Chapter 5…

Chapter 5

=Dhāreswar=, February 14: six miles; therm. 46° at 5 A.M.—From Kanera to Dhareswar there is a gradual descent, perhaps equal to one-third of the angle of ascent of the table-land. For half the distance the surface is a fine rich soil, but the last half is strewed with fragments of the rock. Dhareswar is beautifully situated at the lowest point of descent, with a clear stream, planted with fine timber to the south. The Bhumia rights are enjoyed by some Kachhwaha Rajputs, who pay a share of the crops to Kanera. Passed a few small hamlets in the grey of the morning, and several herd of elk-deer, who walked away from us with great deliberation; but the surface was too stony to try our horses’ mettle.

15th, =Ratangarh Kheri=, distance nine miles.—The road over a bare rock, skirting a stream flowing on its surface. Two miles from Dhareswar is the boundary of Kanera, and the Chaurasi (eighty-four townships) of Kheri; the descent still graduating to Kheri, which is probably not above one hundred feet higher than the external plains [637] of Mewar. The road was over loose stones with much jungle, but here and there some fine patches of rich black soil. We kept company with the Dhareswar nala all the way, which is well wooded in its course, and presented a pretty fall at one point of our journey. Passed several hamlets, and a colony of Charans, whom I found to be some of my friends of Marla. They had not forgotten their privilege; but as the ladies were only the matrons of the colony, there would have been no amusement in captivity; so I dropped five rupees into the brazen kalas, and passed on. The cavalcade of the Kamavisdar of Kheri was also at hand, consisting of about two hundred horse and foot, having left his castle on the peak to greet and conduct me to my tents. He is a relation of old Lalaji Balal, and intelligent and polite. Our tents were pitched near the town, to which the Pandit conducted us; after which act of civility, in the character of the locum tenens of my friend Lalaji, and his sovereign Sindhia (in whose camp I sojourned twelve long years), he took his leave, inviting me to the castle; but as it contained nothing antique, I would not give cause for jealousy to his prince by accepting his invitation, and civilly declined.

The Chaurasi, or eighty-four [townships] of Ratangarh Kheri, was in S. 1828 (A.D. 1772) assigned to Mahadaji Sindhia, to pay off a war-contribution; and until S. 1832, its revenues were regularly accounted for. It was then made over to Berji Tap, the son-in-law of Sindhia, and has ever since remained alienated from Mewar. The treason of the chief of Begun, one of the sixteen nobles of the Rana, lost this jewel in his crown, for he seized upon the Chaurasi, which adjoined his own estate, situated on the skirt of this alpine region. To expel him the Rana called on Sindhia, who not only took the Chaurasi, but Begun itself, which was heavily fined, and forty of its best villages, or half his fief, were mortgaged to pay the mulct. The landscape from these heights is very fine; the Pandit, from his aerial abode, can look down on Kheri, and exclaim with Selkirk—

I am monarch of all I survey,

but I would dispute his right with all my heart, if I could do so with success.

=Little Atoa.=[11.5.1]—Distance eight miles, thermometer at daybreak 40°, with a cutting wind, straight from the north, which we keenly felt as our party ascended the heights of Ratangarh. The altitude of this second steppe in the plateau is under four hundred feet, although the winding ascent made it by the perambulator five furlongs. The fort is erected on a projection of the mountain, and the works are in pretty good order. They had been adding fresh ones on the accessible side, which the general state of [638] security has put a stop to. In fact, it could not hold out twenty-four hours against a couple of mortars, the whole interior being commanded from a height within easy range. I asked my old guide if the castle had ever stood a storm: his reply was in the negative: “She is still a kumari (a virgin), and all forts are termed kumaris, until they stand an assault.”[11.5.2] We had a superb view from the summit, which is greatly above the level of Kanera, whose boundary line was distinct. The stream from Dhareswar was traced gliding through its embankments of black rock, covered with luxuriant young crops, and studded with mango and mahua trees. It is a singular fact, that the higher we ascended, the less mischief had been inflicted on the crops, although the sugar-cane looked prematurely ripe. The wheat fields were luxuriant, but the barley showed in their grizzly beards here and there an evidence of having suffered. I also noted that invariably all the low branches of the mahua trees were injured, the leaves shrivelled and dried up, while the superior ones were not affected. The field-peas (batloi)[11.5.3] sown with the barley were more or less injured, but not nearly so much as at Kanera.

The road was execrable, if road it could be termed, which for many miles was formed for me by the kindness of the Pandit, who cut a path through the otherwise impenetrable jungle, the abode of elks and tigers, sufficient to pass my baggage. This route is never passed by troops; but I had curiosity to indulge, not comfort. About four miles from the castle, we ascended another moderate elevation to the village of Umar, whence we saw Paragarh on the left, and learning that it contained an inscription, I dispatched one of my pandits to copy it. A mile farther brought us to the extremity of the ridge serving as a landmark to the Chaurasi of Kheri. From it we viewed another steppe, that we shall ascend the day after to-morrow, from which I am told the Patar gradually shelves to the banks of the Chambal, the termination of our journey. As we passed the village of Ummedpura (Hopetown), a sub-infeudation of Begun, held by the uncle of its chief, we were greeted by the Thakur, accompanied by two of his kinsmen. They were all well mounted, lance in hand, and attired in their quilted tunics and deer-skin doublet, of itself no contemptible armour. They conveyed their chief’s compliments, and having accompanied me to my tents, took leave.

=Chhota=, or little Atoa, is also held by a sub-vassal of the same clan, the Meghawats of Begun; his name Dungar Singh, ‘the mountain lion,’ now with me, and who long enjoyed the pre-eminent distinction of being chief reiver of the Patar [639]. With our party he has the familiar appellation of Roderic Dhu, and without boasting of his past exploits, he never dreams of their being coupled with dishonour. Although he scoured the country far and near to bring blackmail to his mountain-retreat, it was from the Mahrattas chiefly that his wants were supplied; and he required but the power, to have attained the same measure of celebrity as his ancestor the ‘Blackcloud’ (Kala-megh) of Begun. Still, his name was long the bugbear of this region, and the words Dungar Singh aya! ‘the mountain lion is at hand!’ were sufficient to scare the peaceful occupants of the surrounding country from their property, or to arm them for its defence. With the ‘Southron’ he had just cause of quarrel, since, but for him, he would have been lord of Nadwai and its twenty-four villages, of which his grandfather was despoiled at the same time that this alpine region was wrested by Sindhia from his sovereign. This tappa, however, fell to Holkar; but the father of Dungar, lance in hand, gave the conqueror no rest, until he granted him a lease in perpetuity of four of the villages of his patrimony, two of which were under Holkar’s own seal, and two under that of the renter. About twenty years ago, the latter having been resumed, Sheo Singh took up his lance again, and initiated the mountain-lion, his son, in the lex talionis. He flung away the scabbard, sent his family for security to the Raja of Shahpura, and gave his mind up to vengeance. The father and son, and many other brave spirits with the same cause of revenge, carried their incursions into the very heart of Malwa, bringing back the spoils to his den at little Atoa. But though his hand was now raised against every man, he forgot not his peculiar feud (wair), and his patrimony of Nadwai yielded little to the Mahratta. But Sheo Singh was surrounded by foes, who leagued to circumvent him, and one day, while driving many a goodly buffalo to his shelter, he was suddenly beset by a body of horse placed in ambush by the Bhao. But both were superbly mounted, and they led them a chase through Mandalgarh, and were within the very verge of security, when, as Sheo Singh put his mare to the nala, she played him false and fell, and ere she recovered herself the long lance of Mahratta was through the rider. Young Dungar was more fortunate, and defying his pursuers to clear the rivulet, bound up the body of his father in his scarf, ascended the familiar path, and burnt it at midnight, amongst the family altars of Nadwai. But far from destroying, this only increased the appetite for vengeance, which has lasted till these days of peace; and, had every chieftain of Mewar acted like Dungar, the Mahratta would have had fewer of their fields to batten on to-day. His frank, but energetic answer, when the envoy mentioned the deep complaints urged [640] against him by the present manager of Nadwai, was “I must have bread!” and this they had snatched from him. But Holkar’s government, which looks not to the misery inflicted, carries loud complaints to the resident authorities, who can only decide on the principle of possession, and the abstract view of Dungar’s course of life. For myself, I do not hesitate to avow, that my regard for the chiefs of Mewar is in the ratio of their retaliation on their ‘Southron’ foe; and entering deeply into all their great and powerful grounds for resentment, I warmly espoused the cause of the ‘mountain-lion’; and as the case (through Mr. Gerald Wellesley) was left by Holkar’s government to my arbitration, I secured to the chief a part of his patrimony under their joint seal, and left him to turn his lance into a plough-share, until fresh causes for just aggression may arise. This settlement gave me another proof of the inalienable right in land granted by the ryot cultivator, and its superiority over that granted by the sovereign. There were certain rights in the soil (bhum) which Dungar’s ancestors had thus obtained, in the township of Nadwai, to which he attached a higher value than to the place itself. Dungar’s story affords a curious instance of the laws of adoption superseding, if not the rank, the fortune resulting from birthright. Sheo Singh and Daulat Singh, both sub-vassals of Begun, were brothers; the former had Nadwai, the latter Rawarda. But Daulat Singh, having no issue, adopted Salim Singh, the younger brother of Dungar, who has thus become lord of Rawarda, of nearly four thousand rupees annual rent, while Dungar’s chief place is little Atoa, and the bhum of Nadwai. Salim Singh is now in high favour with his chief of Begun, to whom he is Faujdar, or leader of the vassals. In personal appearance he has greatly the advantage of Dungar; Salim is tall and very handsome, bold in speech and of gentlemanly deportment; Dungar is compact in form, of dark complexion, rugged in feature, and bluntness itself in phrase, but perfectly good-humoured, frank, and unreserved; and as he rode by my side, he amused me with many anecdotes connected with the scenery around.

=Singoli=,[11.5.4] February 17, eight and a half miles, thermometer 40°.—This town is chief of a tappa or subdivision, containing fifty-two villages, of the district of Antri, a term applied to a defile, or tract surrounded by mountains. The Antri of Mewar is fertilized by the Bamani, which finds its way through a singular diversity of country, after two considerable falls, to the Chambal, and is about thirty miles in length, reckoning from Bichor to the summit of the steppe of the plateau, by about ten miles in breadth, producing the most luxuriant crops of wheat, barley, gram, sugar-cane, and poppy; and [641] having, spread over its surface, one hundred villages and hamlets, but a section of the country will make it better understood.

From Bichor, the pass opening from the plains of Mewar, to the highest peak of this alpine Patar, the Kala Megh, or ‘black cloud,’ of Begun, bore sway. From him sprung another of the numerous clans of Mewar, who assumed the patronymic Meghawat. These clans and tribes multiply, for Kala Megh and his ancestors were recognized as a branch of the Sangawat, one of the early subdivisions of the Chondawat, the chief clan of Mewar. The descendant of the ‘black cloud,’ whose castle of Begun is near the entrance to Antri, could not now muster above a hundred and fifty men at arms throughout the Patar; to which he might add as many more of foreign Rajputs, as the Hara and Gaur, holding lands for service. The head of the Meghawats has not above twenty villages in his fief of Begun, though these might yield twenty-five thousand rupees annually, if cultivated; the rest is still in the hands of the Mahrattas, as a mortgage contracted nearly forty years ago, and which has been liquidated ten times over: they include, in this, even a third of the produce of his own place of residence, and the town itself is never free from these intruders, who are continually causing disturbances. Unhappily for Mewar, the grand principle of the campaign and its political results, “that of excluding the Mahrattas from the west bank of the Chambal,” was forgotten in our successes, or all the alienated lands of Mewar as far as the Malwa frontier would have reverted to the Rana.

=The Chief of Ummedpura.=—The hamlets on the Patar consist of huts with low mud walls, and tiled roofs; even Ummedpura, though inhabited by the uncle of the chief, is no better than the rest, and his house is one which the poorest peasant in England would not occupy. Yet steeped in poverty, its chieftain, accompanied by his son, nephew, and fifteen more of his kin and clan, came “for the purpose of doing himself, his lord paramount of Begun, and the British Agent, honour.” The mountain-chief of Ummedpura affords a fine example [642], that noble bearing may be independent of the trappings of rank; high descent and proper self-respect appeared in every feature and action. Dressed in a homely suit of amaua, or russet green, with a turban of the same (the favourite hunting costume of the Rajput); over all the corselet of the skin of the elk, slain by himself; with his bright lance in hand, and mounted on a good strong horse, whose accoutrements like his master’s were plain but neat, behold the vassal of Ummedpura equipped for the chase or foray. The rest of his party followed him on foot, gay and unconcerned as the wild-deer of the Patar; ignorant of luxury, except a little amalpani when they go to Begun; and whose entire wants, including food, raiment, gunpowder, and tobacco, can be amply supplied by about £8 a year each! The party accompanied me to my tents, and having presented brilliant scarlet turbans and scarfs, with some English gunpowder, to the chief, his son, and nephew, we parted mutually pleased at the rencontre.

The descent to Singoli is very gentle, nor are we above eighty feet below the level of Umar, the highest point of the Patar, which I rejoice to have visited, but lament the want of my barometers. Singoli, in such a tract as this, may be entitled a town, having fifteen hundred inhabited dwellings encompassed by a strong wall. The Pandit is indebted to his own good management, and the insecurity around him, for this numerous population. In the centre of the town, the dingy walls of a castle built by Alu Hara strike the eye, from the contrast with the new works added by the Pandit; it has a deep ditch, with a fausse-braye, and parapet. The circumvallation measures a mile and three-quarters. About a mile to the north-west are the remains of a temple to Vijayaseni Bhavani, the Pallas of the Rajputs. I found a tablet recording the piety of the lord paramount of the Patar, in a perpetual gift of lights for the altar. It runs thus: “Samvat 1477 (A.D. 1421), the 2d of Asoj, being Friday (Bhriguwar[11.5.5]), Maharaja Sri Mokal-ji, in order to furnish lights (jyotis waste) for Vijayaseni Bhavaniji [643], has granted one bigha and a half of land. Whosoever shall set aside this offering, the goddess will overtake him.” This is a memorial of the celebrated Rana Mokal of Mewar, whose tragical death by assassination has been recorded in the annals of that State.[11.5.6] Mokal was one of the most celebrated of this race; and he defeated, in a pitched battle at Raepur, a grandson of the emperor of Delhi. He was the father of Lalbai, called ‘the Ruby of Mewar,’ regarding whom we have related a little scandal from the chronicle of the Bhattis (see p. 1218); but the bard of the Khichis, who says that prince Dhiraj espoused her in spite of the insult of the desert chief, had no cause to doubt the lustre of this gem.

=Legends of the Hāras.=—The Patar resounds with the traditionary tales of the Haras, who, at a very early period, established themselves in this alpine region, on which they erected twelve castles for its protection, all of them still to be traced existing or in ruins; and although they assumed the title of ‘lords of the Patar,’ they acknowledged the supremacy of the Ranas of Mewar, whom they obeyed as liege lords at this very time. Of these twelve castles, Ratangarh is the only one not entirely dismantled; though even the ruins of another, Dilwargarh, had been the cause of a bloody feud between the Meghawat of Begun and the Saktawat of Gwalior, also in the Patar. That of Paranagar, or Paroli, lies a short distance from thence, but the most famous of all is Bumbaoda, placed upon the western crest of the plateau, and overlooking the whole plain of Mewar. Although some centuries have elapsed since the Haras were expelled from this table-land, the name of Alu of Bumbaoda still lives, and is familiar even to the savage Bhil, who, like the beasts, subsists upon the wild fruits of the jungles. It is my intention to return by another route across the Patar, and to visit the site of Alu’s dwelling; meanwhile I will give one of the many tales related of him by my guide, as I traversed the scenes of his glory.

=Ālu Hāra.=—Alu Hara, one day, returning homeward from the chase, was accosted by a Charan, who, having bestowed his blessing upon him, would accept of nothing in exchange but [644] the turban from his head. Strange as was the desire, he preferred compliance to incurring the visarwa,[11.5.7] or ‘vituperation of the bard’; who, placing Alu’s turban on his own head, bade him ‘live a thousand years,’ and departed. The Charan immediately bent his steps to Mandor, the capital of Maru; and as he was ushered into the presence of its prince and pronounced the birad of the Rathors, he took off his turban with the left hand, and performed his salutation with the right. The unusual act made the prince demand the cause, when in reply he was told “that the turban of Alu Hara should bend to none on earth.” Such reverence to an obscure chief of the mountains of Mewar enraged the King of the Desert, who unceremoniously kicked the turban out of doors. Alu, who had forgotten the strange request, was tranquilly occupied in his pastime, when his quondam friend again accosted him, his head bare, the insulted turban under his arm, and loudly demanding vengeance on the Rathor, whose conduct he related. Alu was vexed, and upbraided the Charan for having wantonly provoked this indignity towards him. “Did I not tell you to ask land, or cattle, or money, yet nothing would please you but this rag; and my head must answer for the insult to a vile piece of cloth; for nothing appertaining to Alu Hara shall be insulted with impunity even by the Thakur of Marwar.” Alu forthwith convened his clan, and soon five hundred “sons of one father” were assembled within the walls of Bumbaoda, ready to follow wheresoever he led. He explained to them the desperate nature of the enterprise from which none could expect to return; and he prepared the fatal Johar for all those who determined to die with him. This first step to vengeance being over, the day of departure was fixed; but previous to this he was anxious to ensure the safety of his nephew, who, on failure of direct issue, was the adopted heir of Bumbaoda. He accordingly locked him up in the inner keep of the castle, within seven gates, each of which had a lock, and furnishing him with provisions, departed.

The prince of Mandor was aware he had entailed a feud; but so little did he regard what this mountain-chief might do, that he proclaimed “all the lands over which the Hara should march to be in dan (gift) to the Brahmans.” But Alu, who despised not the aid of stratagem, disguised his little troop as horse-merchants, and placing their arms and caparisons in covered carriages, and their steeds in long strings, the hostile caravan reached the capital unsuspected. The party took rest for the night; but with the dawn they saddled, and the nakkaras of the Hara awoke the Rathor prince from his slumber; starting up, he demanded who was the audacious [645] mortal that dared to strike his drum at the gates of Mandor? The answer was,—“Alu Hara of Bumbaoda!”

The mother (probably a Chauhani) of the King of Maru now asked her son “how he meant to fulfil his vaunt of giving to the Brahmans all the lands that the Hara passed over?” but he had the resolution to abide by his pledge, and the magnanimity not to take advantage of his antagonist’s position; and to his formal challenge, conveyed by beat of nakkara, he proposed that single combats should take place, man for man. Alu accepted it, and thanked him for his courtesy, remarking to his kinsmen, “At least we shall have five hundred lives to appease our revenge!”

The lists were prepared; five hundred of the “chosen sons of Siahji” were marshalled before their prince to try the manhood of the Haras; and now, on either side, a champion had stepped forth to commence this mortal strife, when a stripling rushed in, his horse panting for breath, and demanded to engage a gigantic Rathor. The champions depressed their lances, and the pause of astonishment was first broken by the exclamation of the Hara chieftain, as he thus addressed the youth: “Oh! headstrong and disobedient, art thou come hither to extinguish the race of Alu Hara?”—“Let it perish, uncle (kaka), if, when you are in peril, I am not with you!” replied the adopted heir of Bumbaoda. The veteran Rathor smiled at the impetuous valour of the youthful Hara, who advanced with his sword ready for the encounter. His example was followed by his gallant antagonist, and courtesy was exhausted on either side to yield the first blow; till, at length, Alu’s nephew accepted it; and it required no second, for he clove the Rathor in twain. Another took his place—he shared the same fate; a third, a fourth, and in like manner twenty-five, fell under the young hero’s sword. But he bore ‘a charmed life’; the queen of armies (Vijayaseni), whose statue guards the entrance of Bumbaoda, had herself enfranchized the youth from the sevenfold gates, in which his uncle had incarcerated him, and having made him invulnerable except in one spot (the neck),[11.5.8] sent him forth to aid his uncle, and gain fresh glory for the race of which she was the guardian. But the vulnerable point was at length touched, and Alu saw the child of his love and his adoption stretched upon the earth. The queen-mother of the Rathors, who witnessed the conflict, dreaded a repetition of such valour, from men in whom desire of life was extinct; and she commanded that the contest should cease, and reparation be made to the lord of the Patar, by giving him in marriage a daughter of Mandor. Alu’s honour was redeemed; he accepted the offer, and with his bride repaired to the desolate Bumbaoda. The [646] fruit of this marriage was a daughter; but destiny had decreed that the race of Alu Hara should perish. When she had attained the age of marriage, she was betrothed. Bumbaoda was once more the scene of joy, and Alu went to the temple and invited the goddess to the wedding. All was merriment; and amongst the crowd of mendicants who besieged the door of hospitality was a decrepit old woman, who came to the threshold of the palace, and desired the guard to “tell Alu Hara she had come to the feast, and demanded to see him”; but the guard, mocking her, desired her to be gone, and “not to stand between the wind and him”: she repeated her request, saying that “she had come by special invitation.” But all was in vain; she was driven forth with scorn. Uttering a deep curse, she departed, and the race of Alu Hara was extinct. It was Vijayaseni herself, who was thus repulsed from the house of which she was protectress!

A good moral is here inculcated upon the Rajput, who, in the fatal example of Alu Hara, sees the danger of violating the laws of wide-extended hospitality: besides, there was no hour too sacred, no person too mean, for such claims upon the ruler. For the present, we shall take leave of Alu Hara, and the ‘Mother of Victory’ of the Patar, whose shrine I hope to visit on my return from Haravati; when we shall learn what part of her panoply she parted with to protect the gallant heir of Bumbaoda.

=Dāngarmāu=,[11.5.9] February 18, eight miles; thermometer 48°.—A choice of three routes presented itself to us this morning. To the left lay the celebrated Menal, once the capital of Uparmal; on the right, but out of the direct line, was the castle of Bhainsror, scarcely less celebrated; and straight before us the pole-star and Kotah, the point to which I was journeying. I cut the knot of perplexity by deviating from the direct line, to descend the table-land to Bhainsror, and without crossing the Chambal, nearly retraced my steps, along the left bank, to Kotah, leaving Menal for my return to Udaipur. Our route lay through the Antri, or valley, whose northern boundary we had reached, and between it and the Bamani. The tract was barren but covered with jungle, with a few patches of soil lodged amidst the hollows or otherwise bare rock, over whose black surface several rills had cut a low bed, all falling into the Bamani. One of these had a name which we need not translate, Rani bur-ka-khal, and which serves as a boundary between the lands of the Meghawats of Antri and the Saktawats of Bhainsror.

Dangarmau-Barao is a small patta of twelve villages, yielding fifteen thousand [647] rupees of annual rent; but it is now partitioned,—six villages to each of the towns above mentioned. They are Saktawat allotments, and the elder, Sakat Singh, has just returned from court, where he had been to have the sword of investiture (talwar bandhai) girt on him as the lord of Barao. Bishan Singh of Dangarmau is at Kotah, where he enjoys the confidence of Zalim Singh and is commandant of cavalry. He has erected a castle on the very summit of the third steppe of the Patar, whose dazzling white walls contrast powerfully with the black and bleak rock on which it stands, and render it a conspicuous object. The Saktawats of the Patar are of the Bansi family,[11.5.10] itself of the second grade of nobles of Mewar; and the rank of both the chiefs of Dangarmau and Barao was the third, or that termed gol; but now, having each a patta (at least nominally) of above five thousand rupees yearly rent, they are lifted into the Battisa, or amongst the ‘thirty-two’ of the second class.

The Bamani, whose course will carry us to its close at Bhainsror, flows under the walls of both Dangarmau and Barao, and is the cause not only of great fertility but of diversity, in this singular alpine region. The weather has again undergone a very sensible change, and is extremely trying to those, who, like myself, are affected by a pulmonary complaint, and who are obliged to brave the mists of the mountain-top long before the sun is risen. On the second, at daybreak, the thermometer stood at 60°, and only three days after, at 27°; again it rose to 40° and for several days stood at this point, and 75° at midday. The day before we ascended the Patar it rose to 54°, and 94° at noon; and on reaching the summit, 60° and 90°; again it falls to 40°, and we now shiver with cold. The density of the atmosphere has been particularly annoying both yesterday and to-day. Clouds of mist rolled along the surface of the mountain, which, when the sun cleared the horizon, and shot about ‘spear-high’ in the heavens, produced the most fantastic effects. The orb was clear and the sky brilliant; but the masses of mist, though merely a thin vapour and close to the spectator, exhibited singular and almost kaleidoscopic changes. There was scarcely a figure that the sun did not assume; the upper half appearing orbicular, the lower elliptical: in a second, this was reversed. Sometimes it was wholly elliptical, with a perfect change of the axis, the transverse and conjugate changing places—a loaf, a bowl, and at one instant a scollop-shell, then ‘round as my shield,’ and again a segment of a circle, and thus alternating until its ascension dissipated the medium of this beautiful illusion, the more perfect from the sky being cloudless. The mists disappeared from the mountain long before this phantasmagoria finished [648].

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Footnote 11.5.1:

[About 100 miles N.N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.5.2:

[In Europe, at times, Metz, Tournay, Magdeburg, Londonderry, and others bore this title. “Several ancient earthworks in England were called Maiden Castle; the sense may possibly be a fortress capable of being defended by maidens; there may have been an allusion to some forgotten legend” (New English Dict., s.v.). In India Hānsi was known as Kumāri, used in the sense of ‘unviolated.’]

Footnote 11.5.3:

[This name is not found in dictionaries or gazetteers. The field pea, Pisum arvense, is usually called matar (Watt, Comm. Prod. 902). Batūri, of which this may be a corruption, is the chick pea or gram.]

Footnote 11.5.4:

[About 105 miles N.E.E. of Udaipur city. The Bāmani joins the Chambal at Bhainsrorgarh, about 120 miles E.N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.5.5:

A name of Sukracharya, the Regent of the planet Venus. The ‘star of eve’ is always called Sukra, but presents a most unpoetic idea to the mind, when we learn that this star, the most beautiful of the heavenly host, is named after an immoral one-eyed male divinity, who lost his other orb in an undignified personal collision, from an assault upon Tara (the star), the wife of a brother-god. Sukracharya, notwithstanding, holds the office of Guru, or spiritual adviser, to the whole celestial body—we may add ex uno disce omnes: and assuredly the Hindu who takes the mythological biography of his gods au pied de la lettre, cannot much strengthen his morality thereby. The classical Hindu of these days values it as he ought, looking upon it as a pretty astronomical fable, akin to the voyage of the Argonauts; but the bulk enter the temple of the “thirty-three millions of gods” with the same firmness of belief as did the old Roman his Pantheon. The first step, and a grand one, has been made to destroy this fabric of Polytheism, and to turn the mind of the Hindu to the perception of his own purer creed, adoration of “the one, omniscient, omnipotent, and eternal God.” Rammohun Roy has made this step, who “has become a law unto himself,” and a precursor, it is to be hoped, of benefit to his race. In the practical effects of Christianity, he is a Christian, though still a devout Brahman, adoring the Creator alone, and exercising an extended charity, with a spirit of meekness, toleration, and benevolence, added to manly resistance of all that savours of oppression, which stamps him as a man chosen for great purposes. To these moral, he adds mental qualifications of the highest order: clear and rapid perception, vigorous comprehension, immense industry of research, and perfect self-possession; having, moreover, a classical knowledge, not of our language only, but of Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Persian, Arabic, and the ‘mother-tongue,’ or langue-mère of all, the Sanskrit. [Philologists now regard Sanskrit as later than Greek or Latin.]

Footnote 11.5.6:

By means of this simple tablet, we detect an anachronism in the chronicle. It is stated in p. 332 of the first volume, that Kumbha succeeded his father Rana Mokal in S. 1475, or two years anterior to the date of the grant of lights for the goddess. Such checks upon Rajput chronology are always falling in the way of those who will read as they run. [Rāna Mokal (A.D. 1397-1433) was assassinated by Chacha and Mera, the illegitimate sons of his grandfather, Khet Singh. He was succeeded by Rāna Kūmbha his son, then a minor.]

Footnote 11.5.7:

[Dr. Tessitori writes: “The term is visar, ‘satire.’ I do not think that it has anything to do with vis, 'poison.'”]

Footnote 11.5.8:

[Compare the story of Achilles, vulnerable only in his heel or ankles, which his mother, Thetis, failed to plunge into the waters of Styx.]

Footnote 11.5.9:

[About 110 miles N.W.W. of Udaipur city. In the Author’s map the name is written Dūngarmāu, which is possibly right.]

Footnote 11.5.10:

[Bānsi, 47 miles S.E. of Udaipur city, held by a Saktāwat Rāwat (Erskine ii. A. 92).]

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Chapter 6

=Bhainsrorgarh=, February 19.—Bhainsrorgarh,[11.6.1] ten miles, four furlongs; thermometer 51°; atmosphere dense and oppressive, and roads execrable, through a deep forest; but for the hatchets of my friends, my baggage never could have been got on. We passed several hamlets, consisting of a dozen or more huts, the first of which I find belongs to my young friend Morji of Gura, himself a vassal of the Pramar of Bijoli (one of the sixteen Omras of Mewar), and holding a few bighas of bhum, as his bat or share of the bapota (patrimony) of Barao. We have elsewhere given a copy of the tenure on which Morji holds a village in the fief of Bijoli.[11.6.2] At seven miles from Dangarmau, we came to a small shrine of an Islamite saint, who buried himself alive. It is an elevated point, from whence is a wild but lovely prospect. There is a kund, or ‘fountain,’ planted with trees, close to the shrine, which attracts a weekly mela or ‘fair,’ attended by all classes, who cannot help attributing some virtue to a spot where a saint, though a Muslim, thus expiated his sins. In descending, we heard the roaring of mighty waters, and soon came upon the Bamani, forming a fine cascade of about fifty feet in height; its furious course during the monsoon is apparent from the weeds it has left on the trees, at least twenty feet above its present level. The fall of the country is rapid, even from this lower spot, to the bed of the Chambal. Uparmal must have a considerable elevation above the table-land of Janapao, where the Chambal and other streams have their fountains; but of all this we shall by and by form a more correct opinion. We passed the cairn of a Rajput who fell defending his post against the Minas of the Kairar, a tract on the banks of the Banas, filled with this banditti, in one of their last irruptions which disturbed the peace of this region. Each traveller adds a stone, and I gave my mite to swell the heap [649].

The patta of Bhainsror is held by Raghunath Singh, one of the sixteen great lords of Mewar, having the very ancient title of Rawat, peculiar to Rajputana, and the diminutive of Rao.[11.6.3] Bhainsror is one of the best fiefs of Mewar, and the lands attached to it are said to be capable of yielding one lakh of annual revenue, equal to £50,000 in the dearest countries of Europe; and when I add that a cavalier can support himself, his steed, etc., on £50, its relative value will at once be understood. He has also a toll upon the ferries of the Chambal, though not content therewith, he levied until lately a percentage on all merchandise, besides impositions on travellers of whatever description, under the name of kot ki marummat, or ‘repairs of the castle’: were we, however, to judge by its dilapidated condition, we should say his exactions were very light, or the funds were misapplied. This is the sole passage of the Chambal for a great extent, and all the commerce of higher Malwa, Haraoti, and Mewar passes through this domain. The class of Banjaras (traders) termed Vaishnava, long established at the city of Pur in Mewar, frequent no other route in their journey from the salt-lakes of the desert to Malwa or Bundelkhand. Their tanda or caravan consists of six thousand bullocks, and they never make less than two, and often three, trips in the year. The duty of the Raj is five rupees for each hundred head thus laden; but the feudatory, not content with his imposition of ‘castle repairs’ and ‘bhum’ as lord of the manor, has added a hundred and fifty per cent to the regular transit duty of the State, which is divided into two items; namely, three rupees and a half for the ferry, and as much for bolai, or safe escort through his territory. But as Haraoti always afforded protection (which could be said of no other region of independent India), the ghat of the Chambal was much frequented, in spite of these heavy drawbacks to industry. My friend the Rawat has, however, found it expedient to remove all these war-taxes, retaining only that portion which has been attached to the frontier post, for protection; and a portion of the ferry-rate granted to this fief nearly two centuries ago. Instead of about fifteen per cent, as heretofore levied, including that of the crown, it amounts to less than one-half, and the revenue has been quadrupled!

=Bhainsrorgarh Fort.=—The castle of Bhainsror is most romantically situated upon the extreme point of a ridge, on an almost isolated rib of the Patar, from which we have descended. To the east, its abrupt cliff overhangs the placid expanse of the Chambal, its height above which is about two hundred feet: the level of the river in the monsoon is marked at full thirty feet above its present elevation. The Bamani bounds Bhainsror on the west, and by the rapidity of its fall has completely scarped the rock, even to [650] the angle of confluence within which is placed the castle, to whose security a smaller intermediate stream not a little contributes. As by mistake it is placed in the map on the wrong side of the Bamani, we shall correct this error by giving a slight plan of the ground.

On the north alone is it accessible, and there the hill is scarped; but this scarp, which is about three hundred yards distant, forms a good cover, and a few shells thence played upon the castle would soon compel it to surrender. The rock is a soft, loose, blue schistose slate, which would not retard the miner. The approach from the river, here about five hundred yards wide, would be destruction. It is never fordable, and its translucent sea-green waters are now full forty feet in depth. When in the periodical rains it accumulates at its source, and is fed during its passage by many minor streams from the Vindhya and this oberland, its velocity is overwhelming; it rises above the opposing bank, and laying the whole tract to the base of the tableland of Haraoti under water, sweeps away in its irresistible course even the rocks. Speculation might here be exhausted in vain attempts to explain how nature could overcome this formidable obstacle to her operations, and how the stream could effect its passage through this adamantine barrier. The channel cut in the rock is as clean as if performed by the chisel, and standing on the summit of the cliff, which is from three hundred to seven hundred feet in height, one discerns in imagination the marks of union: to use the words of our last great bard, on the Rhone,

Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted.

=The Rapids of the Chambal.=—I shall by and by, I trust, obtain a more correct knowledge of the comparative elevation of this plateau, and the crest of the Vindhya whence issues the Chambal; but although this stream is, of course, much below the level of its source, yet there is little doubt that the summit of this chasm (uparmal) is, as its name indicates, the ‘highest land’ of Malwa. I say this after making myself acquainted with the general depression of [651] Malwa to this point, in which we are aided by the course of the stream. Under Bhainsror, the current is never very gentle; but both above and below there are rapids, if not falls, of thirty to fifty feet in descent. That above the stream is termed the Chuli, because full of whirlpools and eddies, which have given a sacred character to it, like the Nerbudda, at ‘the whirlpools of the great god,’ Chuli Maheswar. A multitude of the round stones taken out of these vortices, when they have been rounded by attrition into a perfectly orbicular form, only require consecration and a little red paint to be converted into the representatives of Bhairon, the god of war, very properly styled the elder born of Siva, the destroyer. This is about two miles up the stream; there is another at Kotra, about three miles down, with several successive rapids. There is a fall in the vicinity of Rampura, and another about five coss north of it, at Churetagarh, where the river first penetrates the plateau. There, I understand, it is not above seventy yards in breadth, confined between cliffs perfectly perpendicular. There is also said to be another fall or rapid intermediate between Rampura and its source in the peak of Janapao,[11.6.4] in the neighbourhood of Un. If these are all the falls, though only amounting to rapids, we may form a tolerable idea of the difference of level between the base of the Uparmal and the highland of the Vindhya, whence the Chambal issues; and still we shall see that there are points where the perpendicular cliffs must be some hundred feet above the peak of Janapao; if so, this chasm was never formed by water.

Mewar still extends east of the river, and the greater part of the estate of Bhainsror is on the opposite side. A small stream, called the Karab-ka-khal, divides the lands of the Haras from those of the Sesodias, and there is a bijak-marga, or landmark inscription, at the Shesa talao, put up centuries ago. To this line, and between it and the Chambal, is the paita of Kundal; and farther south, towards Rampura, is that of Pachail, both containing twenty-four villages attached to Bhainsror. All that tract farther inland in Upper Malwa, termed Malkides, in which are the towns of Chaichat and Saket, was in old times included geographically in Mewar: it is yet possessed by the Saktawats, though subject to Kotah.

Tradition has preserved the etymology of Bhainsror, and dates its erection from the second century of the era of Vikrama, though others make it antecedent even to him. Be that as it may, it adds a fact of some importance, namely, that the Charans, or bards, were then, as now, the privileged carriers of Rajwara, and that this was one of their great lines of communication. Bhainsror, therefore, instead of being the work [652] of some mighty conqueror, owes its existence to the joint efforts of Bhainsa Sah, the merchant, and Rora, a Charan and Banjara, to protect their tandas (caravans) from the lawless mountaineers, when compelled to make a long halt during the periodical rains.[11.6.5] How many lines of heroes possessed it before the Haras established themselves among its ruins is unknown, though the “universal Pramar” is mentioned. Its subsequent change of masters, and their names and history, are matters of less doubt; since the altars of the Dudia, the Pramar, the Rathor, the Saktawat, the Chondawat,

—who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of fame,

are still visible. Of the Dudia name we have already preserved one wreck, though the “rocket of the moon,” was of the family who dwelt upon the whirlpools of the Chambal, we must leave to conjecture. Not so of his successor, the Rathor, who was a scion of the house of Mewa,[11.6.6] on the Salt River of the desert, from which, though he was but a vassal of Mandor, the Rana scorned not to take a wife boasting the pure blood of the kings of Kanauj. A younger brother accompanied her to the court of Chitor. Soon after, the Rawal of Jaisalmer dared to put an affront upon the Rana, the acknowledged head of the Rajput race! The chivalry of Mewar was assembled, and the bira of vengeance held up, which the stripling heir of Mewa, darting forward, obtained. Although but fifteen years of age, entreaties were lost upon him to induce him to renounce the enterprise, which in all probability some border-feud of his paternal house and the Bhattis, as well as swamidharma, or fealty, to his sovereign and kinsman, may have prompted. His only request was that he might be aided by two of his intimate friends, and five hundred horse of his own selection. How he passed the desert, or how he gained admittance to the chief of the Bhatti tribe, is not stated; suffice it to say, that he brought the Rawal’s head and placed it at the feet of the sovereign of Chitor, for which service he had a grant of Salumbar; and subsequently (fiefs in those days not being amovable) he was removed to Bhainsror. The young Rathor continued to rise in favour; he was already by courtesy and marriage the bhanej, or nephew, of his sovereign, who for this action bestowed upon him a young princess of his own blood; an honour which in the end proved fatal. One day, the Thakur (chief) was enjoying himself in his baronial hall of Bhainsror, in the midst of his little court, with a nautch, when a fatal curiosity, perhaps instigated by jealousy, induced his Rani to peep out from the lattice above. Offended at this violation of decorum, he said aloud to an attendant, “Tell the Thakurani, if she is [653] eager to come abroad, she may do so, and I will retire.” The lady disputed the justice of the reprimand, asserting that her lord had been mistaken, and tried to shift the reproach to one of her damsels; but failing to convince him, she precipitated herself from the battlements into the whirlpools beneath: the spot where she fell into the Chambal still retains the name of Ranighatta.[11.6.7] When it was reported to the Rana that a false accusation had caused the suicide of his niece, the sentence of banishment from Mewar was pronounced against the Rathor, which was afterwards commuted, out of a regard for his former service, to the sequestration of Bhainsror; and he had the small fief of Nimri and its twenty dependent hamlets, situated upon the Patar, and not far from Bhainsror, bestowed upon him.

Bijai Singh, the descendant of the hero of this tale, has just been to see me; a shrewd and stalwart knight, not a whit degenerated by being transplanted from the Luni to the Chambal; for, though surrounded by Mahratta depredators, by means of the fastnesses in which he dwells, and with the aid of his good lance, with which he repays them in kind, he has preserved his little estate in times so fatal to independence. Had I not entered deeply into the history of the past, I might have been led away by the disadvantageous reports given of these brave men, who were classed with the common freebooters of the hills, and pointed out as meriting similar chastisement; since these associations, both for their own security and retaliation on the vagabond Mahrattas, who usurped or destroyed their birthright, gave a colour to the complaints against them.

The Pramar (vulg. Puar) succeeded the Rathor in the fief of Bhainsror. How long the former held it is uncertain; but the mode in which the last vassal chieftain lost it and his life together, affords another trait of national manners. Here again the fair, whose influence over the lords of Rajputana we have elsewhere mentioned, was the cause of the catastrophe. The Pramar had espoused the daughter of his neighbour chieftain of Begun, and they lived happily until a game at pachisi, somewhat resembling chess, caused a dispute, in which he spoke slightingly of her family, an affront never to be pardoned by a Rajputni; and the next day she wrote to her father. The messenger had not left his presence with the reply, before the nakkara beat the assembly for the kher.[11.6.8] The descendants of the ‘black cloud’ (Kalamegh) obeyed the summons, and the hamlets on the Bamani, or the Patar, poured forth their warriors at the sound of the tocsin of Begun. When the cause of quarrel was explained, it came home to every bosom, and they forthwith marched to avenge it. Their road lay [654] through the forest of Antri; but when arrived within a few coss of Bhainsror, they divided their band, and while the chief took the more circuitous route of the pass, the heir of Begun followed the course of the Bamani, took the Pramar by surprise, and had slain him in single combat ere his father joined him. The insult to the Meghawats being avenged, the Pramars were about to retaliate; but seeing the honour of her house thus dearly maintained, affection succeeded to resentment, and the Rajputni determined to expiate her folly with her life. The funeral pile was erected close to the junction of the Bamani and Chambal, and she ascended with the body of her lord, her own father setting fire to it. I encamped close to the altars recording the event.

This feud changed the law of succession in the Begun estate. The gallantry of the young Meghawat consoled the old chief for the tragical event which lost him a daughter; and in a full council of “the sons of Kalamegh,” the rights of primogeniture were set aside in favour of the valorous youth, and the lord paramount (the Rana) confirmed the decision. The subordinate fief of Jathana, which formerly comprehended the present district of Jawad, was settled on the elder son, whose descendant, Tej Singh, still holds a share of it, besides the title of Rawat. Both estates have alike suffered from the Mahrattas, equally with others in Mewar.

The successor of the Pramar was a Chondawat, of the branch Kishanawat, and a younger son of Salumbar; and it would be well for Lal Singh had he sought no higher distinction than that to which his birth entitled him. But Lalji Rawat was a beacon in the annals of crime, and is still held out as an example to those who would barter a good name here, and the hope of the life to come, for the evanescent gifts of fortune. He purchased the honours of Bhainsror by shedding the blood of his bosom-friend, the uncle of his sovereign.

=Nāthji Mahārāja.=—Maharaja Nathji was one of the sons of Rana Sangram Singh, and brother to the reigning prince Jagat Singh, on whose death, doubts of the legitimacy of his successor Raj Singh being raised, Nathji aspired to the dignity; but his projects faded by the death of Raj Singh. He left a posthumous child, whose history, and the civil wars engendered by his uncle Arsi, who took possession of the gaddi, have been fully detailed. Arsi, who was assuredly a usurper, if the pretender was a lawful son of Rana Raj, had suspicions regarding his own uncle Nathji, who had once shown a predilection for the supreme power; but the moment he heard that his nephew fancied he was plotting against him, he renounced ambition, and sought to make his peace with [655] heaven; amusing himself with poetry, in which he had some skill, and by cultivating his melons in the bed of the Banas, which ran under the walls of his castle, Bagor.[11.6.9] The fervour of his devotions, and the love and respect which his qualifications as a man and a Rajput obtained him, now caused his ruin. In the coldest nights, accompanied by a single attendant, he was accustomed to repair to the lake, and thence convey water to sprinkle the statue of his tutelary divinity, ‘the god of all mankind’ (Jagannath). It was reported to the Rana that, by means of these ascetic devotions, he was endeavouring to enlist the gods in his traitorous designs, and, determined to ascertain the truth, Arsi, with a confidential friend, disguised himself, and repaired to the steps of the temple. Nathji soon appeared with his brazen vessel of water, and as he passed, the prince, revealing himself, thus addressed him: “Why all this devotion, this excess of sanctity? if it be the throne you covet, uncle, it is yours”; to which Nathji, in no wise thrown off his guard, replied with much urbanity, “You are my sovereign, my child, and I consider my devotions as acceptable to the deity, from their giving me such a chief, for my prayers are for your prosperity.” This unaffected sincerity reassured the Rana; but the chiefs of Deogarh, Bhindar, and other clans, being dissatisfied with the harsh and uncompromising temper of their sovereign, endeavoured to check his ebullitions by pointing to the Maharaja as a refuge against his tyranny.

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,[11.6.10] 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’;[11.6.11] 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.’[11.6.12] 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.=—Before, however, we altogether quit the wilds of the Chambal, we must record that Bhainsror had been visited by another man of blood, the renowned Alau-d-din, in whose epithets of Khuni, or ‘the sanguinary,’ and Sikandaru-s-sani, or ‘the second Alexander,’ by which history has given him perpetuity of infamy, we recognize the devastating [658] and ferocious Khilji king, who assailed every Hindu prince in India. Obedient to the letter of the law, he had determined to leave not one stone upon another of the temples or palaces of Bhainsror. Everywhere we searched for memorials of the Hun, whose name is also connected with the foundation of Bhainsror; of the Pramar, or the Dudia; but in vain. The vestiges of these ages had disappeared, or been built up in the more modern fortifications. Two such inscriptions we indeed discovered, reversed and applied as common building materials in the walls around the town; one was dated S. 1179 (A.D. 1123), but being in the old ornamented Jain character, would have required time and labour to decipher. The other is also anterior to Ala, and the ornaments in this are decidedly Jain; its purport is as follows: “On the parab (full moon) of Sheoratri (the birthday of Siva), Maharae Dariyai Rae Singh Deo bestowed, in the name of Rameswar, the village of Tatagarh in pun (religious gift). Those who maintain the grant will enjoy the fruits resulting therefrom”; or, in the words of the original:

_Yasya yasya jāda bhūmis, Tasya tasya tadā phalam._[11.6.13]

“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.[11.6.14]—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.

=Monuments to Warriors.=—Dabhi is the line of demarcation between Mewar and Bundi, being itself in the latter State, in the district of Loecha,—dreary enough! It produces, however, rice and makkai, or Indian corn, and some good patches of wheat. We passed the cairns, composed of loose stones, of several Rajputs slain in defending their cattle against the Minas of the Kairar. I was particularly struck with that of a Charan bard, to whose memory they have set up a paliya, or tombstone,[11.6.15] on which is his effigy, his lance at rest, and shield extended, who most likely fell defending his tanda. This tract was grievously oppressed by the banditti who dwell amidst the ravines of the Banas, on the western declivity of the plateau. “Who durst,” said my guide, as we stopped at these tumuli, “have passed the Patar eighteen months ago? they (the Minas) would have killed you for the cakes you had about you; now you may carry gold. These green fields would have been shared, perhaps reaped altogether, by them; but now, though there is no superfluity, there is ‘play for the teeth,’ and we can put our turban under our heads at night without the fear of missing it in the morning. Atal Raj! may your sovereignty last for ever!” This is the universal language of men who have never known peaceful days, who have been nurtured amidst the elements of discord and rapine, and who, consequently, can appreciate the change, albeit they were not mere spectators. “We must retaliate,” said a sturdy [660] Chauhan, one of Morji’s vassals, who, with five besides himself, insisted on conducting me to Bhainsror, and would only leave me when I would not let them go beyond the frontier. I was much amused with the reply of one of them whom I stopped with the argumentum ad verecundiam, as he began a long harangue about five buffaloes carried off by the Thakur of Nimri, and begged my aid for their recovery. I said it was too far back; and added, laughing, “Come, Thakur, confess; did you never balance the account elsewhere?”—“Oh, Maharaja, I have lost many, and taken many, but Ramdohai! if I have touched a blade of grass since your raj, I am no Rajput.” I found he was a Hara, and complimented him on his affinity with Alu, the lord of Bumbaoda, which tickled his vanity not a little. In vain I begged them to return, after escorting me so many miles. To all my solicitations the Chauhan replied, “You have brought us comfort, and this is man ki chakari, 'service of the heart.'” I accepted it as such, and we “whiled the gait” with sketches of the times gone by. Each foot of the country was familiar to them. At one of the cairns, in the midst of the wood, they all paused for a second; it was raised over the brother of the Bhatti Thakur, and each, as he passed, added a stone to this monumental heap. I watched, to discern whether the same feeling was produced in them which the act created in me; but if it existed, it was not betrayed. They were too familiar with the reality to feel the romance of the scene; yet it was one altogether not ill-suited to the painter.

=Karipur=, February 21, 9½ miles.—Encamped in the glen of Karipura, confined and wild. Thermometer 51°, but a fine, clear, bracing atmosphere. Our route lay through a tremendous jungle. Half-way, crossed the ridge, the altitude of which made up for the descent to Dabhi, but from whence we again descended to Karipura. There were many hamlets in this almost impervious forest; but all were desolate, and the only trace of population was in the altars of those who had defended to the death their dreary abodes against the ruthless Mina of the Kairar, which we shall visit on our return.

=Sontra.=—About a mile after we had commenced our march this morning, we observed the township of Sontra on our right, which is always conjoined to Dabhi, to designate the tappa of Dabhi-Sontra, a subdivision of Loecha. Being informed by a scout that it contained inscriptions, I requested my Guru and one of my Brahmans to go there. The search afforded a new proof of the universality of the Pramar sway, and of the conquests of another “Lord of the world and the faith,” Alau-d-din, the second [661] Alexander. The Yati found several altars having inscriptions, and many paliyas, from three of which, placed in juxtaposition, he copied the following inscriptions:

“Samvat 1422 (A.D. 1366). Pardi, Teja, and his son, Deola Pardi, from the fear of shame, for the gods, Brahmans, their cattle, and their wives, sold their lives.”

“S. 1446 (A.D. 1390). In the month of Asarh (badi yakam): Monday, in the castle of Sontra (Sutrawan durg), the Pramar Uda, Kala, Bhuna, for their kine, wives, Brahmans, along with the putra Chonda, sold their existence.”

“S. 1466 (A.D. 1410), the 1st Asarh, and Monday, at Sontragram, Rugha, the Chaora, in defence of the gods, his wife, and the Brahmans, sold his life.”

The following was copied from a kund, or fountain, excavated in the rock:

“S. 1370 (A.D. 1314), the 16th of Asarh (sudi yakam), he, whose renown is unequalled, the king, the lord of men, Maharaja Adiraj, Sri Alau-d-din, with his army of three thousand elephants, ten lakhs of horse, war-chariots and foot without number, conquering from Sambhar in the north, Malwa, Karnat, Kanor, Jalor, Jaisalmer, Deogir, Tailang, even to the shores of the ocean, and Chandrapuri in the east; victorious over all the kings of the earth, and by whom Sutrawan Durg, with its twelve townships, have been wrested from the Pramar Mansi; by whose son, Bilaji, whose birthplace (utpatti) is Sri Dhar, this fountain was excavated. Written and also engraved by Sahideva the stone-cutter (sutradhar).”

Beneath the surface of the fountain was another inscription, but there was no time to bale out the water, which some future traveller over the Patar may accomplish. Sontra, or as classically written, Satrudurg, ‘the inaccessible to the foe,’ was one of the castles of the Pramar, no doubt dependent on Chitor when under the Mori dynasty; and this was only one of the subdivisions of Central India, which was all under Pramar dominion, from the Nerbudda to the Jumna—an assertion proved by inscriptions and traditions. We shall hear more of this at Menal and Bijoli on our return over Uparmal, which I resolve to be thoroughly acquainted with.

=Kotah=, February 22, eleven miles to the banks of the Chambal.—Although not a cloud was to be seen, the sun was invisible till more than spear-high, owing to a thick vapoury mist, accompanied by a cold piercing wind from the north-west. The descent was gradual all the way to the river, but the angle may be estimated from the fact that the pinnacle (kalas) of the palace, though one hundred and twenty feet above the level of the Chambal, was not visible until within five miles of the bank. The barren [662] tract we passed over is all in Bundi, until we approach Kotah, where the lands of Nanta intervene, the personal domain of the regent Zalim Singh, and the only territory belonging to Kotah west of the Chambal. Karipura, as well as all this region, is inhabited by Bhils, of which race a very intelligent individual acted this morning as our guide. He says it is called by them Baba ka nund, and that they were the sovereigns of it until dispossessed by the Rajputs. We may credit them, for it is only fit for Bhils or their brethren of the forest, the wildbeasts. But I rejoiced at having seen it, though I have no wish to retrace my steps over this part of my journey. Half-way, we passed a roofless shed of loose stones, containing the divinity of the Bhils; it is in the midst of a grove of thorny tangled brushwood, whose boughs were here and there decorated with shreds of various coloured cloth, offerings of the traveller to the forest divinity for protection against evil spirits, by which I suppose the Bhils themselves are meant.[11.6.16]

=Maypoles.=—We must not omit (though we have quitted the Patar) to notice the ‘Maypoles’ erected at the entrance of every village in the happy basant or spring, whose concluding festival, the Holi or Saturnalia, is just over. This year the season has been most ungenial, and has produced sorrow rather than gladness. Every pole has a bundle of hay or straw tied at the top, and some have a cross stick like arms and a flag flying; but in many parts of the Patar, the more symbolic plough was substituted, dedicated to the goddess of fruition, and served the double purpose of a Spring-pole, and frightening the deer from nibbling the young corn.

=Kotah City.=—The appearance of Kotah is very imposing, and impresses the mind with a more lively notion of wealth and activity than most cities in India. A strong wall with bastions runs parallel to, and at no great distance from, the river, at the southern extremity of which is the palace (placed within a castle separated from the town), whose cupolas and slender minarets give to it an air of light elegance. The scene is crowded with objects animate and inanimate. Between the river and the city are masses of people plying various trades; but the eye dwells upon the terminating bastion to the north, which is a little fort of itself, and commands the country on both banks. But we shall have more to say regarding this during our halt, which is likely to be of some continuance [663].

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Footnote 11.6.1:

[About 120 miles E.N.E. from Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.6.2:

See Vol. I. p. 241.

Footnote 11.6.3:

[Rāwat, Rājaputra, ‘King’s son.’]

Footnote 11.6.4:

[In the Indore State, 9 miles S.W. of Mhow cantonment (IGI, x. 134).]

Footnote 11.6.5:

[By another tradition, Bhainsa Sāh was a merchant, servant of the Chauhān kings of Sāmbhar and Ajmer (Erskine ii. A. 96).]

Footnote 11.6.6:

[The “cradle of the Rāthors,” now in Mallāni.]

Footnote 11.6.7:

[The ‘cleft or fissure of the Rāni.’]

Footnote 11.6.8:

[The feudal levy.]

Footnote 11.6.9:

[About 70 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.6.10:

[A criminal tribe, known in the Panjāb as Bāwaria, and as Moghias in Mārwār (Census Report, Mārwār, 1891, ii. 190 f.).]

Footnote 11.6.11:

[The ‘annual knot.’ The custom still prevails among Indian Muhammadans, and the mother of the Mughal Emperor used to keep a string in the harem, and added a knot, probably as a magical protective, for every year of her son’s life. The custom of using in this way a thread of red or yellow silk was adopted by the Rājputs (Āīn, i. 267; Jaffur Shurreef, Qanoon-e-Islam, 26; Manucci ii. 346).]

Footnote 11.6.12:

[The usual form is: Bher bakrī ek ghāt pītē hain, ‘The wolf and the goat drink at the same river steps.’]

Footnote 11.6.13:

[This is the reading by Dr. Tessitori, who remarks: “The above, of course, is Sanskrit.”]

Footnote 11.6.14:

[Imli, Tamarindus indica; semal, Bombax heptaphyllum; sākhu or sagwān, the teak, Tectona grandis; tendu, Diospyrus embryopteris; dhao, Anogeissus latifolia.]

Footnote 11.6.15:

[Pāliya, ‘a protective, guardian,’ or ‘home of the guardian spirit’; often erected to Rājputs or others dying on the field of battle. At the Kāli Chaudas festival, 14th dark half of Āsho, these stones are daubed with red lead, and coco-nuts are offered (Enthoven, Folklore Notes, Gujarāt, 90; BG, ix. Part I. 218, 363 f.; Forbes, Rāsmāla, 691).]

Footnote 11.6.16:

The same practice is described by Park as existing in Africa. [Such trees are known in Gujarāt as ‘Rag Uncle’ (Forbes, Rāsmāla, 452). On rag-trees see E. S. Hartland, Legend of Perseus, ii. 175 ff.; W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folklore of N. India, 2nd ed. i. 161 ff.]

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Chapter 7

=Unhealthiness of Kotah. Nanta=, September 10, 1820.—A day of deliverance, which had been looked forward to by all of us as a new era in our existence. The last four months of our residence at Kotah was a continued struggle against cholera and deadly fever: never in the memory of man was such a season known. This is not a state of mind or body fit for recording passing events; and although the period of the last six months—from my arrival at Kotah in February last, to my leaving it this morning—has been one of the most eventful of my life, it has left fewer traces of these events upon my mind for notice in my journal than if I had been less occupied. The reader may be referred, for an abstract of these occurrences, to Chapter 6, which will make him sufficiently acquainted with the people amongst whom we have been living. To try back for the less important events which furnish the thread of the Personal Narrative, would be vain, suffering, whilst this journal is written, under fever and ague, and all my friends and servants in a similar plight. Though we more than once changed our ground of encampment, sickness still followed us. We got through the hot winds tolerably until the dog-days of June; but, although I had experienced every vicissitude of temperature in every part of India, I never felt anything to be compared with the few days of June at Kotah.

It was shortly after we had shifted the camp from the low paddy-fields to the embankment of the Kishor sagar, or ‘lake,’ immediately east of the city, the sky became of that transparent blue which dazzles the eye to look at. Throughout the day and night, there was not a zephyr even to stir a leaf, but the repose and stillness of death. The thermometer was 104° in the tent, and the agitation of the punkah produced [664] only a more suffocating air, from which I have fled, with a sensation bordering on madness, to the gardens at the base of the embankment of the lake. But the shade even of the tamarind or cool plantain was still less supportable. The feathered tribe, with their beaks opened, their wings flapping or hanging listlessly down, and panting for breath, like ourselves, sought in vain a cool retreat. The horses stood with heads drooping before their untasted provender. Amidst this universal stagnation of life, the only sound which broke upon the horrid stillness, was the note of the cuckoo; it was the first time I had ever heard it in India, and its cheerful sound, together with the associations it awakened, produced a delightful relief from torments which could not long be endured. We invariably remarked that the bird opened his note at the period of greatest heat, about two o’clock in the day, and continued during intervals for about an hour, when he changed his quarters and quitted us. I afterwards became more familiar with this bird, and every day in the hot weather at Udaipur, when I resided in one of the villas in the valley, I not only heard but frequently saw it.[11.7.1]

The reader can easily conceive the scene of our encampment; it was at the north-eastern angle of the lake, having in front that little fairy islet with its light Saracenic summer abode (p. 1521). Gardens fringed the base of the embankment, which was bordered with lofty trees; the extended and gigantic circumvallation, over the parapets of which peeped the spires and domes of temples or mosques, breaking the uniformity, and occasionally even showing the distant and elevated land beyond the Chambal. We had also close to us a spot sacred to the manes of the many heroes of this noble family. I frequented the cenotaphs of the Haras, which, if less magnificent than those of Marwar or Mewar, or even of the head of their line of Bundi, may vie with them all in the recollections they conjure up of patriotism and fealty, and of the deadly rancour attendant on civil strife. This cluster of monuments approaches near to the city wall, but is immediately under the dam of the lake, and being enveloped in foliage, almost escapes observation. I was rejoiced to see the good order in which they were maintained, which was another of the anomalies in the regent’s character: for what can so much keep alive the proud spirit of the Haras as these trophies of their sires? But whatever the motive of the act, it is a tribute to virtue; nor could I resist an exclamation of respect to the veteran regent, who is raising a monument to the last prince, which, if it survive to distant times, will afford room to some future [665] traveller to say, that, with Maharao Ummed Singh, Kotah appears to have attained the summit of its power. Nor should I deny myself the praise of having something to do with this harmless piece of vanity; for I procured for the regent free permission from the Rana of Mewar to take from the marble quarry at Kankroli[11.7.2] whatever suited his purpose, without price or duty: a request he was too proud to make himself since their ancient quarrel. We had also the range of Madho Singh’s magnificent gardens, of many acres in extent, abounding in exotic flowers and fruits, with parterres of rose-trees, each of many roods of land. But what were all these luxuries conjoined with cholera morbus, and tap tijari, ‘tertian fever,’ and every other fever, around us? But even these physical ills were nothing compared to the moral evils which it was my duty to find remedies for or to mitigate; and they were never adverted to in the many despatches addressed, during our residence in this petit enfer, to supreme authority.

The enthusiast may imagine how delightful travelling must be amongst such interesting races; to visit the ruins of ancient greatness, and to read their history in their monuments; to march along the margin of such streams as the Chambal or the Bamani; to be escorted by these gallant men, to be the object of their courtesy and friendship, and to benefit the condition of the dependant class; but the price of this enjoyment was so high that few would voluntarily pay it, namely, a perpetuity of ill-health. Fortunately, however, for ourselves and our country, if these offices are neither sinecures nor beds of roses, we do not make them beds of thorns; there is a heart-stirring excitation amidst such scenes, which keeps the powers of mind and body alert: a feeling which is fortunately more contagious than cholera, and communicable to all around. How admirably was this feeling exemplified this morning! Could my reader but have beheld the soldiers of my escort and other establishments, as they were ferried over the Chambal, he would have taken them for ghosts making the trajet of the Styx; there was not one of them who had not been in the gripe of pestilential fever or ague. Some of them had had cholera, and half of them had enlarged spleens. Yet, although their muskets were too heavy for them, there were neither splenetic looks nor peevish expressions. It was as delightful as it was wonderful to see the alacrity, even of the bedridden, to leave their ills behind them east of the Chambal.

Scarcely any place can be more unhealthy than Kotah during the monsoon. With the rise of the Chambal, whose waters filtrate through the fissures of the rock, the [666] wells are filled with mineral poison and the essence of decomposed vegetation.[11.7.3] All those in the low ground at our first encampment were overflowed from this cause; and the surface of each was covered with an oily pellicle of metallic lustre, whose colours were prismatic, varying, with position or reflection, from shades of a pigeon’s breast (which it most resembled), to every tint of blue blending with gold. It is the same at Udaipur during the periodical rains, and with similar results, intermittent and tertian fevers, from which, as I said, not a man, European or native, escaped. They are very obstinate, and though not often fatal, are difficult to extirpate, yielding only to calomel, which perhaps generates a train of ills.

=Meeting with Zālim Singh.=—The last few days of our stay were passed in the ceremonials of leave-taking. On the 5th, in company with the regent, I paid my last visit to the Maharao, who with his brothers returned my farewell visit the day following; and on the 8th and 9th the same formalities were observed with the regent. The man who had passed through such scenes as the reader has perused, now at the very verge of existence, could not repress his sorrow. His orbless eyes were filled with tears, and as I pressed his palsied hands which were extended over me, the power of utterance entirely deserted him. I would expunge this, if I did not know that vanity has no share in relating what I consider to be a virtue in the regent. I have endeavoured to paint his character, and could not omit this trait. I felt he had a regard for me, from a multitude of kind expressions, but of their full value was always doubtful till this day.

=A Restive Elephant.=—I did not get down to the point of embarkation for some hours after my suite, having been detained by the irresistible hold of ague and fever, though I started before the hot-fit had left me. The regent had prepared the grand barge, which soon landed me on the opposite bank; but Fateh Bahadur, my elephant, seemed to prefer his present quarters to Udaipur; after his howdah, pad, and other gear had been taken off and put into the boat, he plunged into the Chambal with delight, diving in the deepest water, and making a water-spout of his proboscis. He had got a third of the way across, when a new female elephant, less accustomed to these crossings, turned back, and Fateh Bahadur, regardless of his master, was so gallant as to go after her. In vain the mahout (driver) used his pharsi,[11.7.4] digging it into his head behind the ear; this only exasperated the animal, and he made one or two desperate efforts to shake off his pigmy driver. Fortunately (being too weak to mount a horse), I found a baggage-elephant just beginning to be loaded: I put my howdah upon her, and the “victorious warrior” suffered the indignity of carrying a load.

We passed the town of Kanari, belonging to Raj Gulab Singh, Jhala, a relation of [667] the regent, and one of the Omras of Kotah. It is a thriving comfortable place, and the pinnacled mahall of the Raj gave to it an air of dignity as well as of the picturesque. Our route to Nanta[11.7.5] was over a rich and highly cultivated plain, studded with mango-groves; which do not surprise us, since we know it is the family estate of the regent. The patrimonial abode is, therefore, much cherished, and is the frequent residence of his son Madho Singh, by whom I was met half-way between Kanari, and conducted to the family dwelling.

=Nānta. Rājput Music.=—Nanta is a fine specimen of a Rajput baronial residence. We entered through a gateway, at the top of which was the Naubat-khana, or saloon for the band, into an extensive court having colonnaded piazzas all round, in which the vassals were ranged. In the centre of this area was a pavilion, apart from the palace, surrounded by orangeries and odoriferous flowers, with a jet-d’eau in the middle, whence little canals conducted the water and kept up a perpetual verdure. Under the arcade of this pavilion, amidst a thousand welcomes, thundering of cannon, trumpets, and all sorts of sounds, we took our seats; and scarcely had congratulations passed and the area was cleared of our escorts, when, to the sound of the tabor and sarangi, the sweet notes of a Panjabi tappa saluted our ears. There is a plaintive simplicity in this music, which denotes originality, and even without a knowledge of the language, conveys a sentiment to the most fastidious, when warbled in the impassioned manner which some of these syrens possess. While the Mahratta delights in the dissonant dhurpad,[11.7.6] which requires a rapidity of utterance quite surprising, the Rajput reposes in his tappa, which, conjoined with his opium, creates a paradise. Here we sat, amidst the orange-groves of Nanta, the jet-d’eau throwing a mist between us and the group, whose dark tresses, antelope-eyes, and syren-notes, were all thrown away upon the Frank, for my teeth were beating time from the ague-fit.

It was in this very area, now filled with the youth and beauty of Kotah, that the regent exhibited his wrestlers; and it was from the very seat I occupied, that Sriji of Bundi challenged these ruffians to the encounter related in the annals.[11.7.7] Having sat a quarter of an hour, in obedience to the laws of etiquette, and in courtesy to the son of the Regent, who had come thus far to escort me, we took leave and hastened to get a cup of tea.

=Talera=,[11.7.8] September 11.—Two miles north-west of Nanta we passed the boundary of the regent’s estate and the Bundi territory. The roads were good, over a well-cultivated and well-wooded plain, the cotton particularly thriving. Talera is a large [668] village on the margin of a fine clear stream, its banks delightfully wooded, abounding in fish, which even tempted my invalid friends to try their luck. Talera is in the jagir of the wakil who attends me on the part of the Bundi Raja, but is still a heap of ruins, and being on the high road, is open to parties of troops.

=Nawagāon=, September 12.—The road very fair, though a little winding, to avoid some deep ravines. The land rich, well-watered, and too much wooded; but man is wanting to cultivate the fertile waste. The encamping ground afforded not a single tree to screen us from a scorching sun. We passed two cenotaphs, where Rajputs had fallen; but there was no inscription, and no one could reveal their history.

=Būndi=, September 13.—The country and roads, as usual, flat, with an apparent descent from Talera to the base of the Bundi range, whose craggy and unequal summits showed it could be no buttress to the tableland with which it unites. The general direction of the range is east-north-east, though there are diverging ridges, the course of which it is impossible to delineate.

As we neared the capital of the Haras, clouds of dust, gradually obscuring the atmosphere, were the first signal of the Raja’s approach: soon the sound of drums, the clangour of trumpets, and tramping of steeds, became audible, and at length the Sandnisawars, or camel-messengers, announced the Raja’s presence. He was on horseback. Instantly I dismounted from my elephant, and although too weak to contend with the fire of my steed Javadia, it would have been an unpardonable sin against etiquette to have remained elevated above the prince. All Javadia’s[11.7.9] warlike propensities were awakened at the stir of this splendid retinue, from which ever and anon some dashing young Hara issued, “witching the world with noble horsemanship”; and as, in all the various evolutions of the manège, there was not a steed in Rajwara could surpass mine, to my vast inconvenience and no small danger, he determined on this occasion to show them off. In one of his furious bounds, he had his fore-feet on the broken parapet of a reservoir, and as I turned him short, he threw up his head, which came in contact with mine, and made my Chabuk-sawar[11.7.10] exclaim, “Ali madad!” “The help of Ali!” and a few more bounds brought me in contact with my friend, the Rao Raja, when we dismounted and embraced. After going through the same ceremony with the principal chiefs, he again gave me three fraternal hugs to prove the strength of his friendship, as he said, with blunt sincerity, “This is your home, which you have come to at last.” With other affectionate welcomes, he took leave and preceded me. His retinue was striking, but not so much from tinsel [669] ornament, as from the joyous feeling which pervaded every part of it. As my friend twirled his lance in the midst of about eight hundred cavaliers and fifteen hundred foot, I thought of the deeds his ancestors had performed, when leading such a gol, to maintain their reputation for fealty. It recalled his words on the formation of the treaty, when the generosity of Britain again restored his country to independence. “What can I say, in return for the restoration of my home? My ancestors were renowned in the time of the kings, in whose service many lost their lives; and the time may come when I may evince what I feel, if my services should be required: for myself, my chiefs, are all yours!” I would pledge my existence that performance would not have lagged behind his promise. We allowed a quarter of an hour to elapse, in order to avoid the clouds of dust which a Rajput alone can breathe without inconvenience; and accompanied by my worthy and dignified old friend, the Maharaja Bikramajit, we proceeded to our tents, placed upon the bank of a tank beyond the town.

=The Būndi Palace.=—The coup d'œil of the castellated palace of Bundi, from whichever side you approach it, is perhaps the most striking in India;[11.7.11] but it would require a drawing on a much larger scale to comprehend either its picturesque beauties or its grandeur. Throughout Rajwara, which boasts many fine palaces, the Bundi-ka-mahall is allowed to possess the first rank; for which it is indebted to situation, not less than to the splendid additions which it has continually received: for it is an aggregate of palaces, each having the name of its founder; and yet the whole so well harmonizes, and the character of the architecture is so uniform, that its breaks or fantasies appear only to rise from the peculiarity of the position, and serve to diversify its beauties. The Chhattar-mahall, or that built by Raja Chhattarsal, is the most extensive and most modern addition. It has two noble halls, supported by double ranges of columns of serpentine from his own native quarries, in which the vassals are ranged, and through whose ranks you must pass before you reach the state apartments; the view from which is grand. Gardens are intermingled with palaces raised on gigantic terraces. In one of these I was received by the Raja, on my visit the next day. Whoever has seen the palace of Bundi, can easily picture to himself the hanging-gardens of Semiramis. After winding up the zig-zag road, I passed by these halls, through a vista of the vassals whose contented manly looks delighted me, to the inner palace; when, having conversed on the affairs of his country for some time, the Raja led the way to one of the terraces, where I was surprised to find a grand court assembled, under the [670] shade of immense trees, trellised vines, and a fine marble reservoir of water. The chiefs and retainers, to the number of at least a hundred, were drawn up in lines, at the head of which was the throne. The prospect was fine, both for near and distant views, as it includes the lakes called the Jeth-Sagar and Prem-Sagar, with the gardens on their margins, and in the distance the city of Kotah, and both banks of the Chambal; and beyond these successive terraces and mahalls, to the summit of the hill, is seen the cupola of the Dhabhai’s tomb, through the deep foliage, rising above the battlements of Taragarh. This terrace is on a grand bastion, which commands the south-east gorge of the valley leading to the city; and yet, such is the immense mass of building, that from the town one has no idea of its size.

It were vain to attempt a description of Bundi, even were I inclined. It was the traitor of Karwar who raised the walls of Taragarh, and it was Raja Budh Singh who surrounded the city with walls, of which Ummed Singh used to say “they were not required against an equal foe, and no defence against a superior—and only retarded reconquest if driven out of Bundi, whose best defence was its hills.”

=Illness of Dr. Duncan=, September 21.—Partly by business, partly by sickness, we were compelled to halt here a week. Our friend the doctor, who had been ailing for some time, grew gradually worse, and at length gave himself up. Carey found him destroying his papers and making his will, and came over deeply affected. I left my bed to reason with my friend, who refused all nourishment, and was sinking fast; but as much from depression of spirits as disease. In vain I used the common arguments to rouse him from his lethargy; I then tried, as the last resort, to excite his anger, and reviled him for giving way, telling him to teach by example as well as precept. By this course, I raised a tinge of blood in my poor friend’s cheek, and what was better, got a tumbler of warm jelly down his throat; and appointing the butler, Kali Khan, who was a favourite and had great influence, to keep rousing and feeding him, I left him. No sooner was he a little mended, than Carey took to his bed, and nothing could rouse him. But, as time passed, it was necessary to get on; and with litters furnished by the Raja we recommenced our journey.

=Banks of the Mej River=,[11.7.12] September 26, distance ten miles.—I this day quitted my hospitable friend, the Rao Raja. As I left my tent, I found the Maharaja of Thana, with the Dablana[11.7.13] contingent (zabita), amounting to a hundred horse, appointed to escort me to the frontier. Our route lay through the Banda-ka-nal, ‘the valley of Banda,’ whose gorge near the capital is not above four hundred yards in breadth, but [671] gradually expands until we reach Satur, about two miles distant. On both sides of this defile are numerous gardens, and the small temples and cenotaphs which crown the heights, in many places well wooded, produce a most picturesque effect. All these cenotaphs are perfectly classical in form, being simple domes supported by slender columns; that of Suja Bai is peculiarly graceful. As we reached Satur, the valley closed our last view of the fairy palace of the Haras, rearing its domes and gilded spires half-way up the mountain, the kunguras of Taragarh encircling it as a diadem, whilst the isolated hill of Miraji, at the foot of which was the old city, terminates the prospect, and makes Bundi appear as if entirely shut in by rocks. Satur is a sacred spot in the history of the Haras, and here is enshrined their tutelary divinity, fair Hope (Asapurna), who has never entirely deserted them, from the sakha of Asi, Gualkund, and Asir, to the present hour; and though the enchantress has often exchanged her attributes for those of Kalima,[11.7.14] the faith of her votaries has survived every metamorphosis. A high antiquity is ascribed to Satur, which they assert is mentioned in the sacred books; if so, it is not in connexion with the Haras. The chief temple is dedicated to Bhavani,[11.7.15] of whom Asapurna is an emanation. There is nothing striking in the structure, but it is hallowed by the multitude of sacrificial altars to the manes of the Haras who have “fallen in the faith of the Chhatri.” There were no inscriptions, but abundance of lazy drones of Brahmans enjoying their ease under the wide-spreading bar and pipal trees, ready, when well paid, to prepare their incantations to Bhavani, either for good or for evil: it is chiefly for the latter purpose that Satur-ki-Bhavani is celebrated. We continued our journey to Nawagaon, a tolerable village, but there being no good encamping ground, our tents were pitched a mile farther on, upon the bank of the Mej, whose turbid waters were flowing with great velocity from the accumulated mountain-rills which fall into it during the equinoctial rains.

=Thāna=, September 27.—This is the seat of Maharaja Sawant Singh, the eldest son of my friend Maharaja Bikramajit of Khini. He affords another instance in which the laws of adoption have given the son precedence of the father, who, while he receives homage in one capacity, must pay it in another; for young Sawant was raised from the junior to the elder branch of Thana. The castle of Sawant Singh, which guards the western frontier, is small, but of solid masonry, erected on the crest of a low hill. There are only six villages besides Thana forming his fief, which is burdened with the service of twenty-five horse. In Bundi, ‘a knight’s fee,’ or what should equip one cavalier, is two hundred and fifty rupees of rent. In the afternoon the Maharaja brought [672] his son and heir to visit me, a fine little fellow six years of age, who with his sword buckled by his side and miniature shield on his back, galloped his little steed over hill and dale, like a true Rajput. I procured several inscriptions, but none above three hundred years old.

=Jahāzpur=,[11.7.16] September 28.—At daybreak I again found the Maharaja at the head of his troop, ready to escort me to the frontier. In vain I urged that he had superabundantly performed all the duties of hospitality; “Such were his orders, and he must obey them.” I well know the laws of the Medes were not more peremptory than those of Bishan Singh; so we jogged on, beguiling the time in conversation regarding the semi-barbarous race of the tract I was about to enter, the Minas of Jahazpur and the Karar or fastnesses of the Banas, for ages the terror of the country, and who had studded the plains with cenotaphs of the Haras, fallen in defending their goods and chattels against their inroads. The fortress of Jahazpur was not visible until we entered the pass, and indeed had nearly cleared it, for it is erected on a hill detached from the range but on its eastern face, and completely guards this important point of ingress to Mewar. This district is termed Chaurasi, or consisting of eighty-four townships, a favourite territorial subdivision: nor is there any number intermediate between this and three hundred and sixty. Jahazpur, however, actually contains above a hundred townships, besides numerous purwas, or ‘hamlets.’ The population consists entirely of the indigenous Minas, who could turn out four thousand kamthas, or ‘bowmen,’ whose aid or enmity were not to be despised, as has been well demonstrated to Zalim Singh, who held the district during fifteen years. Throughout the whole of this extensive territory, which consists as much of land on the plains as in the hills, the Mina is the sole proprietor, nor has the Rana any property but the two tanks of Budh Lohari, and these were wrested from the Minas by Zalim Singh during his tenure.[11.7.17]

I was met at the frontier by the taiyunnati[11.7.18] of Jahazpur, headed by the old chief of Basai and his grandson Arjun, of whom we have spoken in the journey to Kotah. It was a very respectable troop of cavalry, and though their appointments were not [673] equal to my Hara escort, it was satisfactory to see assembled, merely at one post, a body which the Rana two years ago could not have collected round his own person, either for parade or defence: as a beginning, therefore, it is good. Received also the civil manager, Sobharam, the nephew of the minister, a very good man, but without the skill to manage such a tract. He was accompanied by several of the Mina Naiks, or chiefs. There is much that is interesting here, both as matter of duty and of history; we shall therefore halt for a few days, and rest our wearied invalids.

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Footnote 11.7.1:

In almost every respect like a sparrow-hawk; perhaps a little more elongated and elegant in form; and the beak, I think, was straight. [Mr. C. Chubb of the Natural History Museum, South Kensington, has kindly examined a specimen of Eudynamis honorata or E. orientalis, the “Brain Fever” bird, and he confirms the Editor’s recollection that the bill of the bird is rounded, and somewhat hooked at the tip.]

Footnote 11.7.2:

[Thirty-six miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.7.3:

[The unhealthiness of Kotah is due to the water of the Kishor Sāgar lake on the east percolating through the soil to the river on the west (IGI, xv. 425).]

Footnote 11.7.4:

[Skt. parusa, an axe-shaped goad: also known as ankus.]

Footnote 11.7.5:

[About 10 miles W. of Kotah city.]

Footnote 11.7.6:

[“The introductory stanza of a poem or song, which is repeated as a kind of burden or chorus” (Platts, Urdu Dict. s.v. dhur): “petit poëme ordinairement composé de cinq hémistiches sur une même rime” (Garçin de Tassy, Hist. Litt. Hindouie, i. 22). It is said to have been invented by Rāja Mān of Gwalior (Memoirs of Jahāngīr, trans. Rogers-Beveridge, 271).]

Footnote 11.7.7:

[P. 1618.]

Footnote 11.7.8:

[“Touera” in the Author’s map.]

Footnote 11.7.9:

[The name of the steed of the hero Gugga.]

Footnote 11.7.10:

[A rough-rider.]

Footnote 11.7.11:

[Fergusson (Hist. Indian Architecture, ed. 1910, ii. 175) says that, though smaller, the palace almost equals that of Udaipur in architectural effect, while its position is in some respects even more imposing.]

Footnote 11.7.12:

[The Mej Nadi, the principal, almost the only, drainage channel of the Būndi State, falls into the Chambal.]

Footnote 11.7.13:

[Dablāna about 10 miles N. of Būndi city: Thāna in the Kherwāra District of S. Mewār.]

Footnote 11.7.14:

[The creed of Islām.]

Footnote 11.7.15:

[Her local title is Rakt Dantika Devi, ‘Devi with the blood-stained teeth’ (Rājputāna Gazetteer, 1879, i. 240).]

Footnote 11.7.16:

[Ten miles S. of Deoli cantonment.]

Footnote 11.7.17:

The indigenous Mina affords here an excellent practical illustration of Manu’s axiom, that “the right in the soil belongs to him who first cleared and tilled the land” [Laws, ix. 44]. The Rajput conqueror claims and receives the tribute of the soil, but were he to attempt to enforce more, he would soon be brought to his senses by one of their various modes of self-defence—incendiarism, self-immolation, or abandonment of the lands in a body. We have mystified a very simple subject by basing our arguments on the arrangements of the Muhammadan conqueror. If we mean to follow his example, whose doctrine was the law of the sword, let us do it, but we must not confound might with right: consult custom and tradition throughout India, where traces of originality yet exist, and it will invariably appear that the right in the soil is in the cultivator, who maintains even in exile the hakk bapota-ka-bhum, in as decided a manner as any freeholder in England. But Colonel Briggs has settled this point, to those who are not blinded by prejudice.

Footnote 11.7.18:

[A deputation of welcome.]

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Chapter 8

=Attempted Poisoning of the Author. Jahāzpur=, October 1.—My journalizing had nearly terminated yesterday. Duncan and Carey being still confined to their beds, my relative, Captain Waugh, sat down with me to dinner; but fever and ague having destroyed all appetite on my part, I was a mere spectator. I had, however, fancied a cake of makkai flour, but had not eaten two mouthfuls before I experienced extraordinary sensations; my head seemed expanding to an enormous size, as if it alone would have filled the tent; my tongue and lips felt tight and swollen, and though I underwent no alarm, nor suffered the slightest loss of sense, I deemed it the prelude to one of those violent attacks, which have assailed me for several years past, and brought me to the verge of death. I begged Captain Waugh to leave me; but he had scarcely gone before a constriction of the throat came on, and I thought all was over. I rose up, however, and grasped [674] the tent-pole, when my relative re-entered with the surgeon. I beckoned them not to disturb my thoughts, instead of which they thrust some ether and compounds down my throat, which operated with magical celerity. I vomited violently; the constriction ceased; I sunk on my pallet, and about two in the morning I awoke, bathed in perspiration, and without a remnant of disease. It was difficult to account for this result: the medical oracle fancied I had been poisoned, but I was loth to admit it. If the fact were so, the poison must have been contained in the cake, and as it would have been too great a risk to retain the person who prepared it, the baker was discharged. It was fortunate that the symptoms were such as to induce Captain Waugh to describe them so fully, and it was still more fortunate for me that the doctor was not able to go out with his fishing-rod, for the whole transaction did not last five minutes. This is about the fourth time I have been ‘upon the brink’ (kinari pahuncha) since I entered Mewar.[11.8.1]

=Khajuri=, October 2.—Left my sick friends this morning to nurse each other, and having an important duty to perform at Mandalgarh, which is out of the direct route, appointed a rendezvous where I shall meet them when this work is over. I was for the first time compelled to shut myself up in my palki; incessant fever and ague for the last two months have disorganized a frame which has had to struggle with many of these attacks. We are now in what is termed the Karar, for so the tract is named on both banks of the Banas to the verge of the plateau; and my journey was through a little nation of robbers by birth and profession; but their kamthas (bows) were unstrung, and their arrows rusting in the quiver. Well may our empire in the east be called one of opinion, when a solitary individual of Britain, escorted by a few of Skinner’s Horse, may journey through the valley of Khajuri, where, three short years ago, every crag would have concealed an ambush prepared to plunder him! At present, I could by signal have collected four thousand bowmen around me, to protect or to plunder; though the Minas, finding that their rights are respected, are subsiding into regular tax-paying subjects, and call out with their betters “Atal Raj!” (“May your sway be everlasting!”) We had a grand convocation of the Mina Naiks, and, in the Rana’s name, I distributed crimson turbans and scarfs; for as through our mediation the Rana had just recovered the district of Jahazpur, he charged me with its settlement. I found these Minas true children of nature, who for the first time seemed to feel they were received within the pale of society, instead of being considered as outcasts. “The heart must leap kindly back to kindness,” is a sentiment as powerfully [675] felt by the semi-barbarians of the Karar as by the more civilized habitants of other climes.

Our route was through a very narrow valley, little susceptible of cultivation, though a few patches were visible near the hamlets, scattered here and there. The scene was wild, and the cool morning air imparted vigour to my exhausted frame. The slopes of the valley in many places are covered with trees to the very summit of the mountains, on which the kukra or wild cock was crowing his matins, and we were in momentary expectation of seeing some bears, fit associates of the Minas, in their early promenades. As we approached Khajuri, the valley widened, so as to admit of its being termed a township of fifty-two thousand bighas, which afforded another proof of ancestral wisdom, for it was in sasan, or grant to the Brahmans: but the outlaws of the Karar, though they sacrifice a tithe of their plunder to ‘our Lady of the Pass’ (Ghata Rani), have little consideration for the idlers of the plains. This feeling is not confined to the Minas; for the Bhumia Rajputs, despising all the anathemas of the church, have seized on the best lands of Khajuri. But only a small portion of the Bawana (fifty-two thousand), about seventeen thousand English acres, is arable.

=Kachola= or =Kachaura=, October 3.—Execrable roads! Our route continued through the same valley, occasionally expanding to the westward. Half-way, we passed the baronial castle of Amargarh, whose chief, Rawat Dalil Singh, is now on duty with his quota at Jahazpur, but his uncle Pahar Singh, who is a great favourite with our party (by whom he is known as ‘the mountain-lion’), came to meet and conduct me to the castle. But I was too unwell, or should on many accounts have desired to visit this somewhat celebrated abode of one of the Babas (infants) of Mewar, whose feud I maintained for him against his potent neighbour of Shahpura, which has elsewhere been related.[11.8.2] It is quite unassailable, being built on an isolated rock, and, except by a circuitous path on one side, there is no passage through the dense jungle that surrounds it: a mode of fortifying recommended by Manu,[11.8.3] but which, if universally followed in this land so studded with fortresses, would waste no small portion of the sovereignty. I was quite satisfied with this view of the castle of Dalil, and enjoyed from the point of descent a noble prospect. In the foreground is the cenotaph of Rana Arsi, in the centre of the valley, which extended and gradually opened towards Mandalgarh, whose blue ridge was distinctly visible in the distance. The hills to the right were broken abruptly into masses, and as far as the eye could stretch [676] on every side, were disordered heaps of gigantic rocks. To reclaim this district, the largest in Mewar, I am now intent, having convoked all the Bhumias and Patels of its three hundred and sixty townships at the chief city, Mandalgarh. My friend, Pahar Singh, as locum tenens of his uncle, expended powder on the occasion; and must have charged his patereroes[11.8.4] to the muzzle. Paharji joined me on his Panchkalyan (so they term a horse with four white legs and a white nose), and determined to escort me to Mandalgarh; a service, as he said, not only due from his family, but in accordance with the commands of his sovereign the Rana, of whom Pahar was a faithful, zealous, and valiant supporter during his adversity. The Bhumias of Mandalgarh, in fact, generally deserve the praise of having maintained this stronghold without either command or assistance throughout the whole period of his misfortunes.

Kachaura is a township rated at six thousand rupees of annual revenue in the rent-roll of Mewar, but is now an inconsiderable village. In former times, it must have been a place of importance, for all around, to a considerable distance, the ground is strewed with fragments of sculpture of a superior character, and one spot is evidently the site of the cenotaphs of the family. The town had stood on the western bank of an immense lake, which through neglect is now a swamp; and, half-way up the hill, are disclosed, amidst the brushwood of the dho,[11.8.5] the ruins of a temple: but tradition has perished with the population, who were subjected at once to the curse of constant foreign invasion and the inroads of the Minas of the Karar. Thus a soil, whose richness is apparent from the luxuriance of its meadows, is in a state of entire desolation. Kachaura forms the patta of Shahpura in this district, whose chief has to serve two masters, for he is a tributary of Ajmer for Shahpura, itself a fief of Mewar, and holds an estate of about forty thousand rupees of annual rent in Mandalgarh, which has been two years under sequestration for his refusal to attend the summons to Udaipur, and for his barbarous murder of the chief of Amargarh.[11.8.6] This is a state of things which ought not to exist. When we freed these countries from the Mahrattas, we should have renounced the petty tributes imposed upon the surrounding chiefs not within the limits of the district of Ajmer, and the retention of which is the source of irritating discussions with these princes through the feudatories. Presuming on this external influence, the Shahpura Raja set his sovereign’s warrant at defiance, and styled himself a subject of Ajmer; nor was it until he found he was bound by a double tie of duty, that he deigned to appear at the capital. The resumption of the estate in Mandalgarh alone overcame the inertness of the chief of Shahpura; he has already too much in the Chaurasi, or eighty-four [677] townships of Shahpura, for such a subject as he is, who prefers a foreign master to his legitimate lord. I would recommend that the Rathor chiefs of Marwar, beyond the Aravalli hills, now tributary to Ajmer, and who consequently only look to that State, should be replaced under their proper head: the sacrifice is of no moment to us, and to them it will be a boon.

=Damnia=, October 9.—I was detained at Kachaura by a violent accession of fever and ague, as well as spleen, increased no doubt by the unhealthiness of the position amidst swamps and jungle. This is a fine healthy spot, where I should like to convene the Bhumias and ryots, to endeavour to remove the reproach of so beautiful a land remaining waste. Damnia, which is in the sequestrated patta of Shahpura, is a town of two thousand houses; a universal ruin!

=Mānpura=, 15.—After a week’s halt, reached this spot, about a mile south-west of the town, and on the bank of the Banas.[11.8.7] The entire population of Manpura turned out to receive me; the damsels with their brazen vessels of water on their heads; but the song of the Suhaila had ceased to charm, and my ague made me too ill even to return their kindness. To-day it has abated, and to-morrow, with another respite, I will try to get through the work which brought me here. Mandalgarh is three coss from hence. I was rejoiced to see the signs of reviving prosperity about Manpura; some fine patches of sugar-cane were refreshing sights.

=Māndalgarh=,[11.8.8] 16 and 17.—Proceeded up the valley and encamped within half a mile of the city, from which the governor and his cortege came to meet and welcome me; but I was too enfeebled to ascend the fort, which was a subject of regret. It is by no means formidable, and may be about four furlongs in length, with a low rampart wall, and bastions encircling the crest of the hill. The governor’s residence appears on the west side, at which spot the regent of Kotah was compelled to abandon his ladders, which they retain as a trophy. This is the festival of the Dasahra, the day sacred to Rama; but feasting is lost upon me, for this is the ninth day of abstinence from dinner. Captain Waugh rejoined me yesterday, looking very ill, and giving a poor account of my friends, especially Carey, who is sinking rapidly. He left them encamped at Baghit, the point of rendezvous in the Banas where I shall join them to-morrow. He found me on my charpai (pallet), with some threescore leeches (which I had got from Mandalgarh) on my left side,[11.8.9] while I was attending [678] to and noting down the oral reports of the Bhumias and Patels of the district, who filled my tent, many remaining in groups outside. I notwithstanding got through the work to my satisfaction, and have obtained a thorough insight into the agricultural details of this fine tract, which I may touch upon, if I am able, the first halt.

=Annals of Māndalgarh.=—Mandalgarh was rebuilt by a chief of the Balnot[11.8.10] tribe, one of the ramifications of the Solanki or Chaulukya race, which furnished a splendid dynasty of kings to Anhilwara (Nahrwala) Patan, who ruled over the western maritime provinces of India from the tenth to the fourteenth century. They were of the great Takshak or Ophite race, which, with three other tribes, became converts to Brahmanism.[11.8.11] The Balnot of Mandalgarh was a branch of the family which occupied Tonk-Toda on the Banas, recognized in their traditional poems as Takshak, or, in the dialect, Takatpura, ‘city of the Takshak, or snake.’[11.8.12] Although tradition asserts that the Solanki of Toda migrated from Patan during the religious wars in the twelfth century, it is more probable that the branch fixed itself here during their progress from the north in search of settlements; for their genealogical creed assigns Lohkot, in the Panjab, as the cradle of their power.[11.8.13] It is indeed a curious fact, amounting to demonstration of the Indo-Scythic origin of the Agnikula races, that they all lay claim to this northern origin, in spite of their entrance into the world through the medium of fire (agni): in fact, the glorious egotism of the Brahman is never more conspicuous than when he asserts the superiority of the Chauhans over the more ancient races of Surya and Soma; that “these were born of woman, but they were made by the Brahmans”: a proof of conversion which requires no comment. In spite of this fabled birth at the fountain-head, the Analkund of Abu, tradition negatives the assumed pedigree of the Brahmans, and brings them all from the north. Be this as it may, the branch which fixed itself at Mandalgarh gave its name to the tract, which is still recognized by some as Balnot.

=The Philosopher’s Stone.=—The first possession the founder had was Larpura, a town of great antiquity. He had in his service a Bhil, named Mandu, who, while guarding the sugar-cane from the wild hog, came upon one sound asleep. To ensure his arrow piercing the animal, he began to sharpen it upon a stone; and, to his astonishment, found it transmuted to [679] gold. He repaired to his master, who returned with Mandu, and found the stone, with the hog still asleep beside it; but no sooner had he seized upon his prize, than Baraha disappeared.[11.8.14] With the possession of the paras-patthar, the ‘philosopher’s stone,’ he raised the walls of Mandalgarh, which was so named after the fortunate Bhil. By an act of injustice to one of his subjects, he forfeited Mandalgarh to a descendant. This subject was a Jogi, who had a mare of such extraordinary speed as to be able to run down an antelope. Whether the Balnot prince thought the sport unsuitable to an ascetic we are not told; but he forcibly took away the mare. The Jogi complained to the king, who sent a force and expelled the Balnot from Mandalgarh, and his descendants are petty Bhumias at Jawal and Kachrod, retaining, though mere peasants, the distinctive title of Rao. The numerous stories of this kind, common throughout Rajwara, accounting for the foundation of many ancient places, may merely record, in this manner, the discovery of mineral wealth; from the acquisition and the loss of which the legendary moralist has constructed his tale.

I discovered in the remains of a marble bawari, or reservoir, at Kachaura, two large tablets, containing the pedigree of the Solanki family, which will require time to decipher. Tradition, however, is busy with the name of Raja Bhim, and his son Baran of Anhilwara, from whom many tribes branched off; and although, from the first, only royal houses were founded, the other claims a greater celebrity from originating a heterogeneous breed, which descended into the third and fourth great classes, the Vaisya and Sudra. From him the Bagherwal Mahajans,[11.8.15] who became converts to the Jain faith, claim descent, as well as the Gujars of Sont-Katoria; the Sunars, or goldsmiths, of Bonkan; the Bhil communities of Oghna-Panarwa (or Mewar); and likewise those of Mau-Maidana, in Kotah. Whether from Baran and his degenerate offspring originated the name of baran-shankar, applied to the mixed classes, I am not informed.[11.8.16] The Bagherwal is one of the “twelve and a half (sarha barah niyat) castes of Mahajans,” or mercantile tribes, subdivided into innumerable families, the greater portion of whom profess the Jain creed, and nearly all are of Rajput ancestry: an important fact in the pedigree of this considerable part of the population. The lineal descendant of the Toda Rao resides at Basai in a small village; and two other branches, who held large possessions at Todri and Jahazpur, retain the villages of Mirchiakhera and Bhatwara, both in Chitor; they have preserved the title of Rao amidst all the revolutions that have deprived them of their estates; nor would any prince of Rajwara deem himself degraded by their alliance [680]. Such is the virtue of pedigree in these regions. I should imagine that the Balnots held of the Ranas of Mewar, as Mandalgarh has been an integral portion of that State during the most flourishing period of the Anhilwara dynasty, although the inscription of Chitor savours of conquest; in which case we have at once a solution of the question, and proof that the Balnot was inducted into Mandalgarh by his superior, Kumarpal.[11.8.17]

In S. 1755 (A.D. 1699) the tyrant Aurangzeb granted Mandalgarh to the Rathor chief of Pisangan, named Dudaji, who subdivided it into allotments for his brethren, leaving no revenue for the duties of the civil administration and repairs of the castle. To remedy this, he imposed a tax, called daotra or dasotra, or ‘tenth’ of the net value of each harvest, upon his Bhumia brethren. When the Rana succeeded in expelling the royal garrison, he found it a work of some difficulty to get rid of the Rathor feudatories; and he gave them regular pattas for their estates, subject to the payment of dasotra; but as he found it led to interference, in the inspection of crops, and to fluctuation and appeals in bad seasons, he commuted the tax for service of one horseman and one foot-soldier for each five hundred rupees of rent, and a certain small sum annually to mark their tributary condition.

In these times of turbulence, other impositions were laid on the Bhumias of his own kindred, the Ranawats, Kanawats, and Saktawats, who established their rights with their swords when the district was subjected to the emperor. In the same manner as with the Rathors, the Rana confirmed their acquisitions on the payment of certain fines called bhumbarar, which were either baraskar and trisala, or ‘annual’ and ‘triennial’; the first being levied from the holders of single villages, the latter from those who had more than one. Thus, Amargarh was fixed at two thousand five hundred rupees; Amaldah, fifteen hundred; Tintora, thirteen hundred; Jhunjrala, fourteen hundred, etc., triennially, having obtained their lands by main force. They also, when Mandalgarh was threatened, would repair with their vassals and defend it during ten days at their own expense, after which they received rations from the State. There were various other fines collected from the Bhumia vassalage, such as lauasma, or for the support of the Nakkarchis (kettle-drummers), the mace, standard, and even the torch-bearers attached to each garrison. There was also khar-lakar, for wood and forage, which has been elsewhere explained; hal-barar, or ‘plough-tax,’ and ghasmali, or ‘pasturage,’ the rates of which are graduated, and vary [681] in amount with the power of enforcing their collections. But owing to these circumstances, the best land in Mandalgarh belongs to the Bhumia chieftains.

It was about this time, in the reign of Jagat Singh II., that Ummeda Singh of Shahpura had the grant of seventy-three villages in Mandalgarh, one-fifth of the whole district, subject only to the fine of three thousand two hundred and fifty rupees annually for ghasmali, with five hundred more to the deputy governor, and two hundred to the Chaudhari, or territorial head of the district. In this lavish manner were estates disposed of. This family continued to hold it until S. 1843, when the minister Somji, in order to obtain his support during the Chondawat rebellion, gave him a formal acquittance for this service, and in addition to these lands, the two subordinate fiefs of Dangarmau and Borwa on the Plateau, and the rich estate of Agoncha on the Khari; in return for which, he exacted a stipulation to serve with four hundred horse: a contract fulfilled only by one chief of the family, who fell leading his contingent at the battle of Ujjain. His descendants seem to have claimed immunity on the score of his service; and the present incumbent is a madman. Great changes, however, have recently been made in the condition of the Bhumias, and these desultory fines have all merged into a duty more accordant with the character of the Rajput; service in the garrisons of Mandalgarh and Jahazpur, and a fixed annual sum from those who are too poor to command even a single horse.

=Baghīt=,[11.8.18] 18th; eight miles.—A large village on the west of our own stream, the Berach, coming from the Udaisagar. Our road lay over a rich soil, as usual overgrown with grass. Here I rejoined my sick friends, all very ill; the doctor better, but Carey in a very precarious condition.

=Birslabās=, 19th.—The route over the most fertile plains of Mewar; but one continuous mass of jungle and rank grass. The Maharaja came out to meet me, a courteous, polished Rajput. He is of the Ranawat clan, descended from Rana Amra Singh, and the elder branch of the Shahpura family. Both his father and grandfather fell defending the cause of Shah Jahan against the usurper Aurangzeb, which lost him his birthright; but he has five villages left attached to Birslabas. Encamped near the altars of his heroic ancestors.

=Amba=, 21st; six and a half miles.—The route over a scene of desolation; fine fields, fruitful of grass and ruins. Sent one of my Brahmans to the town of Akola, two coss distant, and had several inscriptions copied; they were all immunities or grants of privileges to the printers of that town, thence called Chhipi-ka-Akola, to distinguish [682] it from another of the same name. I halted at Birslabas, received several visits, and held interesting conversations with the Maharaja; but fever and ague leave the mind in a sorry state. I can pay no attention to barometer or perambulator; of the latter Babu Mahesh keeps a diary, and on his intelligence I can depend.

=Hamīrgarh=,[11.8.19] 22nd.—This town belongs to Biramdeo, Ranawat, the son of Dhiraj Singh, who was the chief adviser of the Salumbar princes in the rebellion of S. 1843, during which he obtained it. The present chief is an oaf, always intoxicated; and as he did not discharge the Baoris, or professional thieves in his service, on the return of these days of peace, he was deprived of two towns amounting to seven thousand rupees annual rent. He ought, indeed, by the treaty of A.D. 1818, to have lost Hamirgarh, but he contrived by various indirect means to elude it, and to retain this, one of the most thriving places in Mewar. It contains about eight hundred inhabited houses, tenanted chiefly by manufacturers of chintz and dopattas, or ‘scarfs,’ such as are worn by all the Rajputnis. It has a fine lake, filled with a variety of wild duck, which live unmolested amidst the singhara[11.8.20] and lotus. The more ancient name of this place is Bakrol, as I found by two inscriptions, which again furnish specimens of sumptuary legislation.

=Siyāna=,[11.8.21] 23rd; eight miles and three furlongs.—We are now in the very heart of Mewar, plains extending as far as the eye can reach. Traces of incipient prosperity are visible, but it will require years to repair the mischief of the last quarter of a century. Passed through Ujhana, Amli, Neuria—all surrendered in consequence of the treaty of 1818: the last-mentioned, together with Siyana, from the ‘Red Riever,’ as we have nicknamed the chieftain of Badesar. The prospect from this ground is superb: the Udaipur hills in the distance; those of Pur and Gurla,[11.8.22] with their cupolas, on our right; the fantastic peak of Barak rising insulated from the plain. We are now approaching a place of rest, which we all much require; though I fear Carey’s will be one of perpetuity. Saw a beautiful mirage (si-kot) this morning, the certain harbinger of the cold season. The ridge of Pur underwent a thousand transformations, and the pinnacle of Barak was crowned with a multitude of spires. There is not a more delightful relaxation than to watch the changes of these evanescent objects, emblems of our own ephemeral condition. This was the first really cold morning. The Panchayat, or elders of Pur, with several of the most respectable inhabitants to the number of fifty, came all this way to see me, and testify their happiness and gratitude! Is there another nook in the earth where such a principle is professed, much [683] less acted on? Hear their spokesman’s reply to my question, “Why did they take the trouble to come so far from home?” I give it verbatim: “Our town had not two hundred inhabited dwellings when you came amongst us: now there are twelve hundred: the Rana is our sovereign, but you are to us next to Parameswar (the Almighty); our fields are thriving, trade is reviving, and we have not been molested even for the wedding-portion.[11.8.23] We are happy, and we have come to tell you so; and what is five coss, or five hundred, to what you have done for us?” All very true, my friends, if you think so. After a little wholesome advice to keep party feuds from the good town of Pur, they took leave, to return their ten miles on foot.

Since the town council left me, I have been kept until half-past seven by the Baba of Mangrop, and the Thakur of Rawarda, whose son I redeemed from captivity in the fortress of Ajmer. Worn out; but what is to be done? It is impossible to deny one’s self to chiefs who have also come miles from the best motives. Now for coffee and the charpai.

=Rāsmi=,[11.8.24] October 23.—The direct or usual route is thirteen and a half miles, but as I made a circuit by Marauli, it was fifteen. Had I taken the common route, I should have followed the Banas the whole way; as it was, for the last half I skirted its low banks, its limpid stream flowing gently to the north-east. Found the cultivation considerably increased compared with last year; but it is still a desert, overgrown with grass and brushwood, in which these little cultivated oases are “few and far between.” Marauli was thriving in the midst of ruin, with fifty-seven ploughs at work; there were but twelve when I entered Mewar. Rasmi has also seventy families instead of the twenty I found; and in a few years I hope to see them greatly increased. We had some delicious trout from the Banas, some of them equal to what we caught last year at Pahona, the largest of which weighed seventy-three rupees, or about two pounds, and near seventeen inches long by nine in girth. My friend Tom David Steuart was more successful than we were in getting them to rise at the fly; in revenge we took them, unsportsmanlike, in a net. This appears to be the season for eating them.

Rasmi is a place of considerable interest, and tradition is at work to establish its antiquity, connecting it with the name of Raja Chand; but whether the Pramar of [684] Chandravati, or the Chauhan of Abhaner, I cannot learn. There were vestiges of past days; but even in these regions, where to a certain extent they respect antiquity, I find the ruined temples are despoiled, and appropriated to modern fabrics. Amongst the groves of Rasmi I found some fragments of patriarchal legislation, prohibiting “the ladies from carrying away under their ghaghra (petticoats) any portion of the sadh, or village-feast!” I also discovered a tablet raised by the collective inhabitants of Rasmi, which well illustrates the truth, that they had always some resort against oppression. It runs as follows: “Written by the merchants, bankers, printers, and assembled panchayat of Rasmi: Whereas the collector of town-duties oppressed the merchant by name Pakar, and exacted exorbitant duties on grain and reza (unbleached cloth), for which he abandoned the place; but the government-officer having forsworn all such conduct for the future, and prevailed on him to return, and having taken the god to witness—we, the assembled panch, have set up this stone to record it. Asarh the 3rd, S. 1819.”

Fourteen years have elapsed since I first put my foot in Mewar, as a subaltern of the Resident’s[11.8.25] escort, when it passed through Rasmi. Since that period, my whole thoughts have been occupied with her history and that of her neighbours.

=Jāsma=,[11.8.26] 24th; distance fourteen miles, but not above twelve direct.—This in past times was a township of celebrity, and in the heart of the finest soil in India, with water at hand; but it had not a single habitation when we entered the country; now, it has eighty families. Our way for fourteen miles was through one wide waste of untrodden plain; the Banas continued our companion half-way, when she departed for Galund to our right. Saw many inscriptions, of which we shall give an account hereafter. Passed the copper-mines of Dariba;[11.8.27] but they are filled with water, and the miners are all dead.

=Sanwār=,[11.8.28] 25th; distance twelve and a half miles by the direct route through Lonera; but I made a circuit to visit the celebrated field of battle between Rawal Samarsi, of Chitor, and Bhola Bhim, of Anhilwara Patan, recorded by the bard Chand in his Raesa. This magnificent plain, like all the rest of this once garden of Mewar, is overgrown with the kesula or palas, and lofty rank grass; and the sole circumstance by which it is known is the site. The bard describes the battle as having occurred in Khet-Karera, or field of Karera, and that the Solanki, on his defeat, retreated across the river, meaning the Berach, which is a few miles to the south. A little way [685] from hence is the Sangam, or point of junction of the Berach and Banas, which, with a third small stream, forms a triveni; at their point of confluence there is an altar to Mahadeo.

=Karera.=—At Karera there is a temple of some celebrity, dedicated to the twenty-third of the Jain apostles, Parsvanath. I found several inscriptions recording its foundation in S. 11 ..., and several from 1300 to 1350. We must supply the figures wanting in the first. The priests are poor and ignorant; but they are transcribing its history, and such as it is it shall be given. The temple is imposing, and though evidently erected in the decline of the arts, may be considered a good specimen for the twelfth century. It consists of two domes, supported by numerous massive columns of a species of porphyry, of close texture, excessively hard, and taking a fine polish. The capitals of the columns are filled with Jain figures of their pontiffs. The domes are of nearly equal diameters, about thirty feet each, and about forty in height; under the further one is the sanctum of Parsva, and the other within the votaries. There is a splendid colonnaded vestibule at the entrance, richly sculptured, which gives a very grand appearance to the whole edifice; but it stands in the midst of desolation. Even thirty years ago, these plains were covered with crops of juar, in which an elephant would have been lost; now there is scarcely the trace of a footpath, and with some difficulty did I make way in my palki (for I am unable to mount my horse) through the high grass which completely overtopped it, and the babul trees, the thorns of which annoyed us. Karera, which formerly contained six hundred houses, has now only sixty; and more than half of these have been built since we came amongst them. The damsels of Karera came out to welcome me with the ‘song of joy,’ and bringing water. The distance is seven miles from Rasmi to Karera, and nine thence to Sanwar. The latter belongs to one of the infants (Babas) of Mewar, the Maharaja Daulat Singh, now kilahdar or commandant of Kumbhalmer. This chief town of the estate of my friend the Maharaja is but small, and in no flourishing condition. There is a small fort, in which he contrived to maintain himself against the savage bands who long prowled over the country. Transcribed an inscription, and found it to be the abolition of a monopoly of tobacco, dated S. 1826.

=Mauli=, 26th; seven and a half miles.—As usual, all was barren between Sanwar and Mauli; though at each are the traces of reviving industry. This was formerly a considerable town, and rated in the books at seven thousand rupees annual rent; but now it yields not seven hundred. Its population consists of about eighty families of all classes [686], half of which have been recalled from their long exile in Malwa and Khandesh, and have already given a new aspect to Mauli in its sugar-canes. Her highness’s steward, however, is not one of the faithful. There is a very fine bawari, or reservoir, of coarse marble, constructed by Baiji Raj, ‘the royal mother,’ of the present Rana and his sister, in whose appanage it is. An inscription, dated S. 1737, recorded an ordinance in favour of the Jains, that “the oil-mill of Mauli should not work on the four rainy months”; in order to lessen the destruction of animal life.[11.8.29]

=Heights of Tus and Merta=, 27th; fourteen miles and a half.—At length there is an end to our disastrous journey; and from this ground I stir not again, till I start for Samudra (the sea), to embark for the land of my sires. Our route, as usual, over desolate fields, doubly striking as we passed the hunting-seats of Nahramagra, or ‘tiger mount.’ Bajraj, the royal steed, who seemed instinctively to know he was at the end of his journey, was unwilling to quit the path and his companions, when I urged him to pick his way amidst the ruined palace of the Ranas, where, without metaphor, “the owl stands sentinel”; and which was crumbling into and choking up the Bamani, whose monotonous murmur over these impediments increased the melancholy sensations which arose on beholding such a scene. Every year is aiding its rapid decay, and vegetation, fixing itself everywhere, rends its walls asunder. The range of stabling for thirty horses, all of stone, even to the mangers, is one extensive ruin. It was on this spot, according to the chronicles, that the sage Harit bestowed the enchanted blade upon the great sire of the Sesodias, eleven centuries ago; but they have run their career, and the problem remains to be solved, whether they have to commence a new course, or proceed in the same ratio of decay as the palace of the tiger-mount. The walls around this royal preserve no longer serve to keep the game from prowling where they please. A noble boar crossed our path, but had no pursuers; “our blood was cold”; we wanted rest. As we approached our old ground, my neighbours of Merta and villages adjacent poured out to welcome our return, preceded by the Dholi of Tus and his huge kettle-drum, and the fair, bearing their lotas, or brazen vessels with water, chanted the usual strain of welcome. I dropped a piece of silver into each as I passed, and hastened to rest my wearied limbs.

Poor Carey will never march again! Life is almost extinct, and all of us are but the ghosts of what we were [687].

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Footnote 11.8.1:

[Lieut.-Col. T. H. Sweeny, who has much experience in such cases, is satisfied, from the symptoms, that the attack was not due to darnel, the seeds of which, when mixed with cereals, and when they have been attacked by mildew or fungi, are deleterious. The attack was certainly due to the administration of datura fastuosa, used by road poisoners, and his recovery was due to the immediate production of vomiting.]

Footnote 11.8.2:

See Vol. I. p. 212.

Footnote 11.8.3:

[Laws, vii. 70.]

Footnote 11.8.4:

[Spanish pedrero, originally an engine used for flinging stones: then, a piece of ordnance for discharging fragments of broken iron and the like, and for firing salutes (see J. Fryer, A New Account of East India and Persia, ed. 1909, i. 271 f.).]

Footnote 11.8.5:

[A ravine, deep pool.]

Footnote 11.8.6:

See Vol I. p. 213.

Footnote 11.8.7:

By mistake, Manpura is not rightly placed in the map. [It is situated about half-way between Damnia and Māndalgarh.]

Footnote 11.8.8:

[About 100 miles N.E. of Udaipur city (Erskine ii. A. 118 f., quoting, for its archaeology, H. Cousens, Progress Report AS W. India, for year ending June 30, 1905).]

Footnote 11.8.9:

Enlargement of the spleen appears an invariable accompaniment of protracted fever and ague, arising from such causes as afflicted us. I could feel the spleen at the very pit of the stomach, as hard as a stone. The bleeding reduced it, as it did generally in my case; for the leeches were enormous, and must have each drained half an ounce of blood; but I had only the choice of them or the actual cautery, which was strongly recommended by my native friends: of two evils I chose what appeared to me the least.

Footnote 11.8.10:

[The origin of the Bālnot tribe is doubtful (Census Report Rājputāna, 1911, i. 256).]

Footnote 11.8.11:

[The Chaulukya or Solanki tribe is of Gurjara origin, which is implied in the Takshak theory of the Author. There is no reason for connecting them with a race of serpent-worshippers.]

Footnote 11.8.12:

Tonk-Toda is well worth visiting. The artist might fill a portfolio with architectural and picturesque sketches. Moreover, topazes of a good quality are found in its hills. The sacred cave of Gokaran, celebrated in the history of the great Chauhan king, Bisaldeo of Ajmer, is also worth notice.

Footnote 11.8.13:

[For Lohkot see Vol. I. p. 116.]

Footnote 11.8.14:

[Bārāha, Vārāha, the boar incarnation of Vishnu.]

Footnote 11.8.15:

[They are said to take their name from Bāghera in Ajmer.]

Footnote 11.8.16:

[The Baranshankar, or mixed tribes, have no connexion with a mythical Rāja Baran. The distinction of colours (varna) goes back to the early Hindu period (A. A. Macdonell, Hist. Sanskrit Literature, 86).]

Footnote 11.8.17:

See Inscription, Vol. II. p. 925.

Footnote 11.8.18:

[Nearly 10 miles S.W. of Māndalgarh.]

Footnote 11.8.19:

[Seventy-two miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.8.20:

[The edible nut, Trapa bispinosa (Watt, Econ. Prod. 1080).]

Footnote 11.8.21:

[About 60 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.8.22:

[Pur, 72 miles N.E. of Udaipur city: Gurla on the S.W. point of the same hill-range.]

Footnote 11.8.23:

When the Rana was about celebrating simultaneously the marriage of two daughters and a granddaughter of the princes of Jaisalmer, Bikaner, and Kishangarh, his subjects were called on for the ‘tenth.’

Footnote 11.8.24:

[About 46 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.8.25:

My esteemed friend, Mr. Graeme Mercer, of Maevisbank.

Footnote 11.8.26:

[Now headquarters of a Tahsīl in Kapāsan district: about 42 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.8.27:

[These lead mines, once yielding a high revenue, have long been closed (Erskine ii. A. 53).]

Footnote 11.8.28:

[A trading town, about 30 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.8.29:

[Among Jains at the present day the period of retreat, known as Pachasan or Paryusan, extends among the Swetāmbara section from 12th dark half of Sāwan (July-August) to 5th bright half of Bhādrapada (August-September): among the Digambara section from 5th bright half to 5th dark half of Bhādrapada (BG, ix. Part i. 113 f.). It corresponds to the Buddhist Vassavāsa or Vassa (Skt. vārshika, ‘belonging to the rainy season’) (Kern, Manual of Indian Buddhism, 80 f.).]

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Chapter 9

=Udaipur=, July 1821.—When I concluded the narrative of my journey in October last year, I had no expectation that I should ever put my foot in the stirrup again, except en route to Bombay, in order to embark for Old England; but “honhar!”[11.9.1] as my Rajput friends exclaim, with a sigh, when an invincible destiny opposes their intentions. I had only awaited the termination of the monsoon to remove the wreck of a once robust frame to a more genial clime; and now, it will remain to be proved whether my worthy friend Duncan’s prophecy—“You must die, if you stay here six months more”—will be fulfilled. Poor Carey lies entombed on the heights of Merta; the doctor himself is just going off to the Cape, half-dead from the Kotah fever; and, as if that were not enough, the naharua, or guinea-worm, has blanched his cheek and made him a cripple. My cousin, Captain Waugh, is at Kotah, depressed by a continuance of the same malaria, and in a few days I again start solus, in the midst of the monsoon, for Haraoti.

=Death of the Rāo Rāja of Būndi.=—A few days ago I received an express from Bundi, announcing the sudden death of my estimable friend, the Rao Raja, who in his last moments nominated me guardian of his infant son, and charged me to watch over his welfare and that of Bundi. The more formal letter of the minister was accompanied by one from the Rani, mother of the young prince, from whom also, or in his name, I had a few lines, both seconding the bequest of the dying prince, and reminding me of the dangers of a minority, and the elements by which they were surrounded. The appeal was irresistible, and the equipage was ordered out for immediate departure to Merta, and thence to Mauli, twenty-five miles distant, where I should join them.

=Cholera.=—The Raja fell a victim to Mari, the emphatic appellation of cholera, which has now been wasting these regions since 1817. They might well say that, if at this important [688] period in their history we destroyed the demon of rapine which had so long preyed upon their repose, we had in lieu of it introduced death amongst them, for such is the interpretation of Mari.[11.9.2] It was in our armies that this disease first appeared in northern India; and although for some time we flattered ourselves that it was only the intemperate, the ill-fed, or ill-clothed, that fell victims to it, we soon discovered that Mari was no respecter of persons, and that the prince and the peasant, the European and the native, the robust and the weak, the well-fed and the abstinent, were alike subject to her influence. I can number four intimate friends, my brother officers, who were snatched away in the very prime of life by this disease; and in the States under my political control, it assailed in two instances, the palace: the Udaipur prince recovered, but the Bundi Rao’s time was come. He conducted himself most heroically, and in the midst of the most dreadful torture with which the human frame can be afflicted, he never lost his self-possession, but in every interval of suffering, conversed upon the affairs of his little dominion, giving the fullest instructions for the future with composure. He particularly desired that none of his wives should mount the pyre with his corpse; and that as soon as he ceased to breathe, I should be invited to Bundi; for that “he left Lalji (an endearing epithet to children) in my lap.” It was only during our last journey through Bundi that I was amused with my friend’s expedient to keep “death” out of his capital, and which I omitted to mention, as likewise the old regent’s mode of getting rid of this unwelcome visitor in Kotah; nor should they be separated. Having assembled the Brahmans, astrologers, and those versed in incantations, a grand rite was got up, sacrifice made, and a solemn decree of desvata, or banishment, was pronounced against Mari. Accordingly an equipage was prepared for her, decorated with funeral emblems, painted black and drawn by a double team of black oxen; bags of grain, also black, were put into the vehicle, that the lady might not go forth without food, and driven by a man in sable vestments, followed by the yells of the populace. Mari was deported across the Chambal, with the commands of the priests that she should never set foot again in Kotah.[11.9.3] No sooner did my deceased friend hear of her expulsion from that capital, and being placed en chemin for Bundi, than the wise men of this city were called on to provide means to keep her from entering therein. Accordingly, all the water of the Ganges at hand was in requisition, an earthen vessel was placed over the southern portal, from which the sacred water was continually dripping, and [689] against which no evil could prevail. Whether my friend’s supply of the holy water failed, or Mari disregarded such opposition, she reached his palace.[11.9.4]

=Pauna, or Pahona=, July 25.—Yesterday was a day of disaster: I left the capital amidst torrents of rain, and between Merta and Mauli found my best elephant lying dead; the long and sudden march, and too heavy a load, had destroyed the fine animal. It was rather ominous to lose the emblem of wisdom in the outset of this journey. We passed a most uncomfortable day, and still more uncomfortable night, for a strong gale forced up the tent-pins from the clay soil, and brought down the tent over my ears. I had an escape from the pole, part of which I propped under the fly to keep me from suffocation. Around me were nothing but yells of distress, half laughable, half serious; horses loose, and camels roaring in discordant gutturals. We were glad long before dawn to pack up our chattels, thoroughly soaked, and consequently double weight, and begin moving for Pahona, where we are promised a little repose. I have taken this route as it is the last occasion I shall have to visit the work of my own hands, the mart of Bhilwara. Pahona is or was a place of some value; but the Brahmans, through the influence of the Rana’s sister, had got it by means of a forged grant, and abided by the privileges of their order. But fortunately they abused the right of sanctuary, in giving protection to a thief and assassin from interested motives; consequently, the penalty of resumption was incurred, and we hope to suffer no other ill-effects than Chand Bai’s displeasure.

=Bhīlwāra=, July 26.—Varuna, the Jupiter pluvialis of the Hindu, has been most complaisant, and for two days has stopped up all the “bottles of heaven,” and I [690] made my triumphal entry into our good town of Bhilwara, on one of those days which are peculiarly splendid in the monsoon, when the sun deigns to emerge from behind the clouds.

My reception was quite Asiatic; the entire population, headed by the chief merchants, and preceded by the damsels with the kalas, advanced full a mile to meet and conduct me to a town which, a few years ago, had not one inhabited dwelling. I passed through the main street, surrounded by its wealthy occupants, who had suspended over the projecting awnings the most costly silks, brocades, and other finery, to do honour to one whom they esteemed their benefactor, and having conducted me to my tent, left me to breakfast, and returned in the afternoon. As the tent would not contain a tenth of the visitors, I had its walls removed, and all were welcome to enter who could. Every moment I expected to see it fall upon us, as there were hundreds of hands at each rope, swaying it in every direction, in their eagerness to see what was going on within between the Sahib and the Panchayat of both sects, Oswal and Mahesri, or Jain and Vaishnava. We talked over many plans for the future benefit of the town; of further reducing the duties, and giving additional freedom to the transit-trade. I offered, in the Rana’s name, to expend the next two years’ income on a circumvallation for the protection of the town; which, for many good reasons, they refused; and principally, that it would be a check on that very freedom it was my desire they should enjoy, as it would prevent uninterrupted ingress and egress. I, however, sent for the chiefs, to whom, with their quotas, was confided the duty of guarding this town, and before the assembled groups explained the necessity of preventing any complaints from want of due vigilance, and told them they were to be in lieu of walls to Bhilwara. My good friends having no inclination to retire, I sent for the presents I intended for the heads of the sectarian merchants, with the itr-pan (that most convenient mode of hinting to a friend that you are tired of him), and they departed with a thousand blessings, and prayers for the perpetuity of our raj.

Bhilwara is perhaps the most conspicuous instance in all India of the change which our predominant influence has effected in four short years; and to many it must appear almost miraculous that, within that period, a great commercial mart should be established, and three thousand houses, twelve hundred of which are those of merchants or artisans, be made habitable, the principal street being entirely rebuilt; that goods of all countries should be found there; bills of exchange to any amount, and on any city in India, obtained, and that all should be systematically organized, as if it had been [691] the silent growth of ages. To me it afforded another convincing proof, in addition to the many I have had, of the tenacity and indestructibility of the institutions in these regions, and that very little skill is requisite to evoke order and prosperity out of confusion and distress. I have no hesitation in saying that, were it not now time to withdraw from interference in the internal concerns of Mewar, the machine of government having been once more put into action, with proper management this place might become the chief mart of Rajputana, and ten thousand houses would soon find inhabitants: such are its local capabilities as an entrepôt. But while I indulge this belief, I should at the same time fear that the rigid impartiality, which has prevented the quarrels of the sectarian traders from affecting the general weal, would be lost sight of in the apathy and intrigue which are by no means banished from the councils of the capital.[11.9.5]

I bade a last farewell to Bhilwara and its inhabitants, with prayers for the welfare of both.

=Bhīlwāra=, 28.—Though pressed for time, and the weather had again become bad, I could not resist the kind entreaties of the people of Bhilwara that I would halt one more day amongst them; and albeit neither my health nor occupations admitted of my being the lion to the good traders of the city without inconvenience, the slight personal sacrifice was amply repaid by the more intimate acquaintance I gained with men belonging to every region of Rajwara.

=Jahāzpur=, 29.—This was a long march in a torrent of rain, the country flooded, and roads cut up; and although I have not incommoded myself with much baggage, the little I have is in a wretched plight. The crockery-bearer fell with his load, and smashed the contents. Passed over the encamping ground of last year, and bestowed a transient thought upon the scene enacted there. I was equally near ‘the brink’ this spring. The Rana had stopped the nakkara, and many a rupee’s-worth of kesar (saffron) was promised to the divinities both of the Jains and Vaishnavas for my recovery. My kinsman, Captain Waugh, was admitted, after many days’ exclusion, to take a last adieu; but I told the doctor I was sure he was wrong; and here I am, bound for the same scenes of misery from which I so lately escaped, and under which several of my establishment, besides poor Carey, have succumbed.

=Būndi=, 30.—Another fatiguing march brought us to the conclusion of our journey; and notwithstanding a deluge of rain, we were met three miles from the city by the minister and the principal chiefs, with whom an interchange of baghal-giri [692] (embracing) took place in spite of the raging elements. All preceded to announce our approach, but my faithful old friend, the Maharaja Bikramajit, whose plain and downright honesty in all that appertains to his master’s house has won my warmest regard. He rode by my side, and told me of the changes that had taken place, of the dangers of the young Ram Singh from the interested views of those who affected the semblance of devotion; “but,” observed the veteran, “you know us all, and will trust no individual with too much authority.” He could speak thus without fear of being misunderstood, for no persuasion would have induced him to enter into their cabals, or compromise his trust of watching over the personal safety of his infant prince; though without any ostensible post or character save that proud title—which was ascribed to him by all parties—‘the loyal Bikramajit.’

The beauties of the scenery passed unheeded, and have already been sufficiently described, though there is novelty in every point of view from which the fairy palace is seen; and as it burst upon us this morning, a momentary gleam, passing over its gilded pinnacles, displayed its varied outline, which as rapidly immerged into the gloom that hung over it, according well with the character of its inmates. As it was my policy to demonstrate, by the rapidity of my movements (which had brought me in six days at such a season from Udaipur to Bundi), how much the British Government had at heart the welfare of its young prince, I hastened to the palace in my travelling costume to pay my respects, wishing to get over the formal visit of condolence on the loss the prince had sustained.

I found the young chief and his brother, Gopal Singh, surrounded by a most respectable court, though, as I passed along the line of retainers occupying each side of the long colonnaded Barah-dari,[11.9.6] I could perceive looks of deep anxiety and expectation blended with those of welcome. Notwithstanding the forms of mourning must destroy much of the sympathy with grief, there is something in the settled composure of feature of an assembly like this, convened to receive the condolence of a stranger who felt for the loss in which he was called to sympathize, that fixes the mind. Although I was familiar with the rite of matam, which, since the days of “David, who sent to comfort Hanun, son of the king of the children of Ammon, when his father died,” is generally one of ‘the mockeries of woe,’ its ordinary character was changed on this occasion, when we met to deplore the loss of the chief of all the Haras.

I expressed the feelings which the late event had excited in me, in which, I observed, the most noble the governor-General would participate; adding that it was a consolation [693] to find so much promise in his successor, during whose minority his lordship would be in the place of a father to him in all that concerned his welfare; and that in thus speedily fulfilling the obligations of public duty and friendship to the will of his deceased parent, I but evinced the deep interest my government had in the rising prosperity of Bundi; that, thank God, the time was past when a minority could endanger his welfare, as it would only redouble the anxiety and vigilance of my government; with much more to the same purport, which it is unnecessary to repeat. The young prince replied with great propriety of manner and speech, concluding thus: “My father left me in your lap; he confided my well-being to your hands.” After a few remarks to the chiefs, I repaired to the residence prepared for me at no great distance from the palace. Here I found all my wants supplied and my comforts most carefully studied; and scarcely had I changed my garments, when a sumptuous dinner was announced, sent by the queen-mother, who in order to do more honour had ordered a Brahman to precede it, sprinkling the road with holy-water to prevent the approach of evil!

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Footnote 11.9.1:

[Kismet, fate.]

Footnote 11.9.2:

From the Sanskrit mri, ‘to die.’

Footnote 11.9.3:

[Examples of this magical expulsion of disease are common. At the Bhadrakāli temple at Nāsik a Māng woman, supposed to be possessed by the cholera goddess, when the epidemic prevails, is solemnly placed in a cart, and driven out of the city (BG, xvi. 520 f.). The Bhīls practise a similar rite, and Sleeman records the custom at Sāgar (C. E. Luard, Ethnographic Survey Central India, 49, 62; Sleeman, Rambles, 162), also see Crooke, Popular Religion and Folklore of Northern India, 2nd ed. i. 141 f.; Frazer, The Golden Bough, 3rd ed., The Scapegoat, 109 ff.]

Footnote 11.9.4:

I have in other parts of my work touched upon this terrific scourge, from which it will be seen that it is well known throughout India under the same appellation; and it is not one of the least curious results of my endeavour to prove that the Hindus had historical documents, that by their means I am enabled to trace this disease ravaging India nearly two centuries ago. At Vol. II. p. 1022 it is thus described in the Annals of Marwar: “This, the sakha (putting a garrison to the sword) of Sojat, was when S. 1737 ended, and S. 1738, or A.D. 1681-2, commenced, when the sword and Mari (pestilence) united to clear the land.” Orme, in his Fragments [ed. 1782, p. 200], mentions a similar disease in A.D. 1684, raging in the peninsula of India, and sweeping off five hundred daily in the imperial camp at Goa; and again, in the Annals of Mewār, Vol. I. p. 454, it is described in the most frightful colours, as ravaging that country twenty years before, or in S. 1717 (A.D. 1661); so that in the space of twenty years, we have it described in the peninsula, in the desert of India, and in the plains of Central India; and what will appear not the least singular part of the history of this distemper, so analogous to the present date, about the intermediate time of these extreme periods, that is about A.D. 1669, a similar disease was raging in England. I have no doubt that other traces of the disorder may appear in the chronicles of their bards, or in Muhammadan writers, judging from these incidental notices, which might never have attracted attention had not Mari come to our own doors. I have had many patients dying about me, but no man ever dreamed of contagion; to propagate which opinion, and scare us from all the sympathies of life, without proof absolutely demonstrative, is, to say the least, highly censurable. There is enough of self in this land of ultra civilisation, without drawing a cordon sanitaire round every individual. The Udaipur prince was the first person seized with the disease in that capital: a proof to me, against all the faculty, that to other causes than personal communication its influence must be ascribed. I will not repeat the treatment in this case (see p. 1002), which may deserve notice, though prescribed by the uninitiated.

Footnote 11.9.5:

[The progress of Bhīlwāra has hardly realized the Author’s predictions: but it is now an important trading centre. Bishop Heber, who visited the town in 1825, speaks highly of Tod’s efforts to improve it (Erskine ii. A. 97 f.).]

Footnote 11.9.6:

[Bārahdari, ‘a room with twelve doors’; ‘a pavilion.’]

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Chapter 10

=Inauguration of the Rāo Rāja=, August the 5th.—The ceremony of Rajtilak, or inauguration of the young Rao Raja, had been postponed as soon as the Rani-mother heard of my intention to come to Bundi, and as the joyous ‘third of Sawan,’ Sawan-ki-tij, was at hand, it was fixed for the day following that festival. As the interval between the display of grief and the expression of joy is short in these States, it would have been inauspicious to mingle aught of gloom with the most celebrated of all the festivals of the Haras, in which the whole city partakes. The queen-mother sent a message to request that I would accompany her son in the procession of the Tij, with which invitation I most [694] willingly complied; and she also informed me that it was the custom of Rajwara, for the nearest of kin, or some neighbouring prince, on such occasions, to entreat the mourner, at the termination of the twelve days of matam, to dispense with its emblems. Accordingly, I prepared a coloured dress, with a turban and a jewelled sarpesh,[11.10.1] which I sent, with a request that the prince would “put aside the white turban.” In compliance with this, he appeared in these vestments in public, and I accompanied him to the ancient palace in old Bundi, where all public festivities are still held.

The young prince of the Haras is named Ram Singh, after one of the invincibles of this race, who sealed his loyalty with his life on the field of Dholpur. He is now in his eleventh year, fair, and with a lively, intelligent cast of face, and a sedateness of demeanour which, at his age, is only to be seen in the East. Gopal Singh, his brother, by a different mother, is a few months younger, very intelligent, and in person slight, fair, and somewhat marked with the smallpox. There is a third boy, about four, who, although illegitimate, was brought up with equal regard, but now he will have no consideration.

The cavalcade was numerous and imposing; the chiefs and their retainers well mounted, their equipments all new for the occasion, and the inhabitants in their best apparel, created a spectacle which was quite exhilarating, and which Bundi had not witnessed for a century: indeed, I should hardly have supposed it possible that four years could have produced such a change in the general appearance or numbers of the population. After remaining a few minutes, I took leave, that I might impose no restraint on the mirth which the day produces.[11.10.2]

The next day was appointed for the installation. Captain Waugh, who had been sent from Udaipur to Kotah in December last, when the troubles of that State broke out afresh, joined me this day in order to be present at the ceremony, though he was in wretched health from the peculiar insalubrity of Kotah at this time of the year. We proceeded to the Rajmahall, where all the sons of Dewa-Banga[11.10.3] have been anointed. Every avenue through which we passed was crowded with well-dressed people, who gave us hearty cheers of congratulation as we went along, and seemed to participate in the feeling evinced towards their young prince by the representative of the protecting power. The courts below and around the palace were in like manner filled with the Hara retainers, who rent the air with Jai! Jai! as we dismounted. There was a very full assemblage within, where the young Raja was undergoing purification [695] by the priests; but we found his brother the Maharaja Gopal Singh, Balwant Singh of Gotra, the first noble of Bundi, the chiefs of Kapraun and Thana, old Bikramajit, and likewise the venerable chief of Dugari (son of Sriji), grand-uncle of the young prince, who had witnessed all the revolutions which the country had undergone, and could appreciate the existing repose. It was gratifying to hear this ancient, who could remember both periods of prosperity, thank Parameswar that he had lived to see the restoration of his country’s independence. In this manner we had some interesting conversation, while sacrifice and purification were going on in the adjoining apartment. When this was over, I was instructed to bring the young Raja forth and lead him to a temporary ‘cushion of state,’ when a new round of religious ceremonies took place, terminating with his re-election of the family Purohit and Byas,[11.10.4] by marking their foreheads with the tilak: which ordination entitled them to put the unction upon the prince’s, denoting the ‘divine right’ by which he was in future to rule the Haras. The young prince went through a multitude of propitiatory rites with singular accuracy and self-possession; and when they were over, the assembly rose. I was then requested to conduct him to the gaddi, placed in an elevated balcony overlooking the external court and a great part of the town; and it being too high for the young prince to reach, I raised him to it. The officiating priest now brought the vessel containing the unction, composed of sandalwood powder and aromatic oils, into which I dipped the middle finger of my right hand, and made the tilak on his forehead. I then girt him with the sword, and congratulated him in the name of my Government, declaring aloud, that all might hear, that the British Government would never cease to feel a deep interest in all that concerned the welfare of Bundi and the young prince’s family. Shouts of approbation burst from the immense crowds who thronged the palace, all in their gayest attire, while every valley re-echoed the sound of the cannon from the citadel of Taragarh. I then put on the jewels, consisting of sarpesh, or aigrette, which I bound round his turban, a necklace of pearls, and bracelets, with twenty-one shields (the tray of a Rajput) of shawls, brocades, and fine clothes. An elephant and two handsome horses, richly caparisoned, the one having silver, the other silver-gilt ornaments, with embroidered velvet saddle-cloths, were then led into the centre of the court under the balcony, a khilat befitting the dignity both of the giver and the receiver. Having gone through this form, in which I was prompted by my old friend the Maharaja Bikramajit, and paid my individual congratulations as the friend of his father and his personal guardian, I withdrew to make room for the [696] chiefs, heads of clans, to perform the like round of ceremonies: for in making the tilak, they at the same time acknowledge his accession and their own homage and fealty. I was joined by Gopal Singh, the prince’s brother, who artlessly told me that he had no protector but myself; and the chiefs, as they returned from the ceremony, came and congratulated me on the part I had taken in a rite which so nearly touched them all; individually presenting their nazars to me as the representative of the paramount power. I then made my salutation to the prince and the assembly of the Haras, and returned. The Rao Raja afterwards proceeded with his cavalcade to all the shrines in this city, and Satur, to make his offerings.

The next day I received a message from the queen-mother with her blessing (asis), intimating her surprise that I had yet sent no special deputation to her, to comfort her under her affliction, and to give a pledge for her own and her child’s protection; and that although on this point she could feel no distrust, a direct communication would be satisfactory. In reply, I urged that it was from delicacy alone I had erred, and that I only awaited the intimation that it would be agreeable, though she would see the embarrassment attending such a step, more especially as I never employed my own servants when I could command the services of the ministers; and that as I feared to give umbrage by selecting any one of them, if she would receive the four, I would send with them a confidential servant, the Akhbarnavis or newswriter, as the bearer of my message. Her anxiety was not without good grounds: the elements of disorder, though subdued, were not crushed, and she dreaded the ambition and turbulence of the senior noble, Balwant Rao of Gotra, who had proved a thorn in the side of the late Raja throughout his life. This audacious but gallant Rajput, about twelve years before, had stormed and taken Nainwa, one of the chief castles of Bundi, in the face of day, and defeated with great slaughter many attempts to retake it, still holding it in spite of his prince, and trusting to his own party and the Mahrattas for support. In fact, but for the change in his relations, he neither would have obeyed a summons to the Presence, nor dared to appear uninvited; and even now his appearance excited no less alarm than surprise. “Balwant Singh at Bundi!” was repeated by many of the surrounding chiefs, as one of the anomalous signs of the times; for to have heard that a lion from their jungles had gone to congratulate the Raja, would have caused less wonder and infinitely less apprehension. The Rani was not satisfied, nor had her late lord been, with the chief minister, the Bohra, Shambhu Ram, who only a few days before the [697] Raja’s death had expressed great unwillingness, when called on, to produce his account of the finances. It was chiefly with a view to guard against these individuals, that the deceased Rao Raja had nominated the British Agent as the guardian of his son and the State during his minority, and the queen-mother besought me to see his wishes faithfully executed. Fortunately, there were some men who could be depended on, especially Govind Ram, who had attended the Agent as wakil: a simple-minded man, full of integrity and good intentions, though no match for the Bohra in ability or intrigue. There was also the Dhabhai, or foster-brother of the late prince, who held the important office of kilahdar of Taragarh, and who, like all his class, is devotion personified. There was likewise Chandarbhan Naik, who, from a low condition, had risen to favour and power, and being quick, obedient, and faithful, was always held as a check over the Bohra. There were also two eunuchs of the palace, servants entirely confidential, and with a very good notion of the general affairs of the State.

=Settlement of the Administration.=—Such were the materials at my disposal, and they were ample for all the concerns of this little State. Conformably to the will of the late prince, and the injunctions of the queen-mother, the Agent entirely reformed the functions of these officers, prohibited the revenues of the State from being confounded with the mercantile concerns of the minister, requiring them henceforth to be deposited at the Kishanbhandar, or treasury in the palace, providing a system of checks, as well on the receipts as the expenditure, and making all the four jointly and severally answerable; yet he made no material innovations, and displaced or displeased no one; though in raising those who were noted throughout the country for their integrity, he confirmed their good intentions and afforded them scope, while his measures were viewed with general satisfaction. After these arrangements, the greatest anxiety of the queen was for the absence of Balwant Rao; and, as it was in vain to argue against her fears, she requested that, when the ceremonies of installation were over, the chiefs might be dismissed to their estates, and that I would take the opportunity, at the next darbar, to point out to them the exact line of their duties, and the necessity of observance of the customs of past days: all of which was courteously done.

=Interview of the Author with the Rāni.=—Although the festival of the Rakhi was not until the end of the month, the mother of the young prince sent me by the hands of the Bhatt, or family priest, the bracelet of adoption as her brother, which made my young ward henceforth my bhanja, or nephew. With this mark of regard, she also expressed, through the ministers, a wish that I would pay her a visit at the palace, as she had many points to discuss regarding [698] Lalji’s welfare, which could only be satisfactorily argued viva voce. Of course I assented; and, accompanied by the Bohra and the confidential eunuchs of the Rawala, I had a conversation of about three hours with my adopted sister; a curtain being between us. Her language was sensible and forcible, and she evinced a thorough knowledge of all the routine of government and the views of parties, which she described with great clearness and precision. She especially approved of the distribution of duties, and said, with these checks, and the deep interest I felt for all that concerned the honour of Bundi, her mind was quite at ease; nor had she anything left to desire. She added that she relied implicitly on my friendship for the deceased, whose regard for me was great. I took the liberty of adverting to many topics for her own guidance; counselling her to shun the error of communicating with or receiving reports from interested or ignorant advisers; and above all, to shun forming parties, and ruling, according to their usual policy, by divisions: I suggested that the object would be best attained by never intimating her wishes but when the four ministers were together; and urged her to exercise her own sound judgment, and banish all anxiety for her son’s welfare, by always recalling to mind what my government had done for the interests of Bundi. During a great part of this conversation, the Bohra had retired, so that her tongue was unrestrained. With itr-pan and her blessing (asis) sent by one of her damsels, she dismissed me with the oft-repeated remark, “Forget not that Lalji is now in your lap.”

I retired with my conductors, highly gratified with this interesting conversation, and impressed with respect for her capacity and views. This Rani, as I have elsewhere mentioned, is of the Rathor tribe, and of the house of Kishangarh in Marwar; she is the youngest of the late Rao Raja’s four widowed queens, but takes the chief rank, as mother and guardian of the minor prince.

I remained at Bundi till the middle of August; when, having given a right tone and direction to its government, I left it with the admonition that I should consider myself authorized, not as the Agent of government so much as the executor of their late lord’s wishes, and with the concurrent assent of the regent-queen, to watch over the prince’s welfare until the age of sixteen, when Rajput minority ceases; and advertised them, that they must not be surprised if I called upon them every year to inform me of the annual surplus revenue they had set aside for accumulation until his majority. I reminded the Bohra, in the words of his own beautiful metaphor, when, at the period of the treaty, my government restored its long-alienated lands [699], “again will our lakes overflow; once more will the lotus show its face on the waters.” Nor had he forgotten this emblematic phraseology, and with his coadjutors promised his most strenuous efforts. During the few remaining days of my stay, I had continual messages from the young prince, by the ‘Gold stick,’ or Dhabhai, which were invariably addressed to me as ‘the Mamu Sahib,’ or uncle. He sent me specimens of his handwriting, both in Devanagari and Persian, in which last, however, he had not got farther than the alphabet; and he used to ride and karauli[11.10.5] his horse within sight of my tents, and always expressed anxiety to know what the ‘Mamu’ thought of his horsemanship. I was soon after called upon by the queen-mother for my congratulations on Lalji having slain his first boar, an event that had summoned all the Haras to make their offerings; a ceremony which will recall a distinction received by the Macedonian youths, on a similar occasion, who were not admitted to public discussions until they had slain a wild boar.[11.10.6]

Whilst partaking in these national amusements, and affording all the political aid I could, my leisure time was employed in extracting from old chronicles or living records what might serve to develop the past history of the family; in frequent visits to the cenotaphs of the family, or other remarkable spots, and in dispersing my emissaries for inscriptions in every direction. This was the most singular part of my conduct to the Bundi court; they could not conceive why I should take an interest in such a pursuit.

=Revenues of Būndi.=—The fiscal revenues of Bundi do not yet exceed three lakhs of rupees; and it will be some time before the entire revenues, both fiscal and feudal, will produce more than five;[11.10.7] and out of the crown domain, eighty thousand rupees annually are paid to the British Government, on account of the lands Sindhia held in that State, and which he relinquished by the treaty of A.D. 1818. Notwithstanding his circumscribed means, the late Rao Raja put every branch of his government on a most respectable footing. He could muster seven hundred household and Pattayat horse; and, including his garrisons, his corps of Golandaz, and little park (jinsi)[11.10.8] of twelve guns, about two thousand seven hundred paid infantry; in all between three and four thousand men. For the queens, the officers of government, and the pay of the garrisons, estates were assigned, which yielded sufficient for the purpose. A continuation of tranquillity is all that is required, and Bundi will again take its proper station in Rajwara.

=Camp, Rauta=, November 19.—On the 14th of August, I departed for Kotah, and found the junior branches of the Haras far from enjoying the repose of Bundi. But on these subjects we will not touch here, further than to remark, that the last three [700] months have been the most harassing of my existence:[11.10.9] civil war, deaths of friends and relatives, cholera raging, and all of us worn out with perpetual attacks of fever, ague, anxiety, and fatigue.

Rauta, the spot on which I encamped, is hallowed by recollections the most inspiriting. It was on this very ground I took up my position throughout the campaign of 1817-18, in the very centre of movements of all the armies, friendly and hostile.[11.10.10]

=A Hunt in the Preserves.=—As we were now in the vicinity of the chief Ramna in Haraoti, the Raj Rana proposed to exhibit the mode in which they carry on their grand hunts. The site chosen was a large range running into and parallel to the chain which separates Haraoti from Malwa. At noon, the hour appointed, accompanied by several officers of the Nimach force (amongst whom was my old friend Major Price), we proceeded to the Shikargahs, a hunting seat, erected half-way up the gentle ascent, having terraced roofs and parapets, on which the sportsman lays his gun to massacre the game; and here we waited some time in anxious expectation, occasionally some deer scudding by. Gradually the din of the hunters reached us, increasing into tumultuous shouts, with the beating of drums, and all the varieties of discord. Soon various kind of deer galloped wildly past, succeeded by Nilgaes, Barahsinghas, red and spotted. Some wild-hogs went off snorting and trotting, and at length, as the hunters approached, a bevy of animals [701], amongst which some black-snouted hyaenas were seen, who made a dead halt when they saw themselves between two fires. There was no tiger, however, in the assemblage, which rather disappointed us, but the still more curious wild-dog was seen by some. A slaughter commenced, the effects of which I judged less at the time, but soon after I got to my tents I found six camel-loads of deer, of various kinds, deposited. My friend, Major Price, did not much admire this unsportsmanlike mode of dealing with the lords of the forest, and although very well, once in one’s life, most would think a boar hunt, spear in hand, preferable. Still it was an exhilarating scene; the confusion of the animals, their wild dismay at this compulsory association; the yells, shouts, and din from four battalions of regulars, who, in addition to the ordinary band of huntsmen, formed a chain from the summit of the mountain, across the valley to the opposite heights; and, last not least, the placid regent himself listening to the tumult he could no longer witness, produced an effect not easily forgotten. This sport is a species of petty war, not altogether free from danger, especially to the rangers; but I heard of no accidents. We had a round of a nilgae, and also tried some steaks, which ate very like coarse beef.

It is asserted that, in one shape or another, these hunting excursions cost the State two lakhs, or £20,000 annually. The regent’s regular hunting-establishment consisted of twenty-five carpenters, two hundred Aherias, or huntsmen, and five hundred occasional rangers. But the gots, or ‘feasts,’ at the conclusion of these sports, occasioned the chief expense, when some thousands were fed, and rewards and gratuities were bestowed upon those whom the regent happened to be pleased with. This was one of the methods he pursued to ingratiate himself with the Haras, and he was eminently successful; the only wonder is, that so good an opportunity should have been neglected of getting rid of one who had so long tyrannized over them.

We here took a temporary leave of the regent; and we intend to fill up the interval till the return of the Maharao from Mewar, by making a tour through upper Malwa, in which we shall visit the falls of the Chambal amidst the dense woods of Pachel [702].

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Footnote 11.10.1:

[Or sarpech, an ornament worn on the front of the turban.]

Footnote 11.10.2:

See the description of the Tij, Vol. II. p. 675.

Footnote 11.10.3:

[Rāo Dewa or Deorāj, who captured Būndi from the Mīnas about A.D. 1342. See p. 1464.]

Footnote 11.10.4:

[In Mārwār the term Byās, from Vyāsa, ‘the arranger’ of the Vedas, Epics, and Purānas, is applied to elderly members of the Daima group of Brāhmans (Census Report, 1891, ii. 58 f.).]

Footnote 11.10.5:

[Qarāwal, ‘the manège.’]

Footnote 11.10.6:

[At a very early date in Macedonia no Macedonian was permitted to lie down at table who had not slain a wild boar without the nets (W. Smith, Dict. Geography, ii. 234).]

Footnote 11.10.7:

[The normal revenue is now nearly six lakhs (IGI, ix. 85).]

Footnote 11.10.8:

[Golandāz, ‘an artillery man.’ Jinsi is a Marātha term; probably Jinsi topkhāna, or ‘artillery,’ Jins meaning ‘commodities, supplies’; Jinsi topkhāna, ‘light artillery’ (Irvine, Army of the Indian Moghuls, 133).]

Footnote 11.10.9:

For an account of these transactions, vide Chapter XI., Annals of Kotah.

Footnote 11.10.10:

It was from this ground I detached thirty-two firelocks of my guard, supported by two hundred of the regent’s men, with two camel swivels, to beat up a portion of the main Pindari horde, when broken by our armies. But my little band outmarched the auxiliaries, and when they came upon the foe, they found a camp of 1500 instead of 500 men; but nothing daunted, and the surprise being complete, they poured in sixty rounds before the day broke, and cleared their camp. Then, each mounting a marauder’s horse and driving a laden camel before him, they returned within the twenty-four hours, having marched sixty miles, and slain more than four times their numbers. Nothing so clearly illustrated the destitution of all moral courage in the freebooters, as their conduct on this occasion; for at dawn of day, when the smoke cleared away, and they saw the handful of men who had driven them into the Kali Sind, a body of about four hundred returned to the attack; but my Sipahis, dismounting, allowed the boldest to approach within pistol-shot before they gave their fire, which sufficed to make the lancers wheel off. The situation recalled the din which announced their return: upon which occasion, going out to welcome them, I saw the regent’s camp turn out, and the trees were crowded with spectators, to enjoy the triumphal entry of the gallant little band with the spoils of the spoiler. The prize was sold and divided on the drum-head, and yielded six or eight months’ pay to each; but it did not rest here, for Lord Hastings promoted the non-commissioned officers and several of the men, giving to all additional pay for life.

The effect of this exploit was surprising; the country people, who hitherto would as soon have thought of plundering his Satanic majesty as a Pindari, amassed all the spoils abandoned on their flight, and brought them to the camp of the regent; who, as he never admitted the spoils of an enemy into his treasury, sent it all to our tents to be at my disposal. But, as I could see no right that we had to it, I proposed that the action should be commemorated by the erection of a bridge, bearing Lord Hastings’ name. There were the spoils of every region; many trays of gold necklaces, some of which were strings of Venetian sequins; coins of all ages (from which I completed a series of the Mogul kings), and five or six thousand head of cattle of every description. The regent adopted my suggestion: a bridge of fifteen arches was constructed, extending over the river at the breadth of a thousand feet, eastward of Kotah; and though more solid and useful than remarkable for beauty, will serve to perpetuate, as Hastin-pul, the name of a gallant soldier and enlightened statesman, who emancipated India from the scourge of the Pindaris. He is now beyond the reach of human praise, and the author may confess that he is proud of having suggested, planned, and watched to its completion, this trophy to his fame. [The Marquess of Hastings died on November 28, 1826.]

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Chapter 11

=The Mukunddarra Pass.=—We marched before daybreak through the famed pass of Mukunddarra,[11.11.1] and caught a glimpse at the outlet of the fine plains of Malwa. We then turned abruptly to the right, and skirted the range which divides Haravati from Malwa, over a rich champaign tract, in a re-entering angle of the range, which gradually contracted to the point of exit, up the mountains of Pachel.

The sun rose just as we cleared the summit of the pass, and we halted for a few minutes at the tower that guards the ascent, to look upon the valley behind: the landscape was bounded on either side by the ramparts of nature, enclosing numerous villages, until the eye was stopped by the eastern horizon. We proceeded on the terrace of this table-land, of gradual ascent, through a thick forest, when, as we reached the point of descent, the sun cleared the barrier which we had just left, and darting his beams through the foliage, illuminated the castle of Bhainsror, while the new fort of Dangarmau appeared as a white speck in the gloom that still enveloped the Patar.

=An Atīt Monastery.=—We descended along a natural causeway, the rock being perfectly bare, without a particle of mould or vegetation. Small pillars, or uninscribed tablets, placed erect in the centre of little heaps of stone, seemed to indicate the scene of murders, when the Bhil lord of the pass exacted his toll from all who traversed his dominion. They proved, however, to be marks placed by the Banjaras to guide their tandas, or caravans, through the devious tracks of the forest. As we continued to descend, enveloped on all sides by woods and rocks, we lost sight of the towers of Bhainsror, and on reaching the foot of the Pass, the first object we saw was a little monastery of Atits,[11.11.2] founded by the chiefs of Bhainsror: it is called Jhalaka. We passed close to their isolated dwelling, on the terraced roof of which a party of the fraternity were squatted round a fire, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Their wild [703] appearance corresponded with the scene around; their matted hair and beard had never known a comb; their bodies were smeared with ashes (bhabut), and a shred of cloth round the loins seemed the sole indication that they belonged to a class possessing human feelings. Their lives are passed in a perpetual routine of adoration of Chaturbhuja, the ‘four-armed’ divinity, and they subsist on the produce of a few patches of land, with which the chiefs of Bhainsror have endowed this abode of wild ascetics, or with what their patrons or the townspeople and passengers make up to them. The head of the establishment, a little, vivacious but wild-looking being, about sixty years of age, came forth to bestow his blessing, and to beg something for his order. He, however, in the first place, elected me one of his chelas, or disciples, by marking my forehead with a tika of bhabut, which he took from a platter made of dhak-leaves;[11.11.3] to which rite of inauguration I submitted with due gravity. The old man proved to be a walking volume of legendary lore; but his conversation became insufferably tedious. Interruption was in vain; he could tell his story only in his own way, and in order to get at a point of local history connected with the sway of the Ranas, I was obliged to begin from the creation of the world, and go through all the theogonies, the combats of the Surs and Asurs, the gods and Titans of Indian mythology; to bewail with Sita the loss of her child, her rape by Rawan, and the whole of the wars of Rama waged for her recovery; when, at length, the genealogy of the family commenced, which this strange being traced through all their varying patronymics of Daityas, Riks, Guhilot, Aharya, Sesodia; at which last he again diverged, and gave me an episode to explain the etymology of the distinguishing epithet. I subjoin it, as a specimen of the anchorite’s historical lore:

=Origin of the Name Sesodia.=—In these wilds, an ancient Rana of Chitor had sat down to a got (feast) consisting of the game slain in the chase; and being very hungry, he hastily swallowed a piece of meat to which a gad-fly adhered. The fly grievously tormented the Rana’s stomach, and he sent for a physician. The wiseman (bedi) secretly ordered an attendant to cut off the tip of a cow’s ear, as the only means of saving the monarch’s life. On obtaining this forbidden morsel, the Bedi folded it in a piece of thin cloth, and attaching a string to it, made the royal patient swallow it. The gad-fly fastened on the bait, and was dragged to light. The physician was rewarded; but the curious Rana insisted on knowing by what means the cure was effected, and when he heard that a piece of sacred kine had passed his lips, he determined to expiate the enormity in a manner which its heinousness required, and to swallow boiling lead (sisa)! A vessel was put [704] on the fire, and half a ser soon melted, when, praying that his involuntary offence might be forgiven, he boldly drank it off; but lo! it passed through him like water. From that day, the name of the tribe was changed from Aharya to Sesodia.[11.11.4] The old Jogi as firmly believed the truth of this absurd tale as he did his own existence, and I allowed him to run on till the temple of Barolli suddenly burst upon my view from amidst the foliage that shrouded it. The transition was grand; we had for some time been picking our way along the margin of a small stream that had worked itself a bed in the rock over which lay our path, and whose course had been our guide to this object of our pilgrimage. As we neared the sacred fane, still following the stream, we reached a level spot overshadowed by the majestic kur and amba,[11.11.5] which had never known the axe. We instantly dismounted, and by a flight of steps attained the court of the temple.

=The Barolli Temples.=—To describe its stupendous and diversified architecture is impossible; it is the office of the pencil alone, but the labour would be almost endless. Art seems here to have exhausted itself, and we were, perhaps now for the first time, fully impressed with the beauty of Hindu sculpture. The columns, the ceilings, the external roofing, where each stone presents a miniature temple, one rising over another, until crowned by the urnlike kalas, distracted our attention. The carving on the capital of each column would require pages of explanation, and the whole, in spite of its high antiquity, is in wonderful preservation. This is attributable mainly to two causes: every stone is chiselled out of the close-grained quartz rock, perhaps the most durable (as it is the most difficult to work) of any; and in order that the Islamite should have some excuse for evading their iconoclastic law, they covered the entire temple with the finest marble cement, so adhesive, that it is only where the prevalent winds have beaten upon it that it is altogether worn off, leaving the sculptured edges of the stone as smooth and sharp as if carved only yesterday.

The grand temple of Barolli is dedicated to Siva, whose emblems are everywhere visible.[11.11.6] It stands in an area of about two hundred and fifty yards square, enclosed by a wall built of unshaped stones without cement. Beyond this wall are groves of majestic trees, with many smaller shrines and sacred fountains. The first object that struck my notice, just before entering the area, was a pillar, erect in the earth, with a hooded-snake sculptured around it. The doorway, which is destroyed, must have been very curious, and the remains that choke up the interior are highly interesting. One of these specimens was entire, and unrivalled in taste and beauty. The principal figures are of Siva and his consort, Parbati, with their attendants. He stands [705] upon the lotus, having the serpent twined as a garland. In his right hand he holds the damru, or little drum, with which, as the god of war, he inspires the warrior; in his left is the khopra, formed of a human skull, out of which he drinks the blood of the slain. The other two arms have been broken off: a circumstance which proves that even the Islamite, to whom the act may be ascribed, respected this work of art. The ‘mountain-born’ is on the left of her spouse, standing on the kurma, or tortoise, with braided locks, and ear-rings made of the conch-shell. Every limb is in that easy flowing style peculiar to ancient Hindu art, and wanting in modern specimens. Both are covered with beaded ornaments, and have no drapery. The firm, masculine attitude of ‘Baba Adam,’ as I have heard a Rajput call Mahadeo, contrasts well with the delicate feminine outline of his consort. The serpent and lotus intertwine gracefully over their heads. Above, there is a series of compartments filled with various figures, the most conspicuous of which is the chimerical animal called the Grasda, a kind of horned lion; each compartment being separated by a wreath of flowers, tastefully arranged and distributed. The animal is delineated with an ease not unworthy the art in Europe. Of the various other figures many are mutilated; one is a hermit playing on a guitar, and above him are a couple of deer in a listening posture. Captain Waugh is engaged on one of the figures, which he agrees with me in pronouncing unrivalled as a specimen of art. There are parts of them, especially the heads, which would not disgrace Canova. They are in high relief, being almost detached from the slab. In this fragment (about eight feet by three) the chief figures are about three feet.

The centre piece, forming a kind of frieze, is nearly entire, and about twelve feet by three; it is covered with sculpture of the same character, mostly the celestial choristers, with various instruments, celebrating the praises of Siva and Parbati. Immediately within the doorway is a small shrine to the ‘four-armed’; but the Islamite having likewise deprived him of the supernumerary pair, the Bhil takes him for Devi, of whom they are desperately afraid, and in consequence the forehead of the statue is liberally smeared with vermilion.

On the left, in advance of the main temple, is one about thirty feet high, containing an image of Ashtabhuji Mata, or the ‘eight-armed mother’; but here the pious Muslim has robbed the goddess of all her arms, save that with which she grasps her shield, and has also removed her head. She treads firmly on the centaur, Maheswar,[11.11.7] whose dissevered head lies at some distance in the area, while the lion of the Hindu Cybele [706] still retains his grasp of his quarters. The Joginis and Apsarases, or ‘maids of war’ of Rajput martial poetry, have been spared.

On the right is the shrine of Trimurti, the triune divinity. Brahma’s face, in the centre, has been totally obliterated, as has that of Vishnu, the Preserver; but the Destroyer is uninjured. The tiara, which covers the head[11.11.8] of this triple divinity, is also entire, and of perfect workmanship. The skill of the sculptor “can no further go.” Groups of snakes adorn the clustering locks on the ample forehead of Siva, which are confined by a bandeau, in the centre of which there is a death’s head ornament, hideously exact. Various and singularly elegant devices are wrought in the tiara: in one, two horses couped from the shoulder, passing from a rich centring and surmounted by a death’s head; a dissevered arm points to a vulture advancing to seize it, while serpents are wreathed round the neck and hands of the Destroyer, whose half-opened mouth discloses a solitary tooth, and the tongue curled up with a demoniacal expression. The whole is colossal, the figures being six feet and a half high. The relief is very bold, and altogether the group is worthy of having casts made from it.

We now come to the grand temple itself, which is fifty-eight feet in height, and in the ancient form peculiar to the temples of Siva. The body of the edifice, in which is the sanctum of the god, and over which rises its pyramidal sikhara, is a square of only twenty-one feet; but the addition of the domed vestibule (mandap) and portico makes it forty-four by twenty-one. An outline of this by Ghasi, a native artist (who labours at Udaipur for the same daily pay as a tailor, carpenter, or other artisan), gives a tolerably good notion of its appearance, though none of its beauty. The whole is covered with mythological sculpture, without as well as within, emblematic of the ‘great god’ (Mahadeo), who is the giver, as well as the destroyer, of life. In a niche outside, to the south, he is armed against the Daityas (Titans), the munda-mala, or skull-chaplet, reaching to his knees, and in seven of his arms are offensive weapons. His cap is the frustum of a cone, composed of snakes interlaced, with a fillet of skulls: the khopra is in his hand, and the victims are scattered around. On his right is one of the maids of slaughter (Jogini) drunk with blood, the cup still at her lip, and her countenance expressive of vacuity; while below, on the left, is a female personification of Death, mere skin and bone: a sickle (khurpi) in her right hand,[11.11.9] its knob a death’s head, completes this group of the attributes of destruction [707].

To the west is Mahadeo under another form, a beautiful and animated statue, the expression mild, as when he went forth to entice the mountain-nymph, Mena, to his embrace. His tiara is a blaze of finely-executed ornaments, and his snake-wreath, which hangs round him as a garland, has a clasp of two heads of Seshnag (the serpent-king), while Nandi below is listening with placidity to the sound of the damru. His khopra, and kharg, or skull-cap, and sword, which he is in the attitude of using, are the only accompaniments denoting the god of blood.

The northern compartment is a picture, disgustingly faithful, of death and its attributes, vulgarly known as Bhukhi Mata, or the personification of famine, lank and bare; her necklace, like her lord’s, of skulls. Close by are two mortals in the last stage of existence, so correctly represented as to excite an unpleasant surprise. The outline, I may say, is anatomically correct. The mouth is half open and distorted, and although the eye is closed in death, an expression of mental anguish seems still to linger upon the features. A beast of prey is approaching the dead body; while, by way of contrast, a male figure, in all the vigour of youth and health, lies prostrate at her feet.

Such is a faint description of the sculptured niches on each of the external faces of the mandir, whence the spire rises, simple and solid. In order, however, to be distinctly understood, I shall give some slight ichnographic details. First, is the mandir or cella, in which is the statue of the god; then the mandap, or, in architectural nomenclature, the pronaos; and third, the portico, with which we shall begin, though it transcends all description.

Like all temples dedicated to Bal-Siva,[11.11.10] the vivifier, or ‘sun-god,’ it faces the east. The portico projects several feet beyond the mandap, and has four superb columns in front, of which the outline by Ghasi conveys but a very imperfect idea. Flat fluted pilasters are placed on either side of the entrance of the mandap, serving as a support to the internal toran, or triumphal arch, and a single column intervenes on each side between the pilasters and the columns in front. The columns are about eighteen feet in height. The proportions are perfect; and though the difference of diameter between the superior and inferior portions of the shaft is less than the Grecian standard, there is no want of elegance of effect, whilst it gives an idea of more grandeur. The frieze is one mass of sculptured figures, generally of human beings, male and female, in pairs; the horned monster termed Grasda separating the different pairs. The internal toran or triumphal arch, which is invariably attached to all ancient temples of the sun-god, is [708] of that peculiar curvature formed by the junction of two arcs of a circle from different centres, a form of arch well known in Gothic and Saracenic architecture, but which is an essential characteristic of the more ancient Hindu temples. The head of a Grasda crowns its apex, and on the outline is a concatenation of figures armed with daggers, apparently ascending the arch to strike the monster. The roof of the Mandap (pronaos) cannot be described: its various parts must be examined with microscopic nicety in order to enter into detail. In the whole of the ornaments there is an exact harmony which I have seen nowhere else; even the miniature elephants are in the finest proportions, and exquisitely carved.

The ceilings both of the portico and Mandap are elaborately beautiful: that of the portico, of one single block, could hardly be surpassed. (Vide Plate.) Of the exterior I shall not attempt further description: it is a grand, a wonderful effort of the Silpi (architect), one series rising above and surpassing the other, from the base to the urn which surmounts the pinnacle.

The sanctum contains the symbol of the god, whose local appellation is Rori Barolli, a corruption of Bal-rori, from the circumstance of Balnath, the sun-god, being here typified by an orbicular stone termed rori, formed by attrition in the Chulis or whirlpools of the Chambal, near which the temple stands, and to which phenomena it probably owed its foundation. This symbolic rori is not fixed, but lies in a groove in the internal ring of the Yoni; and so nicely is it poised, that with a very moderate impulse it will continue revolving while the votary recites a tolerably long hymn to the object of his adoration. The old ascetic, who had long been one of the zealots of Barolli, amongst his other wonders gravely told me, that with the momentum given by his little finger, in former days, he could make it keep on its course much longer than now with the application of all his strength.

Some honest son of commerce thought it but right that the mandira (cella) of Bal-rori should be graced by a Parbati, and he had one made and placed there. But it appeared to have offended the god, and matters soon after went wrong with the Banya: first his wife died, then his son, and at length he became diwala, or ‘bankrupt.’ In truth he deserved punishment for his caricature of the ‘mountain-born’ Mena, who more resembles a Dutch burgomestre than the fair daughter of Sailapati.[11.11.11]

Fronting the temple of Bal-rori, and apart from it about twenty yards, is another [709] superb edifice, called the Singar-chaori, or nuptial hall.[11.11.12] It is a square (chaori) of forty feet, supported by a double range of columns on each face, the intercolumniations being quite open; and although these columns want the elegant proportions of the larger temple, they are covered with exquisite sculpture, as well as the ceilings. In the centre of the hall is an open space about twelve feet square; and here, according to tradition, the nuptials of Raja Hun with the fair daughter of a Rajput prince, of whom he had long been enamoured, were celebrated;[11.11.13] to commemorate which event, these magnificent structures were raised: but more of this Hun anon. The external roof (or sikhara, as the Hindu Silpi terms the various roofs which cover their temples) is the frustum of a pyramid, and a singular specimen of architectural skill, each stone being a miniature temple, elegantly carved, gradually decreasing in size to the kalas or ball, and so admirably fitted to each other, that there has been no room for vegetation to insinuate itself, and consequently they have sustained no injury from time.

Midway between the nuptial hall and the main temple there is a low altar, on which the bull, Nandiswar, still kneels before the symbolic representation of its sovereign lord, Iswar. But sadly dishonoured is this courser of the sun-god, whose flowing tail is broken, and of whose head but a fragment remains, though his necklace of alternate skulls and bells proclaims him the charger of Siva.

Around the temple of the ‘great god’ (Mahadeva) are the shrines of the dii minores, of whom Ganesa, the god of wisdom, takes precedence. The shrine of this janitor of Siva is properly placed to the north, equidistant from the nuptial hall and the chief temple. But the form of wisdom was not spared by the Tatar iconoclast. His single tooth, on which the poet Chand is so lavish of encomium, is broken off; his limbs are dissevered, and he lies prostrate on his back at the base of his pedestal, grasping, even in death, with his right hand the laddus, or sweet-meat-balls, he received at the nuptial feast.

Near the dishonoured fragments of Ganesa, and on the point of losing his equilibrium, is the divine Narada,[11.11.14] the preceptor of Parbati, and the Orpheus of Hindu mythology. In his hands he yet holds the lyre (vina), with whose heavenly sounds he has been charming the son of his patroness; but more than one string of the instrument is wanting, and one of the gourds which, united by a sounding board, form the vina, is broken off [710].

To the south are two columns, one erect and the other prostrate, which appear to have been either the commencement of another temple, or, what is more probable from their excelling everything yet described, intended to form a toran, having a simple architrave laid across them, which served as a swing for the recreation of the god. (Vide Plate.) Their surface, though they have been exposed for at least one thousand years to the atmosphere, is smooth and little injured: such is the durability of this stone, though it is astonishing how it was worked, or how they got instruments to shape it. There is a bawari, or reservoir of water, for the use either of gods or mortals, placed in the centre of the quadrangle, which is strewed with sculptured fragments.

We quit the enclosure of Raja Hun to visit the fountain (kund) of Mahadeo, and the various other curious objects. Having passed through the ruined gate by which we entered, we crossed the black stream, and passing over a fine turf plot, reached the kund, which is a square of sixty feet, the water (leading to which are steps) being full to the brim, and the surface covered with the golden and silver lotus. In the centre of the fountain is a miniature temple to the god who delights in waters; and the dam by which it was once approached being broken, it is now completely isolated. The entrance to the east has two slender and well-proportioned columns, and the whole is conspicuous for simplicity and taste.

Smaller shrines surround the kund, into one of which I entered, little expecting in a comparatively humble edifice the surprise which awaited me. The temple was a simple, unadorned hall, containing a detached piece of sculpture, representing Narayan floating on the chaotic waters. The god is reclining in a fit of abstraction upon his shesh-seja, a couch formed of the hydra, or sea-snake, whose many heads expanded form a canopy over that of the sleeping divinity,[11.11.15] at whose feet is the benignant Lakshmi, the Hindu Ceres, awaiting the expiration of his periodical repose. A group of marine monsters, half man, half fish, support the couch in their arms, their scaly extremities gracefully wreathed, and in the centre of them is a horse, rather too terrestrial to be classical, with a conch-shell and other marine emblems near him. The background to this couch rises about two feet above the reclining figure, and is divided horizontally into two compartments, the lower containing a group of six chimerical monsters, each nearly a foot in height, in mutual combat, and in perfect relief. Above is a smaller series, depicting the Avatars, or incarnations of the divinity. On the left, Kurma, the tortoise, having quitted his shell, of which he makes [711] a pedestal, denotes the termination of the catastrophe. Another marine monster, half boar (Varaha), half fish, appears recovering the Yoni, the symbol of production, from the alluvion, by his tusk. Next to him is Narasinha, tearing in pieces a tyrannical king, with other allegorical mysteries having no relation to the ten incarnations, but being a mythology quite distinct, and which none of the well-informed men around me could interpret: a certain proof of its antiquity.

The position of Narayan was that of repose, one hand supporting his head, under which lay the gada, or mace, while in another he held the conch-shell, which, when the god assumed the terrestrial form and led the Yadu hosts to battle, was celebrated as Dakshinavarta, from having its spiral involutions reversed, or to the right (dakshin). The fourth arm was broken off, as were his nether limbs to near the knee. From the nabh or naf (navel) the umbilical cord ascended, terminating in a lotus, whose expanded flower served as a seat for Brahma, the personification of the mind or spirit “moving on the waters” (Narayana) of chaos. The beneficent and beautiful Lakshmi, whom all adore, whether as Annapurna (the giver of food), or in her less amiable character as the consort of the Hindu Plutus, seems to have excited a double portion of the zealots’ ire, who have not only visited her face too roughly, but entirely destroyed the emblems of nourishment for her universal progeny. It would be impossible to dwell upon the minuter ornaments, which, both for design and execution, may be pronounced unrivalled in India. The highly imaginative mind of the artist is apparent throughout; he has given a repose to the sleeping deity, which contrasts admirably with the writhing of the serpent upon which he lies, whose folds, more especially under the neck, appear almost real; a deception aided by the porphyritic tints of the stone. From the accompaniments of mermaids, conch-shells, sea-horses, etc., we may conclude that a more elegant mythology than that now subsisting has been lost with the art of sculpture. The whole is carved out of a single block of the quartz rock, which has a lustre and polish equal to marble, and is of far greater durability.

The length of this marine couch (seja) is nearly eight feet, its breadth two, and its height somewhat more than three; the figure, from the top of his richly wrought tiara, being four feet. I felt a strong inclination to disturb the slumbers of Narayana, and transport him to another clime: in this there would be no sacrilege, for in his present mutilated state he is looked upon (except as a specimen of art) as no better than a stone.

All round the kund the ground is covered with fragments of shrines erected to [712] the inferior divinities. On one piece, which must have belonged to a roof, were sculptured two busts of a male and a female, unexceptionably beautiful. The headdress of the male was a helmet, quite Grecian in design, bound with a simple and elegant fillet: in short, it would require the labour of several artists for six months to do anything like justice to the wonders of Barolli.

There is no chronicle to tell us for whom or by whom this temple was constructed. The legends are unintelligible; for although Raja Hun is the hero of this region, it is no easy task to account for his connexion with the mythology. If we, however, connect this apparently wild tradition with what is already said regarding his ruling at Bhainsror, and moreover with what has been recorded in the first part of this work, when ‛Angatsi, lord of the Huns,' was enrolled amongst the eighty-four subordinate princes who defended Chitor against the first attempt of the Islamite, in the eighth century, the mystery ceases. The name of Hun is one of frequent occurrence in ancient traditions, and the early inscription at Monghyr has already been mentioned, as likewise the still more important admission of this being one of the Thirty-six Royal tribes of Rajputs; and as, in the Chitor chronicle, they have actually assigned as the proper name of the Hun prince that (Angatsi) which designates, according to their historian Deguignes, the grand horde, we can scarcely refuse our belief that “there were Huns” in India in those days. But although Raja Hun may have patronized the arts, we can hardly imagine he could have furnished any ideas to the artists, who at all events have not produced a single Tatar feature to attest their rule in this region. It is far more probable, if ever Grecian artists visited these regions, that they worked upon Indian designs—an hypothesis which may be still further supported. History informs us of the Grecian auxiliaries sent by Seleucus to the (Puar) monarch of Ujjain (Ozene),[11.11.16] whose descendants corresponded with Augustus; and I have before suggested the possibility of the temple of Kumbhalmer, which is altogether dissimilar to any remains of Hindu art, being attributable to the same people.

We discovered two inscriptions, as well as the names of many visitors, inscribed on the pavement and walls of the portico, bearing date seven and eight hundred years ago; one was “the son of Jalansi, from Dhawalnagari”; another, which is in the ornamental Nagari of the Jains, is dated the 13th of Kartik (the month sacred to Mars), S. 981, or A.D. 925. Unfortunately it is but a fragment, containing five slokas in praise of Siddheswar, or Mahadeo, as the patron of the ascetic Jogis. Part of a name remains; and although my old Guru will not venture to give a translation without [713] his sibylline volume, the Vyakarana, which was left at Udaipur, there is yet sufficient to prove it to be merely the rhapsody of a Pandit, visiting Rori Barolli, in praise of the ‘great god’ and of the site.[11.11.17] More time and investigation than I could afford, might make further discoveries; and it would be labour well rewarded if we could obtain a date for this Augustan age of India. At the same time, it is evident that the whole was not accomplished within one man’s existence, nor could the cost be defrayed by one year’s revenue of all Rajputana.

We may add, before we quit this spot, that there are two piles of stones, in the quadrangle of the main temple, raised over the defunct priests of Mahadeo, who, whether Gosains, Sannyasis, or Dadupantis, always bury their dead.

Barolli is in the tract named Pachel, or the flat between the river Chambal and the pass, containing twenty-four villages in the lordship of Bhainsror, lying about three miles west, and highly improving the scene, which would otherwise be one of perfect solitude. According to the local tradition of some of the wild tribes, its more ancient name was Bhadravati, the seat of the Huns; and the traces of the old city in extensive mounds and ruins are still beheld around the more modern Bhainsror. Tradition adds that the Charmanvati (the classic name of the Chambal) had not then ploughed itself a channel in this adamantine bed; but nine centuries could not have effected this operation, although it is not far from the period when Angatsi, the Hun, served the Rana of Chitor [714].

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Footnote 11.11.1:

Darra, a corruption of Dwar, ‘a barrier, pass, outlet, or portal’; and Mukund, one of the epithets of Krishna. Mukunddarra and Dwarkanath are synonymous—‘the pass and portal of the Deity.’ [Dara or darra is a Persian word meaning ‘pass’; akin to Skt. dara, ‘cleaving, rending,’ not with dvāra, ‘a door.’ The pass is situated about 140 miles E. of Udaipur city. Mukund is supposed to mean ‘giver of liberation.’ See p. 1522.]

Footnote 11.11.2:

[Atīt, meaning ‘free, destitute,’ usually applied to ascetics like the Sannyāsi, followers of Siva (Crooke, Tribes and Castes N.W. Provinces, i. 86 f.).]

Footnote 11.11.3:

[Butea frondosa.]

Footnote 11.11.4:

[A folk-etymology, Sesodia being derived from the village Sesoda in W. Mewār hill tract.]

Footnote 11.11.5:

[Barolli lies 3 miles N.E. of Bhainsrorgarh. The Kur tree is Sterculia urens (Watt, Comm. Prod. 1051): amba, the mango tree.]

Footnote 11.11.6:

[For a drawing and account of this temple see Fergusson, Hist. Ind. Arch., ed. 1910, ii. 134. He ascribes it to the 9th or 10th century, and regards this group of temples as the most perfect of their age he had met with in this region, and, in their own peculiar style, perhaps as beautiful as anything in India.]

Footnote 11.11.7:

[Mahishāsura, the buffalo demon.]

Footnote 11.11.8:

The trimurti is represented with three faces (murti) though but one head.

Footnote 11.11.9:

Nowhere else did I ever see this emblem of Time, the counterpart of the scythe with which we furnish him, which is unknown to India.

Footnote 11.11.10:

[See Vol. I. p. 94.]

Footnote 11.11.11:

[Sailapati, ‘the mountain lord,’ the Himālaya.]

Footnote 11.11.12:

This is not the literal interpretation, but the purpose for which it is applied. Chaori is the term always appropriated to the place of nuptials: singar means ‘ornament.’

Footnote 11.11.13:

[There is a tradition that a Hūna Rāja was present at the Swayamvara, or choosing of the bridegroom by the bride, Durlabha Devi, sister of the Rāja of Nādol in Mārwār, early in the eleventh century A.D. But the rank of the family does not warrant the belief that he and other distant Rājas were present (BG, i. Part i. 162 f.).]

Footnote 11.11.14:

[Nārada, one of the Prajāpati and seven great Rishis, who invented the vīna or lute, and paid a visit to Pātāla, the lower regions.]

Footnote 11.11.15:

[See a photograph of a fine panel from a temple at Deogarh, in the Lalitpur subdivision of the Jhānsi District, United Provinces, representing Vishnu reclining on the serpent Ananta, the symbol of eternity, with the other gods watching from above (Smith, HFA, 163).]

Footnote 11.11.16:

[An account of the Indian embassy to Augustus is given by Strabo (xv. 73, with the notes of M‘Crindle, Ancient India in Classical Literature, 77 ff.; O. de Beauvoir Priaulx, Indian Travels of Apollonius of Tyana (1873), 65 ff.). It was suggested by d’Anville that the king named Porus who sent the embassy was a Rāna of Ujjain who claimed descent from the Porus who was defeated by Alexander the Great. But the only foundation for this guess is that the embassy included a man from Barygaza, the modern Broach, who committed suicide by means of fire. There is no truth in the story that Seleucus sent Greek auxiliaries to the Pawār monarch of Ujjain, and the statements in the text lack authority.]

Footnote 11.11.17:

This is deposited in the museum of the Royal Asiatic Society.

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