which is especially noteworthy as supplying a probable standard by which to measure the overpowering munificence of many personages who figure in the Indian epics. This, too, is not mere conjecture. We have a similar instance in the case of King Dasahratha, referred to at p. 20.
Although the attractions of Kurukshetra are greatest on the occasion of eclipses, a tiny stream of visitors to the shrines trickles through Thanesar all the year round. Of their visits particular note is taken by the Brahmans, who keep a record of the names and family connections of the several visitors. On the arrival of a pilgrim the Brahmans inquire his name, caste and gotra, his native place, his place of residence, and the objects of his visit. With these facts in their possession some one amongst them is almost sure to be able to produce the record of the visit to Thanesar, at some previous time, of some relative of the pilgrim. When the Brahman has established this, from one of his books, he thereby becomes the family priest, pro tempore, and the privileged guide of the new arrival, out of whom he makes as much money as he can. I shall not readily forget how the Babu, who kindly accompanied me, was pounced upon by the priests; how by the light of a flickering lamp he had read out to him all about the visits which had been paid to Thanesar by his relatives; and how, having come to the sacred land, he could not well leave it until, even in the pitiless December rain, he had to enter a sacred tank and take sundry dips under the water, while the Brahman, standing on the bank in the shelter of some trees, repeated the mantras which gave, as it were, the approval of the church to this pilgrimage of his to Brahmavarta.
APPENDIX I
The “Bhagavatgita” or Divine Song
“How much more admirable the Bhagvat-Gita than all the ruins of the East!”—H. D. Thoreau.
It is undoubtedly in religious speculation that the genius of the Indian people has risen to the highest level of its possibilities. And one of the noblest products and best specimens of this theological spirit is the “Bhagavatgita,” or Divine Song. The date of this grand philosophical poem is very doubtful. European scholars generally consider that it has no claim to great antiquity, and that it was composed after the commencement of the Christian era; some of them even hold that it bears unmistakable traces of the influence of Christian doctrine, and evidence of the acquaintance of its author with the Christian scriptures. On the other hand, some Indian scholars endeavour to assign a high antiquity to the poem, and suggest that what resemblance there may be between the ideas in the “Gita” and in the sacred books of the Christians, must have been borrowed by the latter from Hindu sources.[113]