I. INTRODUCTORY…

I. INTRODUCTORY

There are few of the problems connected with this branch of our subject so obscure and so puzzling as those connected with the early history of the Architecture of the Jains. When we first practically meet with it in the early part of the 11th century at Abu, or at Girnar, it is a style complete and perfect in all its parts, evidently the result of long experience and continuous artistic development. From that point it progresses during one or two centuries towards greater richness, but in doing so loses the purity and perfection it had attained at the earlier period, and from that culminating point its downward progress can be traced through abundant examples to the present day. When, however, we try to trace its upward progress the case is widely different. General Cunningham has recently found some Jaina statues at Muttra, with dates upon them apparently of 99 and 177 A.D.[248] If this is so, it is the earliest material trace of Jainism that has yet been discovered, and they must have been associated with buildings which may yet reward the explorer. From this time forward, till the 11th century, we have only fragments of temples of uncertain origin and date, and all in so very ruined a condition that they hardly assist us in our researches. Yet we cannot doubt that the Jains did exist in India, and did build temples, during the whole of this interval, and the discovery of some of them may yet reward the industry of some future investigator.

Meanwhile one thing seems tolerably clear, that the religions of the Buddhists and that of the Jains were so similar to one another both in their origin, and their development and doctrines, that their architecture must also at one time have been nearly the same. In consequence of this, if we could trace back Jaina art from about the year 1000, when practically we first meet it, to the year 600 or 700, when we lose sight of Buddhist art, we should probably find the two very much alike. Or if, on the other hand, we could trace Buddhist art from A.D. 600 to A.D. 1000, we should as probably find it developing itself into something very like the temples on Mount Abu, and elsewhere, at that period of time.

A strong presumption that the architecture of the two sects was similar arises from the fact of their sculptures being so nearly identical that it is not always easy to distinguish what belongs to the one and what to the other; and in all instances it requires some experience to do this readily. The Tirthankars are generally represented seated in the same cross-legged attitude as Buddha, with the same curly hair, and the same stolid contemplative expression of countenance. Where, however, the emblems that accompany the Jaina saints can be recognised, this difficulty does not exist. Another, but less certain test arises from the fact that the Jaina saints are generally represented as naked--Digambaras or Sky-clad, which in ancient times seems to have been the most numerous sect, though another division or the Swetambaras, or White-robed, were clothed much like the Buddhist. When, therefore, a figure of the class is represented as naked it may certainly be assumed to belong to the sect of the Jains, but the converse is by no means so certain. If clad it may belong to either, and in consequence it is frequently difficult to distinguish between late Buddhist and early Jaina bas-reliefs and sculptures.

So far as we can at present see, the most hopeful source of information regarding Jaina architecture seems to be the ruined monasteries of the Gandhara country (Woodcuts Nos. 92, 93, 96). The square or polygonal court of these viharas surrounded by cells containing images is what is found in all Jaina temples. The square or circular altar, or place of worship, may easily be considered as the prototype of the Sikra surrounded by cells of the Jains; and altogether these viharas, though probably as early as the fourth or fifth century of our era, are more like the temples at Abu and Girnar than anything intermediate. It is indeed every day becoming more and more apparent that, in consequence of our knowledge of Buddhist architecture being derived almost exclusively from rock-cut examples, we miss a great deal which, if derived from structural buildings, would probably solve this among other problems that are now perplexing us.

The same remarks apply equally to the Jaina caves. Those at Ellora and Badami do not help us in our investigation, because they are not copies of structural buildings, but are imitations of the rock-cut examples of the Hindus, which had grown up into a style of their own, distinct from that of structural edifices. These, being interposed between the Buddhist and Jaina styles, separate the two as completely as if no examples existed, and prevent our tracing any connexion that may have existed between the two forms of art.

The earliest hint we get of a twelve-pillared dome, such as those universally used by the Jains, is in a sepulchre at Mylassa,[249] probably belonging to the 4th century. A second hint is found in the great cave at Bagh (Woodcut No. 87) in the 6th or 7th century, and there is little doubt that others will be found when looked for--but where? In the valley of the Ganges, and wherever the Mahomedans settled in force, it would be in vain to look for them. These zealots found the slender and elegant pillars, and the richly carved horizontal domes of the Jains, so appropriate and so easily re-arranged for their purposes, that they utilised all they cared not to destroy. The great mosques of Ajmir, Delhi, Canouge, Dhar and Ahmedabad, are all merely reconstructed temples of the Jains. There is, however, nothing in any of them that seems to belong to a very remote period--nothing in fact that can be carried back to times long, if at all, anterior to the year 1000. So we must look further for the cause of their loss.

As mentioned in the introduction the curtain drops on the drama of Indian history about the year 650, or a little later, and for three centuries we have only the faintest glimmerings of what took place within her boundaries. Civil wars seem to have raged everywhere, and religious persecution of the most relentless kind. When the curtain again rises we have an entirely new scene and new dramatis personæ presented to us. Buddhism had entirely disappeared, except in one corner of Bengal, and Jainism had taken its place throughout the west, and Vishnuism had usurped its inheritance in the east. On the south the religion of Siva had been adopted by the mass of the people, and these three religions had all assumed new and complex forms from the adoption of local superstitions, and differed widely from the simpler forms of the earlier faiths. My impression is that it was during these three centuries of misrule that the later temples and viharas of the Buddhists disappeared, and the earlier temples of the Jains; and there is a gap consequently in our history which may be filled up by new discoveries in remote places,[250] but which at present separates this chapter from the last in a manner it is by no means pleasant to contemplate.

II. CONSTRUCTION

CONTENTS.

Arches--Domes--Plans--Sikras.

ARCHES.

Before proceeding to describe the arrangements of Jaina or Hindu temples, it may add to the clearness of what follows if we first explain the peculiar modes of constructing arches and domes which they invariably employed.

As remarked above, although we cannot assert with absolute certainty that the Buddhists never employed a true arch, this at least is certain--that no structural example has yet been found in India, and that all the arched or circular forms found in the caves are without one single exception copies of wooden forms, and nowhere even simulate stone construction. With the Hindus and Jains the case is different: they use stone arches and stone domes which are not copied from wooden forms at all; but these are invariably horizontal arches, never formed or intended to be formed with radiating voussoirs.

It has already been explained, in speaking of Pelasgic art,[251] how prevalent these forms were in ancient Greece and Asia Minor, and how long they continued to be employed even after the principles of the true arch were perfectly understood. In India, however, the adherence to this form of construction is even more remarkable. As the Hindus quaintly express it, “an arch never sleeps;” and it is true that a radiating arch does contain in itself a vis viva which is always tending to thrust its haunches outwards, and goes far to ensure the ultimate destruction of every building where it is employed: while the horizontal forms employed by the Hindus are in stable equilibrium, and, unless disturbed by violence, might remain so for ever.

There can be no doubt that the Hindus carried their horror of an arch to an excess which frequently led them to worse faults on the other side. In city walls for instance, where there is a superabundant abutment on either hand to counteract any thrust, the horizontal principle is entirely misplaced. If we take, for instance, one of the city gates at Bijanagur (Woodcut No. 108), we cannot help perceiving that with much smaller stones and less trouble a far more stable construction could have been obtained, so long as the wall on either hand remained entire. What the Hindu feared was that if the wall were shattered, as we now find it, the arch would have fallen, though the horizontal layers still remain in their places.

Instead of a continuous bracket like that shown in the last example, a more usual form, in modern times at least, is that of several detached brackets placed a little distance apart the one from the other. When used in moderation this is the more pleasing form of the two, and in southern India it is generally used with great success. In the north they are liable to exaggerate it, as in the gateway from Jinjûwarra in Gujerat (Woodcut No. 109, p. 211), when it becomes unpleasing, though singularly characteristic of the style.

It is this horizontal or bracket mode of construction that is the formative principle of the Dravidian or Southern style of Hindu architecture, every form and every ornament depending almost wholly upon it. In the north, however, another development of the same principle is found in the horizontal dome, which is unknown in the south, but which has given a new character to the style, and, as one of its most beautiful features, demands a somewhat detailed explanation.

DOMES.

It is to be regretted that, while so much has been written on the history of the pointed arch, so little should have been said regarding the history of domes: the one being a mere constructive peculiarity that might very well have been dispensed with; the other being the noblest feature in the styles in which it prevails, and perhaps the most important acquisition with which science has enriched the art of architecture.

The so-called Treasuries of Mycenæ and Orchomenos, as well as the chambers in Etruscan tombs, prove that as early as ten or twelve centuries before Christ the Pelasgic races had learned the art of roofing circular chambers with stone vaults, not constructed, as we construct them, with radiating vaults, on the principle of the common arch, but by successive layers of stones converging to a point, and closed by one large stone at the apex.

Whoever invented the true or radiating arch, the Romans were the first who applied it as a regular and essential architectural feature, and who at the same time introduced its complement, the radiating dome, into architectural construction; at what period it is not now known. The earliest example, the Pantheon, is also the finest and largest; but we have lost entirely the innumerable steps by which the architects must have slowly progressed to so daring an experiment.

There is, however, a vast difference between these two classes of domes, which it is necessary to bear in mind in order to understand what follows.

The Roman arch and Roman dome are always constructed (Woodcut No. 110) on the principle of voussoirs, or truncated wedges, radiating from a centre. This enabled the Romans to cover much larger spaces with their domes than perhaps was possible on the horizontal principle; but it involved the inconvenience of great lateral thrusts, continually tending to split the dome and tear the building in pieces, and requiring immense and massive abutments to counteract their destructive energy.

The Indian or horizontal dome never can be made circular in section, except when used on the smallest scale, but almost always takes a form more or less pointed (Woodcut No. 111). From the time of the building of the Treasury of Mycenæ[252] to the birth of Christ we have a tolerably complete series of arches and vaults constructed on this principle, but few domes properly so called. After the Christian Era the first example is found in a singular tomb at Mylassa,[253] near Halicarnassus,[254] where the dome exhibits all the peculiarities of construction found in the Jaina temples of India. After this we lose the thread of its history till the form reappears in porches like those of the 11th century on Mount Abu, where it is a perfectly established architectural feature, that must have been practised long before it could be used as we find it in that building. Whether we shall ever be able to recover the lost links in this chain is more than doubtful, but it would be deeply interesting to the history of art if it could be done. In the meantime, there is no difficulty in explaining the constructive steps by which the object is now attained in India. These may also throw some light on the history of the invention, though this is not, of course, capable of direct proof.

The simplest mode of roofing a small square space supported by four pillars is merely to run an architrave or stone beam from each pillar, and cover the intermediate opening by a plain stone slab. Unless, however, slabs of great dimensions are available, this mode of construction has a limit very soon arrived at. The next step therefore is to reduce the extent of the central space to be covered by cutting off its corners; this is done by triangular stones placed in each angle of the square, as in Woodcut No. 112, thus employing five stones instead of one. By this means, the size of the central stone remaining the same, the side of the square space so roofed is increased in the ratio of ten to seven, the actual area being doubled. The next step in the process (Woodcut No. 113) is by employing three tiers and nine stones instead of two tiers and five stones, which quadruples the area roofed. Thus, if the central stone is 4 ft., by the second process the space roofed will be about 5 ft. 8 in.; by the third 8 ft. square; by a fourth process (Woodcut No. 114)--with four tiers and thirteen stones--the extent roofed may be 9 ft. or 10 ft., always assuming the central stone to remain 4 ft. square. All these forms are still currently used in India, but with four pillars the process is seldom carried further than this; with another tier, however, and eight pillars (as shown in Woodcut No. 115), it may be carried a step further--exactly the extent to which it is carried in the tomb at Mylassa above referred to. In this, however, as in all instances of octagonal domes in this style, instead of the octagonal form being left as such, there are always four external pillars at the angles, so that the square shape is retained, with twelve pillars, of which the eight internal pillars may be taken as mere insertions to support the long architrave between the four angular pillars.

It is evident that here again we come to a limit beyond which we cannot progress without using large and long stones. This was sometimes met by cutting off the angles of the octagon, and making the lower course of sixteen sides. When this has been done an awkwardness arises in getting back to the square form. This was escaped from, in all the instances I am acquainted with, by adopting circular courses for all above that with sixteen sides. In many instances the lower course with sixteen sides is altogether omitted, and the circles placed immediately on the octagon, as in the temple at Vimala Sah (Woodcut No. 130, p. 236). It is difficult to say how far this system might be carried constructively without danger of weakness. The Indian domes seldom exceed 30 ft. in diameter, but this may have arisen more from the difficulty of getting architraves above 12 ft. or 13 ft. in length to support the sides, than from any inability to construct domes of larger diameter in themselves. This last difficulty was to some extent got over by a system of bracketing, by which more than half the bearing of the architrave was thrown on the capital of the column, as shown in Woodcut No. 116. Of course this method might have been carried to any extent, so that a very short architrave would suffice for a large dome; but whether this could be done with elegance is another matter. The Indians seem to have thought not; at least, so far as I know, they never carried it to any extent. Instead of bracketing, however, they sometimes used struts, as shown in Woodcut No. 116, but it is questionable whether that could ever be made a really serviceable constructive expedient in stone architecture.

The great advantage to be derived from the mode of constructing domes just described was the power it gave of placing them on pillars without having anything to fear from the lateral thrust of the vault. The Romans never even attempted this, but always, so to speak, brought their vaults down to the ground, or at least could only erect them on great cylinders, which confined the space on every side. The Byzantine architects, as we have seen, cut away a great deal of the substructure, but nevertheless could never get rid of the great heavy piers they were forced to employ to support their domes, and in all ages were forced to use either heavy abutments externally, or to crowd their interiors with masses of masonry, so as in a great measure to sacrifice either the external effect or the internal convenience of their buildings to the constructive exigencies of their domes. This in India never was the case; all the pressure was vertical, and to ensure stability it only required sufficient strength in the support to bear the downward pressure of the mass--an advantage the importance of which is not easily over-estimated.

One of the consequences of this mode of construction was, that all the decoration of the Indian domes was horizontal, or, in other words, the ornaments were ranged in concentric rings, one above the other, instead of being disposed in vertical ribs, as in Roman or Gothic vaults. This arrangement allows of far more variety without any offence to good taste, and practically has rendered some of the Indian domes the most exquisite specimens of elaborate roofing that can anywhere be seen. Another consequence of this mode of construction was the employment of pendants from the centres of the domes, which are used to an extent that would have surprised even the Tudor architects of our own country. With them, however, the pendant was an architectural tour de force, requiring great constructive ingenuity and large masses to counterbalance it, and is always tending to destroy the building it ornaments; while the Indian pendant, on the contrary, only adds its own weight to that of the dome, and has no other prejudicial tendency. Its forms, too, generally have a lightness and elegance never even imagined in Gothic art; it hangs from the centre of a dome more like a lustre of crystal drops than a solid mass of marble or of stone.

As before remarked, the eight pillars that support the dome are almost never left by themselves, the base being made square by the addition of four others at the angles. There are many small buildings so constructed with only twelve pillars, as shown in the annexed diagram (No. 117), but two more are oftener added on each face, making twenty altogether, as shown on the upper side of the annexed diagram (No. 118); or four on each face, making twenty-eight; or again, two in front of these four, or six on each face, so as to make thirty-six; and the same system of aggregation is carried on till the number of pillars reaches fifty-six (Woodcut No. 119), which is the largest number I ever saw surrounding one dome; but any number of these domes may surround one temple, or central dome, and the number consequently be multiplied ad infinitum. When so great a number of pillars is introduced as in the last instance, it is usual to make the outmost compartment on each face square, and surmount it with a smaller dome. This is occasionally though rarely done even with the smallest number.

The first result of this arrangement is, that the Hindus obtained singularly varied outline in plan, producing the happiest effects of light and shade with every change in the sun’s position. Another result was, that by the accentuation of the salient and re-entering angles, they produced those strongly-marked vertical lines which give such an appearance of height to Gothic designs. To accomplish this, however, the Western architects were obliged to employ buttresses, pinnacles, and other constructive expedients. The Hindus obtained it by a new disposition of the plan without anywhere interrupting the composition. This form of outline also expresses the internal arrangements of the porch better than could be done by the simpler outline of either a square or circle, such as is usually employed in Europe. Its greatest merit, however, is, that the length of the greater aisles is exactly proportioned to their relative width as compared with that of the subordinate aisles. The entrance being in the angle, the great aisle forms the diagonal, and is consequently in the ratio of 10 to 7, as compared to what it would be if the entrance were in the centre of the side, where we usually place it. From the introduction of the octagonal dome in the centre the same proportion (correctly 707 to 1000) prevails between the central and side aisles, and this again is perhaps the most pleasing that has yet been introduced anywhere. In Gothic churches the principal aisles are generally twice as wide as the side ones, but they are also twice as high, which restores the proportion. Here, where the height of all is the same, or nearly so, this gradation just suffices to give variety, and to mark the relative importance of the parts, without the one overpowering the other: and neither has the appearance of being too broad nor too narrow.

It is, of course, difficult for those who have never seen a building of the class just described to judge of the effect of these arrangements; and they have seldom been practised in Europe. There is, however, one building in which they have accidentally been employed to a considerable extent, and which owes its whole beauty to the manner in which it follows the arrangement above described. That building is Sir Christopher Wren’s church of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook. Internally its principal feature is a dome supported on eight pillars, with four more in the angles, and two principal aisles crossing the building at right angles, with smaller square compartments on each side. This church is the great architect’s masterpiece, but it would have been greatly improved had its resemblance to a Hindu porch been more complete. The necessity of confining the dome and aisles within four walls greatly injures the effect as compared with the Indian examples. Even the Indian plan of roofing, explained above, might be used in such a building with much less expense and less constructive danger than a Gothic vault of the same extent.

PLANS.

Up to the present time only one temple has been discovered in India which gives us even a hint of how the plans of the Buddhist Chaitya Halls became converted into those of the Jaina and Hindu temples. Fortunately, however, its evidence is so distinct that there can be very little doubt about the matter. The temple in question is situated in the village of Aiwulli, in Dharwar, in western India, not far from the place where the original capital of the Chalukyan sovereigns is supposed to have been situated, and near the caves of Badami on the one hand and the temples of Pittadkul on the other. Its date is ascertained by an inscription on its outer gateway, containing the name of Vicramaditya Chalukya, whom we know from inscriptions certainly died in A.D. 680, and with less certainty that he commenced to reign A.D. 650.[255] The temple itself may possibly be a little older, but the latter may fairly be taken as a medium date representing its age. It is thus not only the oldest structural temple known to exist in western India, but in fact the only one yet discovered that can with certainty be said to have been erected before the great cataclysm of the beginning of the 8th century.

Mr. Burgess is of opinion that it was originally dedicated to Vishnu,[256] but this does not seem quite clear. There certainly are Jaina figures among those that once adorned it;[257] and it seems to be a fact that though the Jains admitted Siva, Vishnu, and all the gods of the Hindu Pantheon into their temples, there is no evidence of the reverse process. The Hindus never admitted the human Tirthankars of the Jains among their gods. Its original dedication is fortunately, however, of very little importance for our present purposes. The religions of the Jains and Vaishnavas, as pointed out above (p. 40), were, in those days and for long afterwards, so similar that it was impossible to distinguish between them.[258] Besides this, the age when this temple was erected was the age of toleration in India. The Chinese traveller Hiouen Thsang has left us a most vivid description of a great quinquennial festival, at which he was present at Allahabad in A.D. 643, at which the great King Siladitya presided, and distributed alms and honours, on alternate days, to Buddhists, Brahmans, and heretics of all classes, who were assembled there in tens of thousands, and seem to have felt no jealousy of each other, or rivalry that led, at least, to any disturbance.[259] It was on the eve of a disruption that led to the most violent contests, but up to that time we have no trace of dissension among the sects, nor any reason to believe that they did not all use similar edifices for their religious purposes, with only such slight modifications as their different formulæ may have required (Woodcut No. 120).

Be this as it may, any one who will compare the plan of the chaitya at Sanchi (Woodcut No. 40), which is certainly Buddhist, with that of this temple at Aiwulli, which is either Jaina or Vaishnava, can hardly fail to perceive how nearly identical they must have been when complete. In both instances, it will be observed, the apse is solid, and it appears that this always was the case in structural free-standing chaityas. At least, in all the rock-cut examples, so far as is known, the pillars round the apse are different from those that separate the nave from the aisles; they never have capitals or bases, and are mere plain makeshifts. From the nature of their situation in the rock, light could not be admitted to the aisle behind the apse from the outside, but must be borrowed from the front, and a solid apse was consequently inadmissible; but in free-standing examples, as at Aiwulli, it was easy to introduce windows there or anywhere. Another change was necessary when, from an apse sheltering a relic-shrine, it became a cell containing an image of a god; a door was then indispensable, and also a thickening of the wall when it was necessary it should bear a tower or sikra to mark the position of the cella on the outside. Omitting the verandah, the other changes introduced between the erection of these two examples are only such as were required to adapt the points of support in the temple to carry a heavy stone roof, instead of the light wooden superstructure of the Buddhist chaitya. (Woodcut No. 121.)

It may be a question, and one not easy to settle in the present state of our knowledge, whether the Buddhist chaityas had or had not verandahs, like the Aiwulli example. The rock-cut examples naturally give us no information on this subject, but the presumption certainly is, looking at their extreme appropriateness in that climate, that they had this appendage, sometimes at least, if not always.

If from this temple at Aiwulli we pass to the neighbouring one at Pittadkul, built probably a couple of centuries later, we find that we have passed the boundary line that separates the ancient from the mediæval architecture of India, in so far at least as plans are concerned (Woodcut No. 122). The circular forms of the Buddhists have entirely disappeared, and the cell has become the base of a square tower, as it remained ever afterwards. The nave of the chaitya has become a well defined mantapa or porch in front of, but distinct from, the cell, and these two features in an infinite variety of forms, and with various subordinate adjuncts, are the essential elements of the plans of the Jaina and Hindu temples of all the subsequent ages.

The procession-path round the cell--called Pradakshina--as that round the apse, remained for some centuries as a common but not a universal feature. The verandah disappeared. Round a windowless cell it was useless, and the pillared porches contained in themselves all the elements of shelter or of shadow that were required.

SIKRAS.

There is one other peculiarity common to both Jaina and Hindu architecture in the north of India that requires notice, before proceeding to describe particular examples. It is the form of the towers or spires called Sikras, or Vimanas, which invariably surmount the cells in which the images are placed. It is probably correct to assert that the images of the Tirthankars or of the Hindu deities are invariably placed in square, generally cubical cells, of no great dimension, and that these cells receive their light from the doorway only. It seems also an invariable rule that the presence and position of the cell should be indicated externally by a tower or spire, and that these towers, though square or nearly so in plan, should have a curvilinear outline in elevation. If the tower at Buddh Gaya (ante, p. 70) retains unaltered the original form given to it when erected in the 5th or 6th century, this dictum would not apply to Buddhist architecture. As it is, however, the only Buddhist sikra yet discovered it is hardly fair to draw any decided inference from one single example, while with Jaina or Hindu towers I know of no exception. Take for instance the tower represented in the following woodcut (No. 123), which purports to be an elevation of the celebrated Black Pagoda at Kanaruc in Orissa, and may be looked upon as a typical example of the style, and of which it may be considered as a fair medium example. The upper part of the tower, to some extent, overhangs its base. It bends inward towards the summit, and is surmounted by what is called an Amalaka from its supposed resemblance to a fruit of the name--Phyllanthus emblica. This, however, is certainly a mistake. Had it been said it was copied from a melon or any large gourd that was divided into pips externally--if there are any such--there are some early examples that might seem to countenance such an idea; but the Phyllanthus is so insignificant a berry that it could hardly ever have been adopted as an architectural model. Besides this its peculiar nicked form occurs frequently in old examples as a sort of blocking course dividing the sikras horizontally into numerous small compartments, and it seems as if what is used there in a straight-lined form, was employed as a circular ornament at the summit. It is a very beautiful architectural device, and was, as far as I can see, adopted only because it was so, and contrasted brilliantly with the flat ornaments with which it was employed. At present we do not seem to be in a position to explain its origin, or that of a great many other details that are frequently met with in Hindu architecture.

Whatever its origin, this amalaka is generally surmounted by a flat dome of reverse curvature, in the centre of which stands the kullus, or pinnacle, in the form of a vase, generally of very beautiful and graceful design.

The great and at first sight puzzling question is, from what original is this curious combination of forms derived? It is like nothing found anywhere out of India, and like no utilitarian form in India that we now know of. It cannot be derived from the dome-like forms of the topes. They are circular both in plan and elevation. The sikras are straight-lined in plan, and their section is never a segment of a circle; it is not derived from any many-storeyed buildings, as the sikras or vimanas of the Dravidian architecture of the south of India, which seem certainly to have been copied from the many-storeyed viharas of the Buddhists, and we cannot fancy any class of domestic building which could have formed a model out of which they could have been elaborated. One curious thing we do know, which is that all the ancients roofs in India, whether represented in the bas-reliefs or copied in the caves, were invariably curvilinear--generally circular or rather ogee--having a ridge added externally to throw off the rain from that weakest part; but nothing on any bas-relief or painting gives us a hint of any building like these sikras.

Another curious and perplexing circumstance regarding the sikras is that when we first meet them, at Bhuvaneswar for instance, or the Bay of Bengal, or at Pittadkul in the 7th century, on the west coast of India, the style is complete and settled in all its parts. There was no hesitation then, nor has there been any since. During the twelve or thirteen centuries that have elapsed since the erection of these earliest known examples, they have gone on becoming more and more attenuated, till they are almost as pointed as Gothic spires, and their degree of attenuation is no bad test of their age; but they never changed in any essential feature of the design. All the parts found in the oldest examples are retained in the most recent, and are easily recognisable in the buildings of the present century.

The one hypothesis that occurs to me as sufficient to account for this peculiarity is to assume that it was a constructive necessity. If we take for instance an assumed section of the diagram (Woodcut No. 124, p. 223), it will be seen how easily a very tall pointed horizontal arch, like that of the Treasury at Mycenæ (Woodcut No. 122, vol. i.), would fit its external form. In that case we might assume that the tower at Buddh Gaya took a straight-lined form like that represented in Woodcuts Nos. 128, 129, vol. i., while the Hindus took the more graceful curvilinear shape, which certainly was more common in remote classical antiquity,[260] and as it is found in Assyria may have reached India at a remote period.

This hypothesis does not account for the change from the square to the circular form in the upper part, nor for its peculiar ornamentation; but that may be owing to our having none of the earlier examples. When we first meet with the form, either in Dharwar or Orissa, it is complete in all its parts, and had evidently reached that state of perfection through long stages of tentative experience. The discovery of some earlier examples than we now know may one day tell us by what steps that degree of perfection was reached, but in the meanwhile I fear we must rest content with the theory just explained, which, on the whole, may be considered sufficient for present purposes at least.[261]

III. NORTHERN JAINA STYLE

CONTENTS.

Palitana--Girnar--Mount Abu--Parisnath--Gualior--Khajurâho.

PALITANA.

The grouping together of their temples into what may be called “Cities of Temples” is a peculiarity which the Jains practised to a greater extent than the followers of any other religion in India. The Buddhists grouped their stupas and viharas near and around sacred spots, as at Sanchi, Manikyala, or in Peshawur, and elsewhere; but they were scattered, and each was supposed to have a special meaning, or to mark some sacred spot. The Hindus also grouped their temples, as at Bhuvaneswar or Benares, in great numbers together; but in all cases, so far as we know, because these were the centres of a population who believed in the gods to whom the temples were dedicated, and wanted them for the purposes of their worship. Neither of these religions, however, possess such a group of temples, for instance, as that at Sutrunjya, or Palitana, as it is usually called, in Gujerat, about thirty miles from Gogo, on its eastern coast (Woodcut No. 125). No survey has yet been made of it, nor have its temples been counted; but it covers a very large space of ground, and its shrines are scattered by hundreds over the summits of two extensive hills and in the valley between them. The larger ones are situated in tûks, or separate enclosures, surrounded by high fortified walls; the smaller ones line the silent streets. A few yatis, or priests, sleep in the temples and perform the daily services, and a few attendants are constantly there to keep the place clean, which they do with the most assiduous attention, or to feed the sacred pigeons, which are the sole denizens of the spot; but there are no human habitations, properly so called, within the walls. The pilgrim or the stranger ascends in the morning, and returns when he has performed his devotions or satisfied his curiosity. He must not eat, or at least must not cook his food, on the sacred hill, and he must not sleep there. It is a city of the gods, and meant for them only, and not intended for the use of mortals.

Jaina temples and shrines are, of course, to be found in cities, and where there are a sufficient number of votaries to support a temple, as in other religions; but, beyond this, the Jains seem, almost more than any sect, to have realised the idea that to build a temple, and to place an image in it, was in itself a highly meritorious act, wholly irrespective of its use to any of their co-religionists. Building a temple is with them a prayer in stone, which they conceive to be eminently acceptable to the deity and likely to secure them benefits both here and hereafter.

It is in consequence of the Jains believing to a greater extent than the other Indian sects in the efficacy of temple-building as a means of salvation, that their architectural performances bear so much larger a proportion to their numbers than those of other religions. It may also be owing to the fact that nine out of ten, or ninety-nine in a hundred, of the Jaina temples are the gifts of single wealthy individuals of the middle classes, that these buildings generally are small and deficient in that grandeur of proportion that marks the buildings undertaken by royal command or belonging to important organised communities. It may, however, be also owing to this that their buildings are more elaborately finished than those of more national importance. When a wealthy individual of the class who build these temples desires to spend his money on such an object, he is much more likely to feel pleasure in elaborate detail and exquisite finish than on great purity or grandeur of conception.

All these peculiarities are found in a more marked degree at Palitana than at almost any other known place, and, fortunately for the student of the style, extending through all the ages during which it flourished. Some of the temples are as old as the 11th century, and they are spread pretty evenly over all the intervening period down to the present century. But the largest number and some of the most important are now erecting or were erected in the present century or in the memory of living men. Fortunately, too, these modern examples by no means disgrace the age in which they are built. Their sculptures are inferior, and some of their details are deficient in meaning and expression; but, on the whole, they are equal, or nearly so, to the average examples of earlier ages. It is this that makes Palitana one of the most interesting places that can be named for the philosophical student of architectural art, inasmuch as he can there see the various processes by which cathedrals were produced in the Middle Ages, carried on on a larger scale than almost anywhere else, and in a more natural manner. It is by watching the methods still followed in designing buildings in that remote locality that we become aware how it is that the uncultivated Hindu can rise in architecture to a degree of originality and perfection which has not been attained in Europe since the Middle Ages, but which might easily be recovered by following the same processes.

GIRNAR.

The hill of Girnar, on the south coast of Gujerat, not far from Puttun Somnath, is another shrine of the Jains, as sacred, but somehow not so fashionable in modern times as that at Palitana. It wants, consequently, that bewildering magnificence arising from the number and variety of buildings of all ages that crowd that temple city. Besides this, the temples themselves at Girnar lose much of their apparent size from being perched on the side of a hill rising 3500 ft. above the level of the sea, composed of granite rocks strewn about in most picturesque confusion.

Although we have no Girnar Mahatmya to retail fables and falsify dates, as is done at Sutrunjya, we have at Girnar inscriptions which prove that in ancient times it must have been a place of great importance. On a rock outside the town at its foot, called par excellence Junaghar--the Old Fort--Asoka, B.C. 250, carved a copy of his celebrated edicts.[262] On the same rock, in A.D. 151, Rudra Dama, the Sah king of Saurastra, carved an inscription, in which he boasted of his victories over the Sat Karni, king of the Dekhan, and recorded his having repaired the bridge built by the Maurya Asoka.[263] The embankment of the Sudarsana lake again burst and carried away this bridge, but was again repaired by Skanda, the last of the great Guptas, in the year A.D. 457,[264] and another inscription on the same rock records this event.

A place where three such kings thought it worth while to record their deeds or proclaim their laws must, one would think, have been an important city or place at that time; but what is so characteristic of India occurs here as elsewhere. No material remains are found to testify to the fact.[265] There are no remains of an ancient city, no temples or ruins that can approach the age of the inscriptions, and but for their existence we should not be aware that the place was known before the 10th century. There are, it is true, some caves in the Uparkot which may be old; but they have not yet been examined by any one capable of discriminating between ancient and modern things, and till so visited their evidence is not available.[266] My impression is that they may belong to the age of the Guptas, which was a great age for excavating caves of this class in India, but we must await further information before deciding.

The principal group of temples at Girnar, some sixteen in number, is situated on a ledge about 600 ft. below the summit, and still consequently nearly 3000 ft. above the level of the sea. The largest, possibly also the oldest of these, is that of Neminatha (Woodcut No. 120). An inscription upon it records that it was repaired in A.D. 1278, and unfortunately a subsequent restorer has laid his heavy hand upon it, so that it is difficult now to realise what its original appearance may have been. This unfortunately is only too often the case with Jaina temples. If a Hindu temple or Mahomedan mosque is once deserted and goes to decay, no one ever after repairs it, but its materials are ruthlessly employed to build a new temple or mosque according to the newest fashion of the day. With the Jains it is otherwise. If a man is not rich enough to build a new fane, he may at least be able to restore an old one, and the act with them seems equally meritorious, as it usually is considered to be with us; but the way they set about it generally consists in covering up the whole of the outside with a thick coating of chunam, filling up and hiding all the details, and leaving only the outline. The interior is generally adorned with repeated coats of whitewash, as destructive to artistic effect, but not so irreparable.

The plan and the outline are generally, however, left as they were originally erected, and that is the case with the temple of Neminatha. It stands in a courtyard measuring 195 ft. by 130 ft. over all externally. The temple itself has two porches or mantapas, one of which is called by Hindu architects the Maha Mantapa, the other the Ard’ha Mantapa,[267] though it is not quite clear to which of the two the term Maha, or great, should be applied in this instance; I would say the inner, though that is certainly not the sense in which the term is usually understood.

Around the courtyard are arranged seventy cells with a covered and enclosed passage in front of them, and each of these contains a cross-legged seated figure of the Tirthankar to whom the temple is dedicated, and generally with a bas-relief or picture representing some act in his life. But for the fall of the rock there would have been nine or ten more cells, and indeed this repetition of the images of the saint, like the multiplication of temples, seems to have been the great aim of the Jaina architects. As we shall presently see in a Jaina temple at Brambanam in Java, there were 236 small temples or cells surrounding the great one, and there, as here, each of them was intended to contain a similar image of one of the Tirthankars.

Immediately behind the temple of Neminatha is a triple one erected by the brothers Tejpala and Vastupala, who also erected one of the principal temples in Abu. From inscriptions upon its walls it seems to have been erected in A.D. 1177. The plan is that of three temples joined together, an arrangement not unfrequently found in the south, but rare in the north, which is to be regretted, as it is capable of great variety of effect, and of light and shade to a greater extent than plainer forms. In this instance there is an image of Mallinatha, the 19th Tirthankar, in the central cell, but the lateral ones each contain a remarkable solid pile of masonry called a Samosan, that on the north side named Mera or Sumera--a fabled mountain of the Jains and Hindus--having a square base (Woodcut No. 127); that on the south, called Samet Sikhara--Parisnath, in Bengal--with a nearly circular base. Each rises in four tiers of diminishing width, nearly to the roof, and is surmounted by a small square canopy over the images.[268] From this it would appear that with the Jains, the Mounts Girnar, Sutrunjya, Abu, &c., were not only holy places, but holy things, and that with them--as with the Syrians--the worship of high places was really a part of their religion.

Some of the other temples at Girnar are interesting from their history, and remarkable from fragments of an ancient date that have survived the too constant repairs; but without illustrating them it would only be tedious to recapitulate their names, or to attempt to describe by words objects which only the practised eye of the Indian antiquary can appreciate. Not far from the hill, however, on the sea-shore, stands the temple of Somnath, historically perhaps the most celebrated in India, from the campaign which Mahmood of Gazni undertook for its destruction in 1025, and the momentous results that campaign had eventually on the fate of India.

As will be seen from the annexed plan (Woodcut No. 128) the temple itself never could have been remarkable for its dimensions, probably it never exceeded about 130 ft. over all, but the dome of its porch, which measures 33 ft. across, is as large as any we know of its age. From the accounts, however, which we have of the siege, it is evident that it was enclosed like the temple of Neminatha (Woodcut No. 126) in a courtyard, and that may have been of surpassing magnificence. Though very similar in plan, it is nearly twice the dimensions of that of Neminatha, and if its court was proportionately large, it may really have justified all that has been said regarding its splendour. From what fragments of its sculptured decorations remain, they too must have been of great beauty, quite equal to anything we know of this class, or of their age. It has not yet been determined, however, whether what we now see are fragments of the temple attacked by Mahmood, and consequently whether they belong to the 10th or even the 9th century, or whether they may be due to a repair which was effected in the 12th. As the story is now told, after Mahmood’s departure it was restored by Bhima Deva of Anhilwarra Puttun, who reigned 1021-1073, and adorned by Siddha Raja, 1093-1143, and lastly by Kumara Pala in 1168. Generally it is thought that what we now see belongs to the last-named king. Any one on the spot, thoroughly acquainted with the subject, might discriminate among these and tell us its story. In so far as photographs enable us to judge, it would appear that a considerable portion of what we now see belongs to the original fane, though very much altered and knocked about by subsequent restorers.

Another point of dispute is the name of the god to whom the temple was dedicated when the Moslem marched against it. From the name Someswara, it is generally assumed to have been Siva. If, however, that had been the case, the image in the sanctuary would almost certainly have been a lingam. The Mahomedan historians, however, represent it distinctly as having a head with eyes, arms, and a belly.[269] In that case it must either have been Vishnu or one of the Tirthankars. I can find no trace of Vishnuism in Gujerat at this period, but what seems to me to settle the case is, that all the kings above mentioned, who took part in the repairs after the departure of Mahmood, were undoubtedly Jains, and they would hardly have repaired or rebuilt a temple belonging to another sect.

MOUNT ABU.

It is hardly to be wondered at that Mount Abu was early fixed upon by the Hindus and Jains as one of their sacred spots. Rising from the desert as abruptly as an island from the ocean, it presents on almost every side inaccessible scarps 5000 ft. or 6000 ft. high, and the summit can only be approached by ravines cut into its sides. When the summit is reached, it opens out into one of the loveliest valleys imaginable, six or seven miles long by two or three miles in width, cut up everywhere by granite rocks of the most fantastic shapes, and the spaces between them covered with trees and luxuriant vegetation. The little Nucki Talao, or Pearl Lake, is one of the loveliest gems of its class in all India, and it is near to it, at Dilwarra, that the Jains selected a site for their Tirth, or sacred place of rendezvous. It cannot, however, be said that it has been a favourite place of worship in modern times. Its distance and inaccessibility are probably the causes of this, and it consequently cannot rival either Palitana or Girnar in the extent of its buildings; but during the age of Jaina supremacy it was adorned with several temples, two of which are unrivalled for certain qualities by any temples in India. They are built wholly of white marble, though no quarries of that material are known to exist within 300 miles of the spot, and to transport and carry it up the hill to the site of these temples must have added immensely to the expense of the undertaking.

The more modern of the two was built by the same brothers, Tejpala and Vastupala, who erected the triple temple at Girnar (Woodcut No. 127). This one, we learn from inscriptions, was erected between the years 1197 and 1247, and for minute delicacy of carving and beauty of detail stands almost unrivalled even in the land of patient and lavish labour.[270]

The other, built by another merchant prince, Vimala Sah, apparently about the year A.D. 1032,[271] is simpler and bolder, though still as elaborate as good taste would allow in any purely architectural object. Being one of the oldest as well as one of the most complete examples known of a Jaina temple, its peculiarities form a convenient introduction to the style, and among other things serve to illustrate how complete and perfect it had already become when we first meet with it in India.

The annexed plan (Woodcut No. 129) will suffice to explain the general arrangements of the temple of Vimala Sah, which, as will be observed, are similar to some we have already met, though of course varying considerably in extent and detail.

The principal object here, as elsewhere, is a cell lighted only from the door, containing a cross-legged seated figure of the saint to whom the temple is dedicated, in this instance Parswanatha. The cell, as in all other examples, terminates upwards in a sikra, or pyramidal spire-like roof, which is common to all Hindu and Jaina temples[272] of the age in the north of India. To this, as in almost all instances, is attached a portico, generally of considerable extent, and in most examples surmounted by a dome resting on eight pillars, which forms indeed the distinguishing characteristic of the style, as well as its most beautiful feature. In this example the portico is composed of forty-eight free-standing pillars, which is by no means an unusual number; and the whole is enclosed in an oblong courtyard, about 140 ft. by 90 ft., surrounded by a double colonnade of smaller pillars, forming porticos to a range of cells, fifty-five in number, which enclose it on all sides, exactly as they do in Buddhist viharas. In this case, however, each cell, instead of being the residence of a monk, is occupied by one of those cross-legged images which belong alike to Buddhism and Jainism, and between which so many find it difficult to distinguish. Here they are, according to the Jaina practice, all repetitions of the same image of Parswanatha, and over the door of each cell, or on its jambs, are sculptured scenes from his life.

In other religions there may be a great number of separate similar chapels attached to one building, but in no other would fifty-five be found, as in this example, or the seventy that surround the temple of Neminatha at Girnar (Woodcut No. 126), each containing an image of the same saint, and all so identical as to be undistinguishable. With the Jains it seems to be thought the most important point that the deity or saint is honoured by the number of his images, and that each image should be provided with a separate abode. In other examples, however, it is only a separate niche. On some Jaina monuments the image of the Tirthankar is repeated hundreds, it may almost be said a thousand times over, all the images identical, and the niches arranged in rows beside and above each other, like pigeon-holes in a dovecote.

Externally the temple is perfectly plain, and there is nothing to indicate the magnificence within, except the spire of the cell peeping over the plain wall, though even this is the most insignificant part of the erection.

The woodcut (No. 130) will give some idea of the arrangement of the porch, but it would require a far more extensive and elaborate drawing to convey a correct impression of its extreme beauty of detail and diversity of design. The great pillars, as will be seen, are of the same height as those of the smaller external porticos; and like them they finish with the usual bracket-capital of the East; upon this an upper dwarf column or attic, if it may be so called, is placed to give them additional height, and on these upper columns rest the great beams or architraves which support the dome; as, however, the bearing is long, at least in appearance, the weight is relieved by the curious angular strut or truss of white marble, mentioned above (p. 215), which, springing from the lower capital, seems to support the middle of the beam.

That this last feature is derived from some wooden or carpentry original, can, I think, scarcely be doubted; but in what manner it was first introduced into masonry construction is unknown; probably it might easily be discovered by a more careful examination of the buildings in this neighbourhood. It continues as an architectural feature down almost to the present day, but gradually becoming more and more attenuated, till at last, except in one example at Delhi, to be mentioned hereafter, it loses all its constructive significance as a supporting member, and dwindles into a mere ornament.

On the octagon so formed rests the dome, the springing of which is shown in Woodcut No. 130 (p. 236). In this instance a single block in the angles of the octagon suffices to introduce the circle. Above the second row of ornaments sixteen pedestals are introduced supporting statues, and in the centre is a pendant of the most exquisite beauty; the whole is in white marble, and finished with a delicacy of detail and appropriateness of ornament which is probably unsurpassed by any similar example to be found anywhere else. Those introduced by the Gothic architects in Henry VII.’s chapel at Westminster, or at Oxford, are coarse and clumsy in comparison. It is difficult, by any means of illustration, to convey a correct idea of the extreme beauty and delicacy of these pendant ornaments, but the woodcut on page 237 (No. 131) from a photograph will explain their form, even if it cannot reflect their beauty.

As before hinted, there never seems to have been any important town on Mount Abu. It was too inaccessible for that purpose; but a few miles to the southward on the plain are the remains of an extensive city, called Chandrávati, where there are extensive remains of Jaina temples of the same age and style as those on the mount, some of them probably more modern, but still all of the best age. The place, however, was destroyed at the time of the Mahomedan conquest in the middle of the 14th century, and has since remained wholly deserted. It has in consequence been used as a quarry by the neighbouring towns and villages, so that few of its buildings remain in a perfect state. The fragment, however, shown in Woodcut No. 132, may serve to illustrate the style in which they were erected, but as no two pillars are exactly alike, it would require hundreds to represent their infinite variety of detail.

PARISNATH.

The highest point of the Bengal range of hills, south of Rajmahal, has characteristically been appropriated by the Jains as one of their most favourite Tirths. Its original name apparently was Mount Síkhar, and no less than nineteen of their twenty-four Tirthankars are said to have died and been buried there, among others Parswanatha, the last but one, and he consequently gave the hill the name it now bears.

Unfortunately, no photographer has yet visited the hill, nor any one who was able to discriminate between what was new and what old. Such accounts, however, as we have are by no means encouraging, and do not lead us to expect any very remarkable architectural remains. The temples on the hill are numerous, but they seem all modern, or at least to have been so completely repaired in modern times that their more ancient features cannot now be discerned. Something may also be due to the fact that, since the revival of that religion, Bengal has never been essentially a Jaina country. The Pala dynasty of Bengal seem to have remained Buddhist nearly to the Mahomedan conquest (A.D. 1203), when they seem suddenly to have dropped that religion and plunged headlong into the Vaishnava and Saiva superstitions. Whether from this, or from some other cause we cannot now explain, Jainism never seems to have taken root in Bengal. At the time that it, with Buddhism, took its rise in the 6th century B.C., Behar was the intellectual and the political centre of India, and Buddhism long held its sway in the country of its birth. Before, however, Jainism became politically important, the centre of power had gravitated towards the West, and Jainism never seems to have attained importance in the country where it first appeared. Were it not for this, there seems little doubt but that Parisnath would have been more important in their eyes than Palitana or Girnar; but it is not so, and it consequently occupies only a very slight corner in an architectural history of India.

Besides the effect the Jains sought to obtain by grouping their temples on hill-tops, the love of the picturesque, which they seem to have cultivated more than any other sect in India, led them to seek it in an exactly opposite direction. Some of their favourite Tirths are found in deep and secluded valleys. One at Muktagiri, for instance, near Gawelghur, is situated in a deep well-wooded valley, traversed by a stream that breaks in its course into numerous picturesque waterfalls.

Another example of this love of the picturesque is found at Sadri. In a remote valley piercing the western flank of the Aravulli, there is a group of temples, neither so numerous nor perhaps so picturesquely situated as those at Muktagiri, but of more interest architecturally, and situated in a spot evidently selected for its natural beauties.

The principal temple here was erected by Khumbo Rana of Oudeypore. He seems to have been a zealous promoter of the Jaina religion, and during his long and prosperous reign filled his country with beautiful buildings, both civil and ecclesiastical. Amongst others, he built this temple of Sadri, situated in a lonely and deserted glen, running into the western slope of the Aravulli, below his favourite fort of Komulmeer. Notwithstanding long neglect, it is still nearly perfect, and is the most complicated and extensive Jaina temple I have myself ever had an opportunity of inspecting.

From the plan (Woodcut No. 133) it will be perceived that it is nearly a square, 200 ft. by 225 ft., exclusive of the projections on each face. In the centre stands the great shrine, not, however, occupied, as usual, by one cell, but by four; or rather four great niches, in each of which is placed a statue of Adinatha, or Rishabdeva, the first and greatest of the Jaina saints. Above this are four other niches, similarly occupied, opening on the terraced roofs of the building. Near the four angles of the court are four smaller shrines, and around them, or on each side of them, are twenty domes, supported by about 420 columns; four of these domes--the central ones of each group--are three storeys in height, and tower over the others; and one--that facing the principal entrance--is supported by the very unusual number of sixteen columns, and is 36 ft. in diameter, the others being only 24 ft. Light is admitted to the building by four uncovered courts, and the whole is surrounded by a range of cells, many of them now unoccupied, each of which has a pyramidal roof of its own.

The internal effect of this forest of columns may be gathered from the view (Woodcut No. 134) taken across one of its courts; but it is impossible that any view can reproduce the endless variety of perspective and the play of light and shade which results from the disposition of the pillars, and of the domes, and from the mode in which the light is introduced. A wonderful effect also results from the number of cells, most of them containing images of the Tirthankar, which everywhere meet the view. Besides the twelve in the central sikras there are eighty-six cells of very varied form and size surrounding the interior, and all their façades more or less adorned with sculpture.

The general external effect of the Sadri Temple may be judged of by Woodcut No. 135; owing to its lofty basement, and the greater elevation of the principal domes, it gives a more favourable impression of a Jaina temple than is usually the case--the greatest defect of these buildings as architectural designs being the want of ornament on their exterior faces; this, however, is more generally the case in the older than in the more modern temples.

The immense number of parts in the building, and their general smallness, prevents its laying claim to anything like architectural grandeur; but their variety, their beauty of detail--no two pillars in the whole building being exactly alike--the grace with which they are arranged, the tasteful admixture of domes of different heights with flat ceilings, and the mode in which the light is introduced, combine to produce an excellent effect. Indeed, I know of no other building in India, of the same class, that leaves so pleasing an impression, or affords so many hints for the graceful arrangement of columns in an interior.

Besides its merits of design, its dimensions are by no means to be despised; it covers altogether about 48,000 sq. ft., or nearly as much as one of our ordinary mediæval cathedrals, and, taking the basement into account, is nearly of equal bulk; while in amount of labour and of sculptural decorations it far surpasses any.

GUALIOR.

The rock at Gualior is, and must always have been, one of the most remarkable high places in Central India, and seems, as such, early to have been appropriated by the Jains. Its position and its scarps, however, led to its being fortified, and, as one of the strongest places in India, it was attacked and taken by storm by Altumsh, the first Moslem emperor of Delhi, in A.D. 1232; and from that time till the fall of the Mogul empire it was held by the Mahomedans, or by Hindu kings subject to their suzerainty. Under these circumstances, we should hardly expect to find any extensive ancient Hindu remains in the place. There are, however, two very remarkable temples: one, known as the Sas Bahu, is generally understood to be a Jaina erection, and seems to be so designated and dedicated to Padmanatha, the sixth Tirthankar. General Cunningham doubts this adscription,[273] in consequence of the walls being adorned with bas-reliefs, belonging certainly to the Vaishnava and Saiva sects. As in the case of the Aiwulli temple, it is extremely difficult sometimes to say for what sect a temple was originally erected. In the times of which we are now speaking the sects had not become distinct and antagonistic as they afterwards were. The different deities were, like those of the Greeks and Romans, parts of one religion, which all shared in, and the temples were frequently of a most pantheistic character. Be this as it may, this temple was finished apparently in A.D. 1093, and, though dreadfully ruined, is still a most picturesque fragment. What remains is the cruciform porch of a temple which, when complete, measured 100 ft. from front to rear, and 63 ft. across the arms of the porch. Of the sanctuary, with its sikra, nothing is left but the foundation; but the porch which is three storeys in height, is constructively entire, though its details--and principally those of its roof--are very much shattered (Woodcut No. 136, next page).

An older Jaina temple is described by General Cunningham, but as it was used as a mosque it is more likely that it is a Mahomedan building entirely, though made up of Jaina details.[274] The most striking part of the Jaina remains at Gualior are a series of caves or rock-cut sculptures that are excavated in the rock on all sides, and amount, when taken together, to hardly less than a hundred, great and small. They are, however, very unlike the chaityas or viharas of the Buddhists, still less do they resemble the Brahmanical caves, to be mentioned hereafter. Most of them are mere niches to contain statues, though some are cells that may have been originally intended for residences. One curious fact regarding them is, that, according to inscriptions, they were all excavated within the short period of about thirty-three years, between A.D. 1441 and A.D. 1474. Some of the figures are of colossal size: one, for instance, is 57 ft. high, which is greater than any other in the north of India, though in the south there are several which equal or surpass it, and, as free-standing figures are more expressive and more difficult to execute.

KHAJURÂHO.

The city of Khajurâho, the ancient capital of the Chandels, is situated about 125 miles W.S.W. from Allahabad, and about 150 miles S.E. from Gualior. It is now a wretched deserted place, but has in and around it a group of some thirty temples, which, so far as is at present known, are the most beautiful in form as well as the most elegant in detail of any of the temples now standing in India.[275]

So far as can be made out from such inscriptions as exist, as well as from their style, it appears that all these temples, with two unimportant exceptions, were executed simultaneously and within the limits of the 11th century: and, what is also curious, they seem to be, as nearly as possible, equally divided between the three religions. In each group there is one greater than the rest--a cathedral in fact--round which the smaller ones are clustered. In the Saiva group it is the Kandarya Mahadeva, of which a representation will be given further on; in the Vaishnava group it is the Ramachandra; and in the Jaina the Jinanatha: all three so like one another that it requires very great familiarity with the photographs to distinguish the temple of one religion from those of the others. It looks as if all had been built by one prince, and by some arrangement that neither sect should surpass or be jealous of the other. Either from this, or from some cause we do not quite understand, we lose here all the peculiarities we usually assign to Jaina temples of this age. The vimana or sikra is more important than the porch. There are no courtyards with circumambient cells; no prominent domes, nor, in fact, anything that distinguishes Jaina from Hindu architecture. If not under the sway of a single prince, they must have been erected in an age of extreme toleration, and when any rivalry that existed must only have been among the architects in trying who could produce the most beautiful and most exquisitely adorned building.

As an illustration of one of the three great temples will be given further on, a view of one of the smaller Jaina temples, that of Parswanatha (Woodcut No. 137), will suffice to illustrate the style of art here employed. Its porch either never was added or has been removed and replaced in modern times by a brick abomination with pointed arches. This, however, hardly interferes with the temple itself. There is nothing probably in Hindu architecture that surpasses the richness of its three-storeyed base combined with the extreme elegance of outline and delicate detail of the upper part.

* * * * *

The two exceptional temples above alluded to are, first, one called the Chaonsat Jogini, or sixty-four female demons. It consists merely of a courtyard, measuring 105 ft. by 60 ft. and surrounded by sixty-four small cells each of which is surmounted by a small spire, as shown in the woodcut (No. 138). This is so essentially a Jaina arrangement (see Temple of Neminatha, for instance--Woodcut No. 126), that I have very little doubt this was originally a temple belonging to that religion. The temple itself it is true has gone, but if it was as old as I believe it is,[276] nothing is more probable than that it was of wood, like the old chaityas of the Buddhists, and has perished. If this view is correct it is probably the oldest Jaina temple yet discovered.

The other exceptional building is one of totally different character, and is as remarkable for its extreme elegance, even at Khajurâho, as the other is for its rudeness. It is called Ganthai, either from the bells sculptured on its pillars, or for some other cause unknown. Unfortunately it is only a fragment--a skeleton without flesh--a few pillars of a double portico now standing alone without the walls that once enclosed them (Woodcut No. 139, next page).

From the form of several letters in an inscription, found among these ruins, General Cunningham is inclined to believe that this temple may belong to the sixth or seventh century of our era; which is, as near as may be, the date I would ascribe to it, from the character of its architectural details. But when at the same time from finding a Buddhist statue and a short Buddhist inscription near them (p. 431), he is inclined to assign them to that religion, I beg leave to differ. Till, however, we know more than we now do of what the differences or similarities between the architecture of the Jains and Buddhists were at the age when the temple was erected, it is impossible to argue the question. Almost all we know of Buddhist art at that time being derived from rock-cut examples, we have no pillars so slender as these, but it by no means follows that they may not have existed. They are not known however, while many Jaina examples are known so nearly like these as to establish a strong presumption that they belong to that religion. The plan too of the building, so far as it can be made out, is utterly unlike anything we know that is Buddhist, but very similar to many that certainly are Jaina.[277]

Be this as it may, these pillars are singularly graceful in their form, and elegant in their details, and belong to a style which, if there were more examples of it, I would feel inclined to distinguish as the “Gupta style.” Except, however, some fragments at Erun and these pillars, we have very little we can ascribe with anything like certainty to their age, 400 to 600. It would be most interesting, however, if something more could be discovered, as it is the age when the great Vicramaditya lived, and when Hindu literature reached its highest point of perfection, and one Hindu temple of that age would consequently throw light on many problems. Some Buddhist caves and these Jaina fragments are all, however, that have yet come to light. There seems, nevertheless, very little doubt that more exist in Rajputana and Central India. At Gyraspore, near Bhilsa, 140 miles south-west from this, there is a group of columns arranged like these, and like them deprived of their walls (Woodcut No. 140). In the Mokundra pass there is a third example.[278] Was it that their walls were of sun-burnt bricks? or merely of small square stones which, being easily removed, were utilised? My impression is, the latter was the case; but be this as it may, these Gyraspore pillars are undoubtedly the remains of a Jaina edifice, but of an age considerably more modern than the Ganthai. They can hardly under any circumstances be ascribed to an age anterior to the great civil war which commenced A.D. 650; but they are almost certainly anterior to the great revival in the 10th century. In the same town of Gyraspore is a very grand old temple apparently of about the same age as these pillars. Its details at least are old, but it has been so ruined and repaired, and almost rebuilt, that it is extremely difficult to say what the form or purpose of the original erection may have been. There is also a toran of great beauty in the village, probably of the 11th century, and in fact throughout this region there are numberless remains partially made known to us by photography, but which if scientifically examined would probably suffice to fill up some of the largest gaps in our history, and especially in that of Jaina architecture.

At Bhanghur for instance, in the Alwar territory, there are some very beautiful Jaina temples. One in that neighbourhood, photographed by Captain Impey, belongs to the 10th or 11th century, and is as beautiful as any of its class, either at Khajurâho or elsewhere, and near it again is a colossal Jaina image, called Nan Gûngi, some 20 ft. in height, which is apparently of the same age as the temples, and consequently superior to any of the colossi at Gualior or in the south of India.[279] The Jains as a sect are hardly now known in Rajputana, and their temples are consequently neglected and falling into decay; though some of them, being of the best age and unrestored, are of extreme interest to the investigator of Indian art.

Among these, few are more pleasing than the little temple at Amwah, near Ajunta (Woodcut No. 141). It is only a fragment. The sanctuary with its spire are gone, only the portico remaining; and its roof externally is so ruined, that its design can with difficulty be made out. Yet it stands so well on its stylobate, and the thirty-two small columns that support the roof externally are so well proportioned and so artistically arranged, as to leave little to be desired.

The great feature of the interior is a dome 21 ft. in diameter, supported on twelve richly carved pillars, with eight smaller ones interspersed. Like all Indian domes, it is horizontal in construction, and consequently also in ornamentation, but as that is done here, it is as elegant or more so than the ribbed domes of western art. This one is plain in the centre, having no pendant--which, however, is one of the most marked and pleasing features of Jaina domes, as may be gathered from the example in the temple of Vimala Sah at Mount Abu (Woodcut No. 131).

As before mentioned, the Buddhists, though always employing circular roofs, and in all ages building topes with domical forms externally, never seem to have attempted an internal dome, in stone at least. The Hindus occasionally essayed a timid imitation of those of the Jains, but in no instance with much success. It is essentially a feature of Jaina architecture, and almost exclusively so among the northern Indians, though, why this particular sect should have adopted it, and why they, and they only, should have persevered in using it through so long a period, are questions we are not yet in a position to answer. It was an essential feature in the architecture of the Moslems before they came into India, and they consequently eagerly seized on the domes of the Jains when they first arrived there, and afterwards from them worked out that domical style which is one of the most marked characteristics of their art in India.

One of the most interesting Jaina monuments of the age is the tower of Sri Allat,[280] which still adorns the brow of Chittore (Woodcut No. 142, next page), and is one probably of a great number of similar monuments that may at one time have existed. From their form, however, they are frail, and trees and human violence so easily overthrow them, that we ought not to wonder that so few remain. This one is a singularly elegant specimen of its class, about 80 ft. in height, and adorned with sculpture and mouldings from the base to the summit.[281] An inscription once existed at its base, which gave its date as A.D. 896, and though the slab was detached this is so nearly the date we would arrive at from the style that there seems little doubt that it was of that age. It was dedicated to Adnath, the first of the Jaina Tirthankars, and his figure is repeated some hundreds of times on the face of the tower, but, so far as I could perceive, not that of any of the other Jaina saints.

The temple in the foreground is of a more modern date, being put together principally of fragments of older buildings which have disappeared.

Most of the buildings above described belong to the first or great age of Jaina architecture, which extended down to about the year 1300, or perhaps a little after that. There seems then to have been a pause, at least in the north of India, but a revival in the 15th century, especially under the reign of Khumbo, one of the most powerful of the kings of the Mewar dynasty whose favourite capital was Chittore. His reign extended from 1418 to 1468, and it is to him that we owe the other of the two towers that still adorn the brow of Chittore. The older one has just been described and illustrated. This one was erected as a pillar of victory to commemorate his victory over Mahmúd of Malwa, in the year 1439. It is therefore in Indian phraseology a Jaya Stambha, or pillar of victory, like that of Trajan at Rome, but in infinitely better taste as an architectural object than the Roman example, though in sculpture it may be inferior. As will be seen from the last woodcut (No. 143), it is nine storeys in height, each of which is distinctly marked on the exterior. A stair in the centre communicates with each, and leads to the two upper storeys, which are open, and more ornamental than those below. It is 30 ft. wide at the base, and more than 120 ft. in height; the whole being covered with architectural ornaments and sculptures to such an extent as to leave no plain parts, while at the same time this mass of decoration is kept so subdued, that it in no way interferes either with the outline or the general effect of the pillar.[282]

The Mahomedans, as we shall afterwards see, adopted the plan of erecting towers of victory to commemorate their exploits, but the most direct imitation was by the Chinese, whose nine-storeyed pagodas are almost literal copies of these Jaina towers, translated into their own peculiar mode of expression.

Other examples of this middle style of Jaina architecture are to be found at Palitana, Girnar, and all the fashionable tirths of the Jainas, but they have not yet been described or illustrated to that extent that enables us always to feel sure that what we see really belongs to this date, and may not be a repair or a modification of some pre-existing building. The Chaumúk--or Four-faced--at Palitana seems certainly to have been erected in its present form in 1618, and is a very grand and beautiful example of the style.[283] The temple too of Ardishur Bagavan, which is the largest single temple on that hill, seems to have assumed its present form in 1530,[284] though parts of it may be older. At least, it is certain that an older temple stood on the spot, though not with the fabulous antiquity ascribed to it by the priests, and credulously repeated by Colonel Tod.[285]

Though deficient in the extreme grace and elegance that characterised the earlier examples, those of the middle style are bold and vigorous specimens of the art, and still show an originality and an adherence to the traditions of the style, and a freedom from any admixtures of foreign elements, which cannot be predicated of the modern style that succeeded it.

IV. MODERN JAINA STYLE

CONTENTS.

Jaina Temple, Delhi--Jaina Caves--Converted Mosques.

The two places in northern India where the most modern styles of Jaina architecture can probably be studied to most advantage are Sonaghur, near Dutteah, in Bundelcund, and Muktagiri, near Gawelghur, in Berar. The former is a granite hill, covered with large loose masses of primitive rock, among which stand from eighty to one hundred temples of various shapes and sizes (Woodcut No. 144, p. 256). So far as can be made out from photographs or drawings,[286] not one of these temples assumed its present form more than one hundred years ago. Their original foundation may be earlier, but of that we know nothing, no traveller having yet enlightened us on the subject, nor explained how and when this hill became a sacred mount.

Like most Hindu buildings of the period, all these temples show very distinctly the immense influence the Mahomedan style of architecture had on that of the native styles at this age. Almost all the temples here are surmounted by the bulbous dome of the Moguls. The native sikra rarely appears, and the openings almost invariably take the form of the Mahomedan foliated pointed arch. The result is picturesque, but not satisfactory when looked closely into, and generally the details want the purity and elegance that characterised the earlier examples.

Muktagiri, instead of being situated on a hill, as the tirths of the Jains usually are, is in a deep romantic valley, and the largest group of temples are situated on a platform at the foot of a waterfall that thunders down from the height of 60 ft. above them. Like those of Sonaghur, they are all of the modern domed style, copied from Moslem art, and none of them, so far as can be ascertained from such illustrations as exist, remarkable for beauty of design. It would, however, be difficult to find another place in India where architecture is so happily combined with the beauties of nature, and produces so pleasing an impression on the lover of the picturesque, though nearer acquaintance may result in disappointment to the antiquarian student of the style.

In remote parts of the empire, and especially in the immediate vicinity of the older shrines, this Mahomedan influence was much less felt than in the places just mentioned. The modern temples, for instance, at Palitana have domes, it is true, but they are much more directly the lineal descendants of the old Jaina domes than copies of those of the Moguls, and the foliated pointed arch rarely, if ever, occurs in the walls of that old city. It requires, indeed, a practised eye to discriminate between what is old and what is new, and without the too manifest inferiority of modern sculpture this would not always be easy even to the most accomplished antiquary.

One example must for the present suffice to show the effect aimed at by this style in recent times, as well as to illustrate how little it has degenerated from its ancient excellence. For, though this woodcut (No. 145) does not prove it, there are photographs in this country which do exhibit the marvellous details of this temple in a manner not to be mistaken. It was erected about thirty years ago by Huttising, a rich Jaina merchant, and dedicated to Dharmanath, the 15th Tirthankar. In this instance the external porch between two circular towers is of great magnificence and most elaborately ornamented, and leads to an outer court with sixteen cells on either side. In the centre of this is a domed porch of the usual form, with twenty pillars (see Woodcut No. 117). This leads to an inner porch of twenty-two pillars, two storeys in height, and with a roof of a form very fashionable in modern Jaina temples, though by no means remarkable for beauty, and difficult to render intelligible without more illustration than it merits. This leads to a triple sanctuary, marked by three sikras, or spires, externally. Behind this is a smaller court with two groups of eight cells, one in each angle, with a larger cell in the centre, and two, still more important, at the point of junction between it and the first court. To the eye of a European, unaccustomed to its forms, some of them may seem strange; but its arrangement, at least, will probably be admitted to be very perfect. Each part goes on increasing in dignity as we approach the sanctuary. The exterior expresses the interior more completely than even a Gothic design; and whether looked at from its courts or from the outside, it possesses variety without confusion, and an appropriateness of every part to the purpose for which it was intended.

JAINA TEMPLE, DELHI.

There is one other example that certainly deserves notice before leaving this branch of the subject, not only on account of its beauty, but its singularity. In the preceding pages it has frequently been necessary to remark upon that curious wooden strut by which the Jains sought to relieve the apparent weakness of the longer beams under their domes. It occurs at Abu (Woodcut No. 129), at Girnar, at Oudeypore, and many other places we shall have to remark upon in the sequel; everywhere, in fact, where an octagonal dome was used. It was also employed by the Hindus in their torans, and so favourite an ornament did it become that Akbar used it frequently both at Agra and Futtehpore Sikri. For centuries it continued without much alteration, but at last, in such an example as the great Bowli at Bundi,[287] we find it degenerating into a mere ornament. It was left, however, for a Jaina architect of the end of the last or beginning of this century, in the Mahomedan city of Delhi, to suggest a mode by which what was only conventionally beautiful might really become an appropriate constructive part of lithic architecture.

As will be observed in the last cut (No. 146), the architect has had the happy idea of filling in the whole of the back of the strut with pierced foliaged tracery of the most exquisite device--thus turning what, though elegant, was one of the feeblest parts of Jaina design into a thoroughly constructive stone bracket; one of the most pleasing to be found in Indian architecture, and doing this while preserving all its traditional associations. The pillars, too, that support these brackets are of great elegance and constructive propriety, and the whole makes up as elegant a piece of architectural design as any certainly of its age. The weak part of the composition is the dome. It is elegant, but too conventional. It no longer has any constructive propriety, but has become a mere ornament. It is not difficult, however, to see why natives should admire and adopt it. When the eyes of a nation have been educated by a gradual succession of changes in any architectural object, persevered in through five or six centuries, the taste becomes so accustomed to believe the last fashion to be the best, the change has been so gradual, that people forget how far they are straying from the true path. The European, who has not been so educated, sees only the result, without having followed the steps by which it has been so reached, and is shocked to find how far it has deviated from the form of a true dome of construction, and, finding it also unfamiliar, condemns it. So, indeed, it is with nine-tenths of the ornaments of Hindu architecture. Few among us are aware how much education has had to do with their admiration of classical or mediæval art, and few, consequently, perceive how much their condemnation of Indian forms arises from this very want of gradual and appropriate education.

JAINA CAVES.

The Jains never were great cave-diggers; the nature of their religion did not require great assembly halls like the chaityas of the Buddhists, nor was it necessary that their priests should live apart in monasteries like those of their predecessors, and their ceremonial affected light and air rather than gloom or mystery. Like the Brahmans, however, during the stage of transition they could hardly refuse entirely to follow a fashion set by the Buddhists, to which all India had been accustomed for nearly 1000 years, and which was in reality a singularly impressive form of temple-building. We find them, consequently, excavating caves at Khandagiri, near Cuttack, in succession to the older ones in the Udayagiri. At Ellora they followed immediately after the Buddhists; and elsewhere there are caves which may be claimed by either religion, so like are they to each other in their transitional state.

Great light has recently been thrown on the history of these excavations by the discovery of a Jaina cave at Badami, in Dharwar, with a well-ascertained date.[288] There is no inscription on the cave itself, but there are three other Brahmanical caves in the same place, one of which has an inscription with an undoubted date, 500 Saka or A.D. 579; and all four caves are so like one another in style that they must have been excavated within the same century. The Jaina cave is probably the most modern; but if we take the year A.D. 650 as a medium date, we may probably consider it as certain within an error of twenty years either way.

The cave itself is very small, only 31 ft. across and about 19 ft. deep, and it is a little uncertain whether the groups of figures at either end of the verandah are integral, or whether they may not have been added at some subsequent period. The inner groups, however, are of the age of the cave, and the architecture is unaltered, and thus becomes a fixed standing-point for comparison with other examples; and when we come to compare it with the groups known as the Indra Subha and Jaganât Subha at Ellora, we cannot hesitate to ascribe them to about the same age. Hitherto, the Jaina group at Ellora has been considered as the most modern there: an impression arising partly from the character of the sculptures themselves, which are neither purely Jaina nor purely Hindu--more, however, from the extreme difficulty of comparing rock-cut examples with structural ones. Our knowledge of the architecture of temples is, in nine cases out of ten, derived from their external forms, to which the interiors are quite subordinate. Cave-temples, however, have practically no exteriors, and at the utmost façades modified to admit more light than is usual in structural edifices, and then strengthened and modified so as to suit rock-cut architecture. As no ancient Jaina temple hitherto known had a dated inscription upon it, nor a tolerably authenticated history, it is no wonder that guesses might be wide of the truth. Now, however, that we know positively the age of one example, all this can be rectified, and there seems no doubt that all the Indra Subha group were finished before the cataclysm--say before A.D. 750.

When with this new light we come to examine with care the architecture of these façades, we find the Ellora group exhibits an extraordinary affinity with the southern style. The little detached shrine in the courtyard of the Indra Subha, and the gateway shown in the above woodcut (No. 147), are as essentially Dravidian in style as the Kylas itself, and, like many of the details of these caves, so nearly identical that they cannot possibly be distant in date. May we, therefore, assume from this that the Chalukyan kingdom of Kalian, in the 7th century of our era, extended from Ellora on the north to Badami on the south, and that all these rock-cut examples, with the temple at Aiwulli (Woodcut No. 120), were excavated or erected under their auspices?

To this we shall have occasion to revert presently, when describing the Dravidian style; but meanwhile it may be assumed that this theory represents the facts of the case more nearly than any hitherto brought forward. The Chalukyas of Kalian were situated on the border-line, halfway between the north and the south, and they, or their subjects, seemed to have practised the styles of architecture belonging to those two divisions indiscriminately--it might almost be said alternately--and we consequently find them mixed up here and at Dhumnar in a manner that is most puzzling.

The last king of this race, Vicramaditya II., ascended the throne A.D. 733,[289] and died probably in or about the year A.D. 750. It was probably, therefore, before that date that these Dravidian temple-forms were introduced by the Jains at Ellora. The Kylas and other great Saiva temples were, I believe, excavated by the Cheras or Cholas, who were the Dravidian races, and, if I mistake not, superseded the Chalukyas on the death of Vicramaditya, their last king, and carried their power, as will presently be explained, up to the Nerbudda. The Jains, however, seem to have been earlier in the field, and this little shrine in the court of the Indra Subha looks very much as if it may have been the model that suggested the Kylas, the greatest of all Indian rock-cut examples of its class.

CONVERTED MOSQUES.

Another form in which we can study the architecture of the Jains in the north of India is the courtyards of the early mosques which the Mahomedans erected on their first entry into India. So essentially do some of these retain their former features that it might be convenient to describe them here. It is doubtful, however, in some instances whether the pillars are--some or all of them--in their original position, or to what extent they have been altered or eked out by the conquerors. Be this as it may, for our present purposes the one fact that is certain is, that none of them are now Jaina temples. All are Mahomedan mosques, and it will, therefore, be more logical, as well as more convenient, to group them with the latter rather than with the former class of buildings.

Were it not for this, the Arhaí-dín-ka Jomphra, at Ajmir--so called--might be, and has been, described as a Jaina temple.[290] So might a great part of the mosque at the Kutub, Delhi. That at Canouge, however, was originally a rearrangement, and has been much altered since I knew it; that at Dhar, near Mandu, is of comparatively recent date; while the Jaina pillars, so frequently used at Ahmedabad in the 15th century, are all imported, and used in positions for which they never were intended.

The astylar temples of the Hindus were useless to the Moslems except as quarries--a purpose to which they were frequently applied; but the light columnar style of the Jains not only supplied materials more easily adapted to their purposes, but furnished hints of which the Moslem architects were not slow to avail themselves. The architecture of Ahmedabad, for instance (A.D. 1396 to 1572), is derived far more directly from the Jaina than from any style familiar to their co-religionists in any other part of the world. The same may be said of that of Juanpore, though in the last-named city there is hardly a stone that can be said to be derived direct from any previously existing building.

The process by which this conversion of a Jaina temple to a Moslem mosque was effected will be easily understood by referring to the plan of that of Vimala Sah, on Mount Abu (Woodcut No. 129, p. 235). By removing the principal cell and its porch from the centre of the court, and building up the entrances of the cells that surround it, a courtyard was at once obtained, surrounded by a double colonnade, which always was the typical form of a mosque. Still one essential feature was wanting--a more important side towards Mecca; this they easily obtained by removing the smaller pillars from that side, and re-erecting in their place the larger pillars of the porch, with their dome in the centre; and, if there were two smaller domes, by placing one of them at each end. Thus, without a single new column or carved stone being required, they obtained a mosque which, for convenience and beauty, was unsurpassed by anything they afterwards erected from their own original designs.

V. JAINA STYLE IN SOUTHERN INDIA

CONTENTS.

Bettus--Bastis.

A good deal has been done lately in the way of photographing the monuments of the Jains in southern India, but nothing, so far as I am aware, has recently been written that gives any statistical account of their present position in the country, nor any information when their establishments were first formed in Mysore and Canara.[291] What is even more to be regretted for our present purposes is, that no plans have been made of their buildings and no architectural details drawn, so that altogether our knowledge of the subject is somewhat superficial; but it is interesting from its extent, and curious from the unexpected relationship it reveals with other styles and countries.

Mr. Burgess’s report has proved that Jains did exist at Aiwulli and Badami (supra, p. 261) as early as the end of the 6th, or certainly in the 7th century; but after that there is a pause or break of four or five centuries, when the style reappears in strength at Belgaon and in that neighbourhood in the 11th and 12th centuries. In the same manner southern Jains seem to have pressed northward as far as Ellora in the 7th or 8th century, taking their Dravidian style with them (supra, p. 261); but there again we stop, in so far as any direct evidence has been found, till the great outburst of Jaina magnificence at the end of the 10th century, which then seems to have continued in the north till disturbed by the Mahomedan invasion. It is by no means clear whether the destruction of their temples, as at Ajmir and Delhi, and the persecution of their faith generally, may not have been the cause that induced the Jains to migrate southward. It certainly was about that time when its greatest development in the south took place. Of course it existed there before, and some of the early kings of Hoisala Bellalas were Jains nominally at least. All their buildings, however, so far as we know them, either at Somnathpur, Bellûr, or Hullabîd, belong to the Vaishnava or Saiva faiths.

Another circumstance which is perplexing, or at least unusual, is, that the Jainism of the south does not seem to be founded on any pre-existing Buddhism. No important Buddhist remains have yet been discovered south of Poona, with the single exception of the Amravati tope and a few caves in its immediate neighbourhood. More may probably exist, or have existed; but the rapid manner in which Hiouen Thsang passes through these countries, and the slight mention he makes of Buddhist establishments,[292] render it doubtful if any important communities belonging to that faith existed in Dravida-desa.[293] In the capital, indeed, Konkanapura, which seems to have been situated somewhere in Northern Mysore, there may have been some extensive Buddhist establishments; but as they have left no memorials on the spot, and no monuments, we may be allowed to suspect they were not so important as he describes them to be in the 7th century.

If, however, there was no Buddhism in the south on which Jainism could be based, there are everywhere traces of the prevalence of Serpent worship in those districts where the religion of Jaina now prevails. Sculptured serpents, with many heads and in all their conventional forms, are found everywhere about and in the temples; and Subramuni, below the Ghâts, is still one of the principal seats of Serpent worship in southern India. It is not, unfortunately, easy to say how far Tree worship was mixed up with the latter faith. Trees perish more easily and quickly than sculptured stones, and when the worship ceases its traces disappear more readily. There are some indications that it did prevail here also, but, till purposely inquired after, it is impossible to say to what extent or how far the indications can be relied upon. Enough, however, is known, even now, to justify the assertion that Tree and Serpent worship did exist antecedently in those districts in which Jainism prevailed in the south, but did not appear in the more purely Dravidian countries where the people are now devoted to the worship of Siva and the Hindu Pantheon.

The truth of the matter appears to be, that until the numerous Jaina inscriptions which exist everywhere in the south are collected and translated, and until plans are made of their buildings, and statistics collected about them, it is idle to speculate either about the time of the introduction of Jainism into the south, or its vicissitudes during its existence there. It is a task which, it is to be feared, few in that Presidency are capable of undertaking, and that fewer still are willing to devote the time and labour requisite for its successful accomplishment; but it is worthy of being attempted, for, if successfully carried out, it would add to our scant stores of knowledge one of the most interesting chapters still available for the religious and artistic history of the people of India.

BETTUS.

The first peculiarity that strikes one as distinguishing the Jaina architecture of the south from that of the north, is the division of the southern temples into two classes, called Bastis and Bettus.[294] The former are temples in the usual acceptance of the word, as understood in the north, and, as there, always containing an image of one of the twenty-four Tirthankars, which is the object there worshipped. The latter are unknown in the north; and are courtyards open to the sky and containing images, not of a Tirthankar, but of a Gômati or Gômata Raja so called, though who he was, and why worshipped, no one seems exactly to know. He is not known to the Jains in the north. All the images on the rock at Gualior are of one or other of the Tirthankars, and even the Ulwar colossus, Nan Gûngi, can hardly be identified with these southern images. It looks almost as if some vague tradition of Gautama Buddha the prince, as distinguished from Mahavira the last of the Tirthankars, and who is said to have been his preceptor, had in late times penetrated to the south, and given rise to this peculiar form. Be this, however, as it may, the images of this king or Jaina saint are among the most remarkable works of native art in the south of India. Three of them are known, and have long been known to Europeans,[295] and it is doubtful if any more exist. They are too remarkable objects not to attract the attention of even the most indifferent Saxon. That at Sravana Belgula attracted the attention of the late Duke of Wellington when, as Sir A. Wellesley, he commanded a division at the siege of Seringapatam. He, like all those who followed him, was astonished at the amount of labour such a work must have entailed, and puzzled to know whether it was a part of the hill or had been moved to the spot where it now stands. The former is the more probable theory. The hill called Indra Giri is one mass of granite about 400 ft. in height, and probably had a mass or Tor standing on its summit--either a part of the subjacent mass or lying on it. This the Jains undertook to fashion into a statue 70 ft. 3 in. in height, and have achieved it with marvellous success. The task of carving a rock standing in its place the Hindu mind never would have shrunk from, had it even been twice the size; but to move such a mass up the steep smooth side of the hill seems a labour beyond their power, even with all their skill in concentrating masses of men on a single point. Whether, however, the rock was found in situ or was moved, nothing grander or more imposing exists anywhere out of Egypt, and even there no known statue surpasses it in height, though, it must be confessed, they do excel it in the perfection of art they exhibit.

The image at Kârkala, which is next--its size being 41 ft. 5 in. in height, and weighs about 80 tons[296]--was moved certainly to the place where it now stands, and its date luckily is engraved upon it, A.D. 1432, and it is so like that at Belgula, that there can hardly be much difference between their ages.

The third at Yannûr is smaller, about 35 ft. high apparently,[297] but from the style of art in which it is executed it is probably the oldest of the three (Woodcut No. 148).

All these three figures belong to the Digambara sect of Jains, being entirely naked; and all possess the peculiarity of having twigs of the Bo-tree of Sakya Muni--the Ficus religiosa--twisted round their arms and legs in a manner found nowhere else, and in having serpents at their feet. In the Jaina cave at Badami a similar figure has two serpents wound round its arms and legs precisely as these twigs are here, and the Bo-tree is relegated to the background.[298] This figure, though probably not so old as the cave in which it is found--say A.D. 600--is certainly much older than the three great monoliths, and with other indications renders it probable that the greater prominence of the serpent or the tree is no unfair indication of the relative age of any two statues. In that at Yannûr, the serpents are three-headed and very prominent beside the statue, on steles alongside the legs. At Kârkala they are less so,[299] and at Belgula they are relegated to the base, while the tree with its leaves is there thickly spread over the whole figure.

BASTIS.

The principal group of the Bastis of the Jains, at present known at least, above the Ghâts, is that at Sravana Belgula. There are there two hills--the Indragiri, on whose summit the colossal image just described stands, and dominates the plain. On a shoulder of the other, called Chandragiri, stand the Bastis, fifteen in number. As might be expected from their situation, they are all of the Dravidian style of architecture, and are consequently built in gradually receding stories, each of which is ornamented with small simulated cells, as was explained above, p. 134, and will be more fully described presently. No instance occurs among them of the curvilinear sikra or spire, which is universal with the northern Jains, except in the instance of Ellora above alluded to.

Unfortunately, no one has yet thought it worth while to make a plan of any of these temples, nor even to describe them in detail, so that it is difficult to feel sure of anything regarding them. The following woodcut (No. 149) conveys, however, an idea of the general external appearance, which is more ornamental than that of the generality of northern Jaina temples. The outer wall of those in the north is almost always quite plain. The southern ones are as generally ornamented with pilasters and crowned with a row of ornamental cells. Inside is a court probably square and surrounded by cloisters, at the back of which rises the vimana over the cell, which contains the principal image of the Tirthankar. It always is surmounted by a small dome, as is universally the case with every vimana in Dravidian architecture, instead of with the mysterious amalaka ornament of northern sikras.

It may be a vain speculation, but it seems impossible to look at this woodcut, and not be struck with its resemblance to the temples of southern Babylonia (Woodcuts Nos. 47 and 48 of vol. i.). The same division into stories, with their cells; the backward position of the temple itself; the panelled or pilastered basement, are all points of resemblance it seems difficult to regard as purely accidental. The distance of time would seem to bar such an idea, but the combinations of men with bulls and lions, and the many similarities between the Pantheons of Babylonia and India, render the fact of the architecture of the one country influencing that of the other, far from being impossible, though by some it may be considered improbable. I have long tried to shake off the idea as an untenable hypothesis, but every time I return to the study of the subject, its likelihood recurs with increasing strength. Its verification, however, or refutation must depend on our possessing greater knowledge of the subject than we do at present.

* * * * *

When we descend the Ghâts into Canara, or the Tulava country, we come on a totally different state of matters. Jainism is the religion of the country, and all or nearly all the temples belong to this sect, but their architecture is neither the Dravidian style of the south, nor that of northern India, and indeed is not known to exist anywhere else in India Proper, but recurs with all its peculiarities in Nepal.

The annexed two views (Woodcuts Nos. 150-51) of one of the largest of these temples, found at a place called Moodbidri,[300] in Canara, will give a fair idea of the general aspect of these temples externally. They are much plainer than Hindu temples usually are. The pillars look like logs of wood with the angles partially chamfered off, so as to make them octagons, and the sloping roofs of the verandahs are so evidently wooden that the style itself cannot be far removed from a wooden original. In many places, indeed, below the Ghâts the temples are still wholly constructed in wood without any admixture of stone, and almost all the features of the Moodbidri temples may be found in wood at the present day. The blinds between the pillars, which are there executed in stone, are found in wood in every city in India, and with very little variation are used by Europeans in Calcutta to a greater extent, perhaps, than they were ever used by the natives.

The feature, however, which presents the greatest resemblance to the northern styles, is the reverse slope of the eaves above the verandah. I am not aware of its existence anywhere else south of Nepal, and it is so peculiar that it is much more likely to have been copied than re-invented.

The interiors of the Canarese temples are in marked contrast with the plainness of the exteriors. Nothing can exceed the richness or the variety with which they are carved. No two pillars seem alike, and many are ornamented to an extent that may seem almost fantastic. This again seems an indication of their recent descent from a wooden original. Long habit of using stone would have sobered their forms, and they are now of great thickness--it may even be said massiveness--and this is just such an excess of strength as a people accustomed to wooden architecture would employ when first called upon to replace in stone supports which in wood would have appeared necessary to carry a heavy stone roof (Woodcut No. 152, p. 273).

Their plans, as far as can be made out from photographs, are those usual in Jaina temples--spacious, well-lighted porches, leading to a dark cell in which the image of one of the Tirthankars is placed, naked of course, as all the southern Jains seem to have belonged to the Digambara sect.

Their age has not yet been determined with certainty, as no inscriptions from them have yet been published or translated, but, in so far as information can be gathered from the various sources available, three or four hundred years seems to be about the limit of their age. Some may go back as far as 1300, but it looks as if the kingdom of the Zamorin was at the height of its prosperity about the time it was first visited by the Portuguese, and that the finest temples may belong to that age.

Besides the greater temples, there are several varieties of smaller ones which seem peculiar to the style--such, for instance, as the five-pillared shrine at Gurusankerry (Woodcut No. 153). Four-pillared pavilions are not uncommon in front of Hindu temples in the south. There is a very famous one, for instance, on the opposite shore of India at Mahavellipore, but not one, that I know of, with five pillars, or with access to the upper chambers. There are three of these upper chambers in this instance--the two lower now closed, but apparently originally open; but to what use they were devoted, or what purpose they were intended to subserve, is by no means clear. At the base of the temple are a number of stones bearing images of serpents; seven or eight are now there, and the serpents themselves are some with one, others three, five, or seven heads. It may be that this is a serpent temple, and that the living form of this strange divinity, when alive, inhabited the upper storey. But it may also be, that the stones were brought there in modern times, so that till some one on the spot will take the trouble to ascertain the facts of the case, it is not safe to speculate regarding them.

A third feature, even more characteristic of the style, is found in the tombs of the priests, a large number of which are found in the neighbourhood of Moodbidri. Three of these are illustrated in the annexed Woodcut (No. 154). They vary much in size and magnificence, some being from three to five or seven storeys in height, but they are not, like the storeys of Dravidian temples, ornamented with simulated cells and finishing with domical roofs. The division of each storey is a sloping roof, like those of the pagodas at Katmandhu, and in China or Thibet. In India they are quite anomalous. In the first place, no tombs of priests are known to exist anywhere else, and their forms, too, are quite unlike any other building now known to be standing in any other part of India.

Though not the grandest, certainly the most elegant and graceful objects to be found in Canara belonging to the Jaina style of architecture are the stambhas, which are found attached to almost every temple. These are not, however, peculiar to the place or style. They are used sometimes by the Hindus, but then generally as deepdans, or lamp-bearing pillars, and in that case have some arrangement for exhibiting light from their summit. With the Jains this does not appear ever to have been the case. Their pillars are the lineal descendants of those of the Buddhists, which bore either emblems or statues--generally the former--or figures of animals; with the Jains or Vaishnavas they as generally bore statues. Be this as it may, they seem nowhere to have been so frequent or so elaborately adorned as among the Jains in the south, and especially in Canara. The example here given of one at Gurusankerry is a fair average specimen of its class (Woodcut No. 155). The sub-base is square and spreading; the base itself square, changing into an octagon, and thence into a polygonal figure approaching a circle; and above a wide-spreading capital of most elaborate design. To many this may at first sight appear top-heavy, but it is not so in reality. If you erect a pillar at all, it ought to have something to carry. Those we erect are copied from pillars meant to support architraves, and are absurd solecisms when merely supporting statues; we have, however, got accustomed to them, and our eye is offended if anything better proportioned to the work to be done is proposed; but, looking at the breadth of the base and the strength of the shaft, anything less than here exhibited would be found disproportionately small.

On the lower or square part of these stambhas, as well as on the pillars inside the temples at Moodbidri (Woodcut No. 152) and elsewhere in Canara, we find that curious interlaced basket-pattern, which is so familiar to us from Irish manuscripts or the ornaments on Irish crosses. As pointed out in a former volume (ii. p. 475), it is equally common in Armenia, and can be traced up the valley of the Danube into central Europe; but how it got to the west coast of India we do not know, nor have we, so far as I know, any indication on which we can rely for its introduction. There was at all times for the last fifteen centuries a large body of Christians established on this coast who were in connection with Persia and Syria, and are so now. It would be strange, indeed, if it were from them the Jains obtained this device. But stranger things have happened than even this in the history of architecture, and few things can be more interesting when the means exist of tracing any connection that may be detected between them.

If any one wished to select one feature of Indian architecture which would illustrate its rise and progress, as well as its perfection and weakness, there are probably no objects more suited for this purpose than these stambhas, or free-standing pillars. They are found of all ages, from the simple and monolithic lâts which Asoka set up to bear inscriptions or emblems, some 250 years B.C. down to the seventeenth or perhaps even eighteenth century of our era. During these 2000 years they were erected first by the Buddhists, then by the Jains, and occasionally by the other sects in all parts of India; and notwithstanding their inherent frailty, some fifty--it may be a hundred--are known to be still standing. After the first and most simple, erected by Asoka, it may be safely asserted that no two are alike though all bear strongly the impress of the age in which they were erected, and all are thoroughly original and Indian in design.

It may be owing to the styloclastic propensities of the Moslems that these pillars are not found so frequently where they have held sway, as in the remoter parts of India; but, whether from this cause or not, they seem to be more frequent in Canara and among the southern Jains than in any other part of India. In the north we depend mainly on the rock-cut examples for their forms, but they are so usual there that it seems hardly doubtful they were relatively as frequent in connection with structural examples, though these have generally disappeared.

It has been suggested that there may be some connection between these stambhas and the obelisks of the Egyptians. The time that elapsed, however, between the erection of the monoliths in the valley of the Nile and those in India seems to render this doubtful, though they were certainly erected for similar purposes and occupied the same position relatively to the temples. When, however, we look at the vast difference between their designs, it is evident, even assuming a connection, that vast ages must have elapsed before the plain straight-lined forms of the obelisks could have been changed into the complicated and airy forms of the Jaina stambhas. The two are the Alpha and Omega of architectural design--the older, simple and severe, beyond any other examples of purely ornamental objects; the latter, more varied and more highly ornamented than almost any others of their class that can be named.

We are hardly yet in a position to push these speculations to their legitimate issue, and must wait for further information before any satisfactory conclusion can be derived from them; but meanwhile it may be pointed out how curiously characteristic of Indian art it is that this little remote province of Tulava, or Canara, should have a style of its own, differing essentially from that found in any other part of the Indian continent, but still having affinities with outlying and distant countries, with which one would hardly suspect any connection but for the indications derived from their architecture.

I cannot offer even a plausible conjecture how or at what time a connection existed between Nepal and Thibet and Canara; but I cannot doubt that such was the case, and that some one with better opportunities will hereafter explain what now seems so mysterious. It is less difficult to conjecture how early and frequent intercourse may have existed between the Persian Gulf and the western shores of India, and how the relations between these two countries may have been so intimate as to account for the amount of Assyrian, or, as we now call them Armenian, forms we now find in the Jaina architecture of southern India, especially in that below the Ghâts. It will require, however, that the Indian branch of the subject should be much more fully and more scientifically investigated than has hitherto been the case before it is worth while to do more than indicate how rich a field lies open to reward the industry of any future explorer.

I. KASHMIR

CONTENTS.

Temples--Marttand--Avantipore--Bhaniyar.

Although neither so beautiful in itself, nor so interesting either from an artistic or historical point of view as many others, the architecture of the valley of Kashmir has attracted more attention in modern times than that of any other styles in India, and a greater number of special treatises have been written regarding it than are devoted to all the other styles put together. This arises partly from the beauty of the valley in which the Kashmiri temples are situated. The beauty of its scenery has at all times attracted tourists to its verdant snow-encircled plains, and the perfection of its climate has induced them to linger there, and devote their leisure to the investigation of its treasures, natural and artistic. In this respect their fate is widely different from that of temples situated on the hot and dusty plains of India, where every official is too busy to devote himself to such a task, and travellers too hurried to linger for a leisurely and loving survey of their beauties.

Apart, however, from this adventitious advantage, the temples of Kashmir do form a group well worthy of attention. When one or two spurious examples are got rid of, they form a complete and homogeneous group, extending through about six centuries (A.D. 600 to A.D. 1200), singularly uniform in their development and very local, being unlike any other style known in India. They have besides this a certain classical element, which can hardly be mistaken, and is sufficient in itself to attract the attention of Europeans who are interested in detecting their own familiar forms in this remote valley in the Himalayas.

The earliest of the modern investigators of the subject were Messrs. Moorcroft and Trebeck, who visited the valley in 1819-25.[301] They were both acute and intelligent observers, but, having no special knowledge of the subject, their observations on the architecture of the valley do not add much to our knowledge of its history.

They were followed by G. T. Vigne in 1833, who being an artist drew the buildings with wonderful correctness, so as to bring out the peculiarities of the style, and also to approximate their history with very tolerable exactness.[302] About the same time Baron Hügel gave his impression on the subject to the public, but in a manner much less critical than his predecessors.[303]

In 1848, Captain (now General) A. Cunningham published in the September number of the ‘Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society’ an essay on what he called the Aryan order of architecture, but which was wholly devoted to that of Kashmir. It was illustrated by fifteen folding plates, containing plans, elevations, and views, and in fact all that was required for settling the history of the style, and, but for one or two unfortunate mistakes, would have left little to be done by his successors in this field of inquiry.

In 1866, the Rev. W. C. Cowie, Chaplain on duty in Kashmir, published in the same journal an essay on the same subject, as a supplement to General Cunningham’s paper, describing several temples he had not visited, and adding considerably to our knowledge of those he had described. This paper was also extensively illustrated.

In consequence of all this wealth of literature, very little remained to be done, when in 1868 Lieutenant Cole, R.E., obtained an appointment as superintendent of the Archæological Survey of India, and proceeded to Kashmir with a staff quite sufficient to settle all the remaining outstanding questions.[304] Unfortunately, however, Lieutenant Cole had no previous knowledge of Indian antiquities in general, and had not qualified himself by any special study for the investigation he was deputed to undertake. All, therefore, he could do was to adopt blindly General Cunningham’s dates, and in this there would have been no great harm, but, when he came across a temple which had escaped his predecessor’s attention, he arbitrarily interpolated it, with a date of his own, into the General’s series. As all these dates are given as if perfectly ascertained without any of the reasoning on which they are based, they would, if accepted, lead to the most erroneous conclusions. Putting these, however, aside, Lieutenant Cole’s plans and architectural details are a valuable contribution to our knowledge of the subject, and with his photographs and those now available by others, enable those who have not had an opportunity of visiting the valley to form an opinion of their own, and with all these lights there seems little difficulty in ascertaining all the really important facts connected with this style.

* * * * *

The first and most misleading mistake that has been made with reference to Kashmiri architecture, was the assumption by General Cunningham that the enclosure to Zein-ul-ab-ud-dín’s tomb in Srinagar originally belonged to an ancient Kashmiri temple. Lieutenant Cole boldly prints on his plates, “probable date A.D. 400 to 500,” a mistake as nearly as may be of 1000 years, as it is hardly doubtful that it was erected for or by the prince whose name it bears, and who in A.D. 1410 succeeded his father Sikandar, who bore the ill-omened nickname of Butshikan, the idol-breaker. As will be seen from the woodcut (No. 156), it consists of a series of small pointed arches in rectangular frames, such as are very frequently found in Mahomedan art, and the peculiarities of the gateways and other parts are just such as are found in all contemporary Moslem art in India. All the mosques and tombs for instance at Ahmedabad, A.D. 1396-1572, are made up of details borrowed from the architecture of the Jains, and the bases of their minarets and their internal pillars can only be distinguished from those of the heathen by their position, and by the substitution of foliage for human figures in the niches or places where the Hindus would have introduced images of their gods.

In this instance there is no incongruity, no borrowed features; every stone was carved for the place where it is found. There are niches it is true on each side of the gateway, like those found at Marttand and other Pagan temples; but like those at Ahmedabad they are without images, and the arch in brick which surmounts this gateway is a radiating arch, which appears certainly to be integral, but, if so, could not possibly be erected by a Hindu.[305] When General Cunningham visited the valley in 1848, he was not so familiar as he has since become with the ruins of Gour, Juanpore, Ahmedabad, and other Moslem cities where the architectural forms adopted by the Moslems are with difficulty distinguished from those of the Hindus. With the knowledge we now possess it is not likely that any one can mistake the fact, that this enclosure was erected by the prince whose name it bears to surround his tomb, in the Mahomedan cemetery of the city in which it is found.

Assuming this for the present, it gives us a hint as to the age of the other anomalous building in Kashmir--the temple that crowns the hill, called the Takt-i-Suleiman, near the capital. Inside the octagonal enclosure that surrounds the platform on which the temple stands is a range of arches (Woodcut No. 157), similar to those of the tomb of Zein-ul-ab-ud-dín (Woodcut No. 156), not so distinctly pointed, nor so Saracenic in detail, but still very nearly resembling them, only a little more debased in style. At the bottom of the steps is a round-headed doorway, not it is true surmounted by a true arch, but by a curved lintel of one stone, such as are universal in the Hindu imitations of Mahomedan architecture in the 17th and 18th centuries. The same is the case in the small temples alongside, which are evidently of the same age.[306] The temple too, itself, is far from having an ancient look. The one most like it, that I am acquainted with, is that erected by Cheyt Sing at Rannuggur, near Benares, at the end of the last century. I know of no straight-lined pyramid of a much older date than that, and no temple with a polygonal plan, combined with a circular cell, as is the case here, that is of ancient date. The four pillars in the cell, with the Persian inscriptions upon them, are avowedly of the 17th century. It is suggested, however, that they belong to a repair; my conviction, however, is, from a review of the whole evidence, that the temple, as it now stands, was commenced by some nameless Hindus, in honour of Siva, during the tolerant reign of Jehangir, and that the building was stopped at the date engraved on the staircase, A.H. 1069 (A.D. 1659), the first year of the reign of the bigot Aurungzebe. It was then unfinished, and has consequently remained a ruin ever since, which may give it an ancient look, but not such as to justify any one putting it 1879 years before what seems to be its true date, as is done by General Cunningham and his follower Lieutenant Cole.

If we may thus get rid of these two anomalous and exceptional examples, the history of all the remaining temples in the valley is more than usually homogeneous and easily intelligible. The date of the principal example--the temple at Marttand--is hardly doubtful (A.D. 750); and of the others, some may be slightly older, but none can be carried further back than the reign of Ranaditya, A.D. 578 to 594. Nor can any one be brought down below, say 1200, which is probably the date of that of Payech. Between these dates, with a very little local knowledge, the whole might easily be arranged. Such a classification is, however, by no means necessary at present. The style during these six centuries is so uniform that it may be taken as one, for the purposes of a general history.

TEMPLES.

Before proceeding to speak of the temples themselves, it may add to the clearness of what follows if we first explain what the peculiarities of the styles are. This we are able to do from a small model in stone of a Kashmiri temple (Woodcut No. 158), which was drawn by General Cunningham; such miniature temples being common throughout India, and in all instances exact copies of their larger prototypes.

The temple in this instance is surmounted by four roofs (in the built examples, so far as they are known, there are only two or three), which are obviously copied from the usual wooden roofs common to most buildings in Kashmir, where the upper pyramid covers the central part of the building, and the lower a verandah, separated from the centre either by walls or merely by a range of pillars.[307] In the wooden examples the interval between the two roofs seems to have been left open for light and air; in the stone buildings it is closed with ornaments. Besides this, however, all these roofs are relieved by dormer windows, of a pattern very similar to those found in mediæval buildings in Europe; and the same steep, sloping lines are used also to cover doorways and porches, these being virtually a section of the main roof itself, and evidently a copy of the same wooden construction.

The pillars which support the porticoes and the one on which the model stands are by far the most striking peculiarity of this style, their shafts being almost identical with those of the Grecian Doric, and unlike anything of the class found in other parts of India. Generally they are from three to four diameters in height, diminishing slightly towards the capital, and adorned with sixteen flutes, rather shallower than those of the Grecian order. Both the bases and capitals are, it is true, far more complicated than would have been tolerated in Greece, but at Pæstum and in Rome we find with the Doric order a complexity of mouldings by no means unlike that found here. These peculiarities are still more evident in the annexed representation of a pillar found in Srinagar (Woodcut No. 159), which is a far more highly ornamented example than the last, but equally classical in its details, and, if anything, more unlike any known examples of true Hindu architecture. Nowhere in Kashmir do we find any trace of the bracket capital of the Hindus, nor of the changes from square to octagon, or to the polygon of sixteen sides, and so on. Now that we are becoming familiar with the extent of classical influence that prevailed in Gandhara (ante, p. 176) down to the 7th or 8th century, we have no difficulty in understanding whence these quasi-Grecian forms were derived, nor why they should be found so prevalent in this valley. It adds, however, very considerably to our interest in the subject to find that the civilization of the West left so strong an impress on the arts of this part of India that its influence can be detected in all the Kashmiri buildings down to the time when the local style perished under Mahomedan influence in the beginning of the 14th century. Although, therefore, there can be no mistake about the principal forms of the architecture of Kashmir being derived from the classical styles of the West, and as little doubt as to the countries through which it was introduced into the valley, it must not be overlooked that the classical influence is fainter and more remote from its source in Kashmir than in Gandhara. Nothing resembling the Corinthian capitals of the Jamalgiri monastery are found in the valley. The classical features in Kashmir are in degree more like those of the Manikyala tope and the very latest examples in the Peshawur valley. The one style, in fact, seems to commence where the other ends, and to carry on the tradition for centuries after it had been lost in the country from which it was introduced.

The fact, however, of a quasi-Doric order being currently used in the valley from the 8th to the 12th century is one of the many arguments that tend to confirm the theory that the Corinthian order of the Gandhara monasteries is not so ancient as might at first sight appear. At all events, if a Doric order was the style of the Kashmiri valley at so late a date, there is no à priori improbability in a Corinthian order being used at Peshawur in the 5th or 6th century. On the contrary, as both were evidently derived from the same source, it seems most unlikely that there should be any break in the continuity of the tradition. Strange though it may at first sight appear, it seems as if the impulse first given by Bactria three centuries before the Christian Era continued without a break to influence the architecture of that corner of India for twelve centuries after that epoch.

No example of the Doric order has yet been found in Gandhara, but, as both Ionic and Corinthian capitals have been found there, it seems more than probable that the Doric existed there also; but as our knowledge, up to this date, is limited practically to two monasteries out, probably, of a hundred, we ought not to be surprised at any deficiencies in our series that may from time to time become apparent.

There is still one other peculiarity of this style which it is by no means easy to account for. This is the trefoiled arch, which is everywhere prevalent, but which in our present state of knowledge cannot be accounted for by any constructive necessity, nor traced to any foreign style from which it could have been copied. My own impression is, that it is derived from the façades of the chaitya halls of the Buddhists. Referring, for instance, to Woodcut No. 46 or to No. 58,[308] it will be perceived that the outline of the section of the cave at Ajunta, which it represents, is just such a trefoil as is everywhere prevalent in Kashmir; and, as both there and everywhere else in India, architectural decoration is made up of small models of large buildings applied as decorative features wherever required, it is by no means improbable that the trefoiled façade may have been adopted in Kashmir as currently as the simple horse-shoe form was throughout the Buddhist buildings of India Proper. All these features, however, mark a local style differing from anything else in India, pointing certainly to another race and another religion, which we are not as yet able to trace to its source.

MARTTAND.

By far the finest and most typical example of the Kashmiri style is the temple of Marttand, situated about five miles east of Islamabad, the ancient capital of the valley. It is the architectural lion of Kashmir, and all tourists think it necessary to go into raptures about its beauty and magnificence, comparing it to Palmyra or Thebes, or other wonderful groups of ruins of the old world. Great part, however, of the admiration it excites is due to its situation. It stands well on an elevated plateau, from which a most extensive view is obtained, over a great part of the valley. No tree or house interferes with its solitary grandeur, and its ruins--shaken down apparently by an earthquake--lie scattered as they fell, and are unobscured by vegetation, nor are they vulgarised by any modern accretions. Add to this the mystery that hangs over their origin, and a Western impress on its details unusual in the East, but which calls back the memory of familiar forms and suggests memories that throw a veil of poetry over its history more than sufficient to excite admiration in the most prosaic spectators. When, however, we come to reduce its dimensions to scale (Woodcut No. 160), and to examine its pretensions to rank among the great examples of architectural art, the rhapsodies of which it has been the theme seem a little out of place.

The temple itself (Woodcut No. 161) is a very small building, being only 60 ft. in length by 38 ft. in width. The width of the façade, however, is eked out by two wings or adjuncts, which make it 60 ft. As General Cunningham estimates that its height, when complete, was 60 ft. also, it realises the problem the Jews so earnestly set themselves to solve--how to build a temple with the three dimensions equal, but yet should not be a cube. Small, however, as the Jewish temple was, it was more than twice as large as this one. At Jerusalem the temple was 100 cubits, or 150 ft. in length, breadth, and height.[309] At Marttand these dimensions were only 60 ft. But it is one of the points of interest in the Kashmiri temple that it reproduces in plan, at least, the Jewish temple more nearly than any other known building.

The roof of the temple has so entirely disappeared that Baron Hügel doubted if it ever possessed one.[310] General Cunningham, on the other hand, has no doubts on the subject, and restores it in stone on his plate No. 14. The absence, however, of any fragments on the floor of the temple that could have belonged to the roof, militates seriously against this view; and, looking at the tenuity of the walls and the large voids they include, I doubt extremely if they ever could have supported a stone roof of the usual design. When, too, the plan is carefully examined, it will be seen that none of the masses are square; and it is very difficult to see how the roof of the porch could, if in stone, be fitted to that over the cella. Taking all these things into consideration, my impression is, that its roof--it certainly had one--was in wood; and knowing how extensively the Buddhists used wooden roofs for their chaitya halls, I see no improbability of this being the case here at the time this temple was erected.

The courtyard that surrounds and encloses this temple is, in its state of ruin, a more remarkable object than the temple itself. Its internal dimensions are 220 ft. by 142 ft.,[311] which are respectable, though not excessive; they are not much more than those of the temple of Neminatha at Girnar (Woodcut No. 126), which are 165 ft. and 105 ft., though that is by no means a large Jaina temple. On each face is a central cell, larger and higher than the colonnade in which it is placed (Woodcut No. 162), but even then only 30 ft. in height to the summit of the roof, supposing it to be completed, and the pillars on each side of it are only 9 ft. high, which are not dimensions to go wild about, though their strongly-impressed Grecian aspect is certainly curious and interesting.

One of the most remarkable features of the courtyard, though it is common to all true Kashmiri temples, is thus described by General Cunningham:--“I have a suspicion also that the whole of the interior of the quadrangle was originally filled with water to a level within one foot of the bases of the columns, and that access to the temple was gained by a raised pathway of slabs, supported on solid blocks at short intervals, which connected the gateway flight of steps with that leading to the temple. The same kind of pathway must have stretched right across the quadrangle from one side doorway to the other. Similar pathways still exist in the Shalimar gardens, as passages across the different reservoirs and canals. On the outside of the quadrangle, and close by the northern side of the gateway, there is a drain by which the surplus water found its exit, thus keeping the surface always at the same level. The temples at Pandrethan Ledari, and in the Barahmula Pass, are still standing in the midst of water. A constant supply of fresh water was kept up by a canal or watercourse from the River Lambadari, which was conducted alongside of the mountain for the service of the neighbouring village of Sinharotsika,” &c. “The only object,” the General goes on to remark, “of erecting temples in the midst of water must have been to place them more immediately under the protection of the Nagas, or human-bodied and snake-tailed gods, who were zealously worshipped for ages throughout Kashmir.”[312]

There are no inscriptions on this temple which would enable us to fix its date with certainty, but all authorities are agreed that the enclosure at least was erected by Lalitaditya,[313] who reigned A.D. 725 to 761; and my conviction is that he also erected the temple itself. General Cunningham, however, on the strength of a passage in the ‘Raja Tarangini,’ ascribes the building of the temple to Ranaditya,[314] who reigned A.D. 578 to 594. He may have local information which enables him to identify the village Sinharotsika with this place which he has not given to the public; but even then it is only said he erected a temple to the sun at that place,[315] but nothing to show that it was this temple. Whether also it was dedicated to the sun is not clear. I never saw a sun temple, or a drawing of one, and can, therefore, give no opinion on that head. Be this, therefore, as it may, it seems to me extremely improbable that the temple should have stood naked for 150 years, and then that a far greater king than its founder should have added the indispensable adjunct of a court. If, like all Kashmiri temples, it was intended to stand in the water, something of the sort must have existed from the beginning, and very little have been left for the great Lalitaditya to add. In addition to this, many of the details of the temple itself are so nearly identical with those of the temple at Avantipore, erected A.D. 852 or 853, that it is very much more likely that only 100 instead of 250 years intervened between the dates of the Marttand and Avantipore temples.

The question as to what deity this temple was dedicated to is more difficult to determine than its date. According to the ‘Raja Tarangini,’[316] especially as summarised by Wilson,[317] Lalitaditya was at the same time Buddhist, Jaina, or Vaishnava--three religions that were undistinguishable in that time of tolerance, but which, after 200 years of persecution and wars, came out distinct and antagonistic in the 10th century. If only the plan were submitted to me, I would unhesitatingly declare it Jaina; when its water arrangements were explained, it would as clearly appear Naga[318] (Woodcut No. 163), but not at all necessarily antagonistic to either Buddhism or Vishnuism at that age. As I have just said, I know nothing of sun temples, and cannot, therefore, say whether this resembles them or not.

Unfortunately, the stone of which the temple is built is of so friable a nature that the sculptures are now barely recognisable, but, so far as can be made out from such photographs as exist, all the principal figures in the niches have snake-hoods--are Nagas, in fact, with three or five-headed snakes at the backs of their heads. Any one on the spot, with his attention turned to this, could easily determine in a few minutes how far this was the case or not; but no one has yet visited it with the preparation necessary to settle this and many other uncertain points regarding the architecture and mythology of the place. A monograph, however, of this temple would be a work well worthy of any pains that might be bestowed upon it by any Indian archæologist; for, besides its historical and mythological importance, many of its details are of great beauty, and they have never been drawn with the care they so well merit. (Woodcut No. 164.) As the typical example of a quasi-classical style, a perfect knowledge of its peculiarities would be a landmark in the history of the style both before and after its date.

AVANTIPORE.

Next in importance to Marttand, among Kashmiri temples, are those of Avantipore, all erected certainly within the limits of the reign of Avantiverma, the first king of the Utpala dynasty, and who reigned from A.D. 875 to A.D. 904. The stone with which they are erected is so friable, and the temples themselves are so ruined, that there might be a difficulty in ascertaining to what religion they were dedicated if the ‘Raja Tarangini’ were not so distinct in describing this monarch as a devoted follower of Siva,[319] and naming these temples as dedicated to various forms of that god.

The two principal ruins stand in courtyards of nearly the same size, about 200 ft. by 100 ft. or 170 ft. internally. One, called Avantiswami, has pillars all round, like Marttand, and almost identical in design and dimensions. The other is astylar, but the temple itself was much more important than in the first example.[320]

The characteristic that seems most clearly to distinguish the style of the temples at Marttand from that of those at Avantipore is the greater richness of detail which the latter exhibit; just such a tendency, in fact, towards the more elaborate carvings of the Hindu style as one might expect from their difference in date. Several of these have been given by the three authors to whose works I have so often had occasion to allude, and to which the reader is referred; but the annexed fragment (Woodcut No. 165) of one of its columns is as elegant in itself, and almost as interesting historically, as the Doric of the examples quoted above, inasmuch as if it is compared with the pillars of the tomb of Mycene (Woodcut No. 117, vol. i.) it seems difficult to escape the conviction that the two forms were derived from some common source. At all events, there is nothing between the Peloponnesus and Kashmir, so far as we now know, that so nearly resembles it.

BHANIYAR.

At a place near the remote village of Bhaniyar, on the road between Uri and Naoshera, there stands one of the best-preserved temples in the valley. Like all the older temples, it was supplied with the means of keeping its courtyard full of water, and during the long ages of neglect these brought down silt and mud sufficient to half bury the place. It was recently, however, excavated by order of the Raja of Kashmir, and hence its nearly perfect state.[321] Its dimensions are less than those of the temples last described, being only 145 ft. by 120 ft., but, except from natural decay of the stone, it is nearly perfect, and gives a very fair idea of the style of these buildings. The trefoiled arch, with its tall pediment, the detached column and its architrave, are as distinctly shown here as in any other existing example of a Kashmiri colonnade, and present all those quasi-classical features which we now know were inherited from the neighbouring province of Gandhara. The central temple is small, only 26 ft. square, and its roof is now covered with wooden shingles; but whether that was the original covering is not certain. Looking, however, at the central side-cell of the colonnade (Woodcut No. 166), it seems to me extremely doubtful whether General Cunningham is justified in restoring the roof of the temple, or of the central cell at Marttand in stone. My impression rather is, as hinted above, that the temple-roof was in wood; that of the side-cell in stone, but flat.

At a place called Waniyat are two groups of temples, which were carefully examined and described by the Rev. Mr. Cowie,[322] and plans and photographs are found in Lieutenant Cole’s book.[323] They differ somewhat from those we have been describing, inasmuch as they do not seem to have been enclosed in colonnaded courts, and consist each of one large and several smaller temples, unsymmetrically arranged. The larger ones are 30 ft. and 32 ft. square in plan over all; the smaller 10 ft. or 12 ft.

There are no inscriptions, nor any historical indications that would enable us to fix the date of the Waniyat temples with certainty, and the stone has decayed to such an extent that the details cannot be defined with the precision necessary for comparison with other examples; but whether this decay arises from time or from the nature of the stone there are no means of knowing. Lieutenant Cole, basing his inferences on certain similarities he detects between them and the temple of the Takt-i-Suleiman, which he believes was erected B.C. 220, ascribes their erection to the first century after Christ. Reasoning from the same basis, if the temple on the Takt belongs to the 17th century, I would infer that they were among the most modern temples in this style in the valley. Besides this, they are purely Hindu temples, without any of those Naga or Jaina peculiarities that distinguish the older ones, and almost certainly, therefore, may be placed after the year A.D. 1000. How much more modern they may be must be left for future inquiry.

Among the remaining examples, perhaps the one that most clearly exhibits the characteristics of the style is that at Pandrethan (Woodcut No. 167). It still stands, as it has always stood, in the centre of its tank; but the overflow drains, which originally served to keep the water at the same level, having become choked by neglect, it can now only be approached by swimming or in a boat. Originally, it seems to have had a third storey or division to its roof, but that has fallen; the lower part of the building, however, exhibits all the characteristic features of the style in as much perfection as almost any other known example.

One last example must conclude our illustrations of Kashmiri architecture. The temple at Payech, though one of the smallest, is among the most elegant, and also one of the most modern examples of the style (Woodcut No. 168). Its dimensions are only 8 ft. square for the superstructure, and 21 ft. high, including the basement; but with even these dimensions it acquires a certain dignity from being erected with only six stones--four for the walls and two for the roof.[324] It stands by itself on a knoll, without any court, or any of the surroundings of the older temples, and, being dedicated wholly to the gods of the Hindu Pantheon, it certainly belongs to an age when their worship had superseded the older faiths of the valley. It would be interesting if its date could be ascertained, as it carries with it that of the caves of Bhaumajo and of several other temples. So far as can at present be made out, it seems to belong to the 13th century of our era, but is probably of a more modern rather than of a more ancient date.

In order to write a complete monography of the Kashmiri style, we ought to be able to trace it very much further back than anything in the previous pages enables us to do, and by some means to connect it with the other styles of India. In order to do this, however, we must discover some Buddhist remains in Kashmir. We know from history that Asoka, B.C. 250, sent missionaries to convert the inhabitants of the valley to the Buddhist faith, and that in the 1st century Kanishka, a Buddhist king, reigned here absolutely;[325] and we know that in the 7th century Hiouen Thsang found Buddhism, if not the only religion, at least one of the dominant faiths of the people. The details he mentions, and the fact of his lingering here for two whole years (A.D. 633 to A.D. 634) to study its forms and scriptures, proves how important this religion then was.[326] But not one vestige of a chaitya or of a vihara has yet come to light; and though there are mounds which may contain stupas, it is most improbable that they will contain any architectural forms that may be of any use for our purposes.

When we know more of the forms and ages of the Gandhara monasteries (ante, pages 169, et seqq.), they may supply some of the missing links required to connect the Kashmiri style to that of the outer world; but till the temples in Salt Range, and other little-frequented parts of the Punjab are examined, we shall not know all that we desire. Meanwhile the annexed woodcut (No. 169), representing a temple at Mûlot, shows how nearly the Punjabi style resembled that of Kashmir. There are the same trefoil-headed openings; the fluted pillars, with quasi-classical bases and capitals; and a general similarity of style not to be mistaken. There is another temple very similar, but smaller, at Kathwai; both are near Pind Dadan Khan, and from what I can learn there are others which may form a connecting link between the Gandhara monasteries and the Kashmiri temples. It may be that Mahomedan bigotry has defaced them all; but, looking at the immense strides that have been made during the last few years in this direction, I feel confident that so soon as they are looked for all that is still wanting will certainly be found.

* * * * *

So many and so various are the points of interest connected with the style of the ancient buildings in Kashmir, that they deserve much fuller illustration than is compatible with the scope of the present work. Though not magnificent, they are very pleasing and appropriate examples of art, and they have this advantage over most of the Indian styles, that Kashmir possesses, in the ‘Raja Tarangini,’ what may be said to be the only Indian history in existence. Any one familiar with that work, and with the actual buildings, could without much difficulty fix their dates, and from the buildings illustrate the history. This has not yet been accomplished, but there is no doubt that it can be done.

Another point of interest connected with this style is the strange but undoubted affinity which exists between it and the architectural forms of ancient Greece. This, when fully investigated, may reveal to us relations between the two countries or their outlying dependencies which are not now suspected.

But the greatest point of interest is that arising out of the connexion which at one time seems to have existed between Kashmir and Cambodia, which will form the subject of a subsequent chapter. Between the two we shall probably be able to gather up the threads of the long-lost form of Serpent superstition, and learn to know what were the arrangements of the temples, and what the worship addressed to that mysterious deity.

I have already, in my work on Tree and Serpent worship, and in the Introduction, entered so fully into this subject, and said all that I have at present to say about it, that I need not do more here than recapitulate the results, but they can hardly be too often repeated in order to render the context intelligible. So far as I can ascertain, the people who adopted Buddhism in India were neither the Aryans nor the Dravidians, but a native aboriginal race in the north, whom the Aryans called Dasyus. Before their conversion they worshipped trees and serpents, and after their adoption of the higher and purer form of worship they continually relapsed to their old faith and old feelings whenever the influence of Buddhism became weak, or its discipline relaxed. This was especially the case in Kashmir, with Taxila, and Gandhara; it was the head-quarters of Naga worship in northern India; and though the inhabitants embraced Buddhism with avidity, there are everywhere signs of their backslidings. In Kashmir the oldest temples, if not exclusively Naga, certainly show an unmistakable tendency in that direction, and continued to do so till the Hindu revival in the 11th century. After that they were dedicated to Siva and Vishnu, and the people of the valley seem to have been completely converted to the Hindu religion, when they fell under the influence of the followers of Mahomet, and adopted the faith of the Arabian Prophet in or about the 14th century.

It is between the fall of Buddhism and the rise of Mahomedanism that all the temples in the true Kashmiri style must be ranged. Before that we have nothing--after that, only the tomb of Zein-ul-ab-ud-dín and the temple on the Takt-i-Suleiman can be classed as examples of the style, though the latter can hardly even claim a title to that affiliation.

II. NEPAL

CONTENTS.

Stupas or Chaityas--Wooden Temples--Thibet--Temples at Kangra.

Any one looking at the map, and the map only, would probably be inclined to fancy that, from their similarity of situation and surroundings, the arts and archæology of Nepal must resemble those of Kashmir. It would not, however, be easy to make a greater mistake, for there are no two provinces of India which are more diametrically opposed to one another in these respects than these two Himalayan states. Partly this is due to local peculiarities. The valley of Nepal proper--in which the three capitals, Patan, Bhatgaon, and Khatmandu, are situated--is only twelve miles north and south, by nine in width east and west. It is true, the bulk of the population of the Gorkha state live in the valleys that surround this central point; but they are sparse and isolated communities, having very little communication with each other. Kashmir, on the other hand, is one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in the world, measuring more than one hundred miles in one direction and more than seventy in another, without any ridges or interruptions of any sort, and capable of maintaining a large population on one vast, unbroken, fertile plain.

Another point of difference is, that Kashmir never was a thoroughfare. The population who now possess it entered it from the south, and have retained possession of it--in all historical times, at least--in sufficient numbers to keep back any immigration from the north. In Nepal, on the contrary, the bulk of the population are Thibetans, a people from the north, left there apparently in their passage southward; and, so far as we can gather from such histories as exist, the southern races who are found there only entered the valley in the beginning of the 14th century, and never in such numbers as materially to modify the essentially Turanian character of the people.

Nepal also differs from Kashmir from the fact that the Mahomedans never had possession of their valley, and never, consequently, influenced their arts or their religions. The architectural history of the two valleys differs, consequently, in the following particulars:--In Kashmir we have a Buddhist period, superseded in the 8th century by an original quasi-classical style, that lasted till it, in its turn, was supplanted by that of the Moslem in the 15th century. In Nepal we have no succession of styles--no history in fact--for we do not know when any of the three religions was introduced; but what we find is the Vaishnava, Saiva, and Buddhist religions existing side by side at the present day, and flourishing with a rank luxuriance unknown on the plains of Bengal, where probably their exuberance was checked by the example of the Moslems, who, as just remarked, had no influence in the valley.

Owing to all the principal monuments in Nepal being modern--all, certainly, subsequent to the 14th century--and to the people being too poor to indulge in such magnificence as is found on the plains, the buildings of Nepal cannot compare, as architectural objects, with those found in other parts of India. But, on the other hand, the very fact of their being modern gives them an interest of their own, and though it is an exaggeration, it is a characteristic one, when it is said that in Nepal there are more temples than houses, and more idols than men; it is true to such an extent that there is an unlimited field for inquiry, and even if not splendid, the buildings are marvellously picturesque. Judging from photographs and such materials as are available, I have no hesitation in asserting that there are some streets and palaces in Khatmandu and Bhatgaon which are more picturesque, and more striking as architectural compositions, than are to be found in any other cities in India. The style may be called barbarous, and the buildings have the defect of being principally in wood; but their height, their variety of outline, their wealth of carving and richness of colour, are such as are not to be found in Benares or any other city of the plains.

The real point of interest in the architecture of Nepal to the true student of the art lies in its ethnographic meaning. When fully mastered, it presents us with a complete microcosm of India as it was in the 7th century, when Hiouen Thsang visited it--when the Buddhist and Brahmanical religions flourished side by side; and when the distinctive features of the various races were far more marked than they have since become under the powerful solvent of the Mahomedan domination.

From all these causes I believe that if the materials existed, and it were possible to write an exhaustive history of the architecture of the valley of Nepal, it would throw more light on most of the problems that are now perplexing us than that of any other province in India. It only, however, can be done by some one on the spot, and perfectly familiar not only with the Nepalese buildings but with all the phases of the question;[327] but even then its value would be more ethnographic than æsthetic. If this were an ethnographic history of architecture, to which the æsthetic question were subordinate, it would be indispensable that it should be attempted, however incomplete the materials might be; but the contrary being the case, it must suffice here to point out the forms of the architecture, merely indicating the modes in which the various styles are divided among the different races.

* * * * *

Like that of so many other countries of India, the mythic history of Nepal commences with that of the heroes of the ‘Mahabarata,’ but with some more reasons in this case than in most others, for it seems probable that it was through the Himalayas that the Pandus entered India, and certain, at all events, that the poem represents the survivors of the great war returning to their homes, accompanied by their dogs, across these mountains, through the dominion of the Gorkhas, if not actually through the valley of Nepal. The long lists of names, however, that connect these events with modern events, if not purely fabulous, are at least barren of all interest, and no event is recorded between 1300 years B.C. and A.D. 1300 that need arrest attention. What we do gather is, that at some remote period, probably the first century of our era, Buddhism did penetrate into the valley, and, finding it inhabited by a people of Thibetan origin, it was, of course, easily adopted, and has since remained the religion of that section of the population.[328]

There are two accounts of the mode in which the Hindu or Rajput element was introduced into the valley. The favourite one is, that after the sack of Chittore by Ala-u-dîn, in 1306, the conqueror sought the hand of the proud Rajput’s daughter, and to avoid the contamination he and his followers fled and sought refuge in Nepal.[329] Another account represents the Rajas of Mithila and Semrun--descendants of the Surya Vansa kings of Ayodhya--and the Rajputs of Canouge flying in like manner, in 1326, to avoid the tyranny of the Delhi emperors; and that it was these tribes, and not the fugitives from Chittore, who conquered and colonised a part of the valley.[330] Both accounts are probably to some extent true, and they and their followers form the Parbuttya or Hindu element in the population at the present day, and make up the bulk of those who profess the Hindu religion and worship Siva and Vishnu and the other gods of the Hindu Pantheon.

Before they entered the valley, however, it seems to have been occupied by Kiratas, Bhotyas, Newars, and other tribes of impure origin,[331] according to the Hindu idea of purity--in other words, Tartars or Thibetans--and they are those who had early adopted the doctrines of Buddha and still adhere to them. The Newars seem to have been the governing caste till the year 1768, when a weak sovereign having called in the assistance of a neighbouring Gorkha Raja, he seized the kingdom, and his successors still rule in Nepal. They apparently were originally of the Magar tribe,[332] but having mixed with the immigrant Hindus call themselves Rajputs, and have adopted the Hindu religion, though in a form very different from that known in the plains, and differing in a manner we would scarcely be inclined to expect. When the religion of the destroyer was introduced into a country that professed the mild religion of Buddha, it might naturally be supposed that its most savage features would be toned down, so as to meet, to some extent at least, the prejudices of the followers of the religion it was superseding. So far from this being the case in this instance, it is said that when first introducing the religion the Gorkhas propitiated the deity with human sacrifices, till warned in a dream to desist and substitute animals.[333] Besides this, the images of Durga or Kali, though hideous and repulsive enough in the plains, are ten times more so in Nepal; and, in fact, throughout there is an exaggeration of all the most prominent features of the religion, that would lead to the belief that it found a singularly congenial soil in the valley and blossomed with unusual exuberance there. This, in fact, is one of the reasons that lead to the belief that the religion of Siva is a northern Tartar superstition, which, when introduced into India, was softened and modified to suit the milder genius of the people; but among the hill tribes, with northern affinities, it was practised with all the Tantric devil-worshipping peculiarities that characterise its original birthplace. So far, too, as the architecture of the Saiva temples in Nepal is concerned, it seems to indicate that the worship came into the valley from the north, and not from the plains of Bengal. The architecture of the temples of Vishnu, on the contrary, seems evidently to be an offshoot of the art of the plains.

STUPAS OR CHAITYAS.

The two oldest and most important Buddhist monuments in the valley of Nepal are those of Swayambunath and Bouddhama:[334] the former, beautifully situated on a gentle eminence about a mile from Khatmandu, the latter at Kasachiel, at some distance off.

No very precise information is to be had about the date of either, but, in their present form at least, they are not the oldest in the valley. According to Brian Hodgson, there are several low, flat, tumuli-like chaityas, with very moderate tees, which are older, and may be of any age; but, as will be seen from the previous woodcut (No. 170), that at Swayambunath is of an irregular clumsy form, and chiefly remarkable for the exaggerated form of its tee. This is, in fact, the most marked characteristic of the modern Thibetan dagoba, which in China is carried frequently to such an extent that the stupa becomes evanescent, and the tee changes into a nine or thirteen storeyed tower. According to Kirkpatrick (p. 151), “this temple is chiefly celebrated for its perpetual fire, the two principal wicks having preserved their flames from time immemorial.” The continual presence of the fire-altar, in connexion with statues of Buddha in Gandhara, would lead us to suspect a connexion between fire-worship and Buddhism in that province, but hardly so intimate as this would seem to indicate.

In Mr. Hodgson’s collection there are nearly one hundred drawings of chaityas in Nepal, all different, most of them small, and generally highly ornamented; but none of them grand, and none exhibiting that elegance of form or beauty of detail which characterises the buildings of the plains. From a low, flat mound, one-tenth of its diameter in height, they rise to such a tall building as this, which is a common form, bearing the name of Kosthakar (Woodcut No. 171), in which the dagoba is only the crowning ornament, and between these there is every conceivable variety of shape and detail. Among others, there is the four-faced lingam of Siva, with a corresponding emblem with four Buddhas; and altogether such a confusion of the two religions as to confirm the idea hinted at above, that the lingam is really a diminutive dagoba, and not the emblem it is usually supposed to represent, though, no doubt, in modern times understood to have that meaning.

By far the most characteristic and beautiful temples of the Nepalese are those possessing many storeys divided with sloping roofs. They are unlike anything found in Bengal, and all their affinities seem with those in Burmah or China. Usually, they seem to be dedicated to the Saiva faith, but Mr. Hodgson mentions one at Patan, where “Sakya occupies the basal floor, Amitabha the second storey, a small stone chaitya the third, the Dharmadatu Mandala the fourth; the fifth, or apex of the building, externally consisting of a small churamani, or jewel-headed chaitya.”

One of the most elegant of this class is the Bhowani temple at Bhatgaon, represented in the previous woodcut (No. 172). It is five storeys in height, but stands particularly well on a pyramid of five steps, which gives it a greater dignity than many of its congeners. Another, dedicated to Mahadeo, is seen in the centre of the next woodcut (No. 173). It is only two storeys in height, but has the same characteristic form of roof, which is nearly universal in all buildings, civil or ecclesiastical, which have any pretension to architectural design. The temple on the left of the last cut is dedicated to Krishna, and will be easily recognised by any one familiar with the architecture of the plains from its sikra or spire, with the curvilinear outline, and its clustering pavilions, not arranged quite like the ordinary types, but still so as to be unmistakably Bengali.

One other example must complete our illustration of the architecture of Nepal. It is a doorway leading to the durbar at Bhatgaon, and is a singularly characteristic specimen of the style, but partaking much more of China than of India in the style of its ornaments (Woodcut No. 174, p. 307). It is indeed so like an archway in the Nankau Pass, near Pekin--given further on--that I was at first inclined to ascribe them to the same age. The Chinese example, however, is dated in 1345;[335] this one, according to Mr. Hodgson, was erected as late as 1725, yet their ornamentation is the same. In the centre is Garuda, with a seven-headed snake-hood; and on either hand are Nagas, with seven-headed hoods also; and the general character of the foliaged ornaments is so similar that it is difficult to believe in so great a lapse of time between them; but I dare not question Mr. Hodgson’s evidence. Since he was in Nepal the building on the left-hand side of the cut has been “improved.” His drawings show it to have been one of the most picturesque buildings in the valley. It certainly is not so now.

It may be remembered that in speaking of the architecture of Canara (ante, p. 272), I remarked on the similarity that existed between that of that remote province and the style that is found in this Himalayan valley; and I do not think that any one can look at the illustrations quoted above, especially Woodcuts Nos. 150 and 153, and not perceive the similarity between them and the Nepalese examples, though it might require a familiarity with all the photographs to make it evident, without its being pointed out. This being the case, it is curious to find Colonel Kirkpatrick stating, more than seventy years ago, that “it is remarkable enough that the Newar women, like those among the Nairs, may, in fact, have as many husbands as they please, being at liberty to divorce them continually on the slightest pretence.”[336] Dr. Buchanan Hamilton also remarks that “though a small portion of the Newars have forsaken the doctrine of Buddha and adopted the worship of Siva, it is without changing their manners, which are chiefly remarkable for their extraordinary carelessness about the conduct of their women;” and he elsewhere remarks on their promiscuousness and licentiousness.[337] In fact, there are no two tribes in India, except the Nairs and Newars, who are known to have the same strange notions as to female chastity, and that, coupled with the architecture and other peculiarities, seems to point to a similarity of race which is both curious and interesting; but how and when the connexion took place I must leave it to others to determine. I do not think there is anything in the likeness of the names, but I do place faith in the similarity of their architecture combined with that of their manners and customs.

WOODEN TEMPLES.

In the Himalayan districts between Kashmir and Nepal, in Kulû, Kangra, and Kumaon, there are a vast number of temples, regarding which it would be extremely interesting to have more information than we now possess. They are all in wood, generally Deodar pine, and, like most buildings in that material, more fantastic in shape, but at the same time more picturesque and more richly carved than buildings in more permanent and more intractable materials. What we now know of them, however, is mainly derived from photographs, taken without any system, only as pictures, because the buildings were either picturesque in themselves or so situated as to improve the landscape. No one yet has thought of measuring them, nor of asking to what divinities they are dedicated, and still less of inquiring into their age or traditions; and till this is done it is impossible to treat of them in anything like a satisfactory manner.

Whenever this chapter of Indian architectural history comes to be written, it will form a curious pendant to that of the wooden architecture of Sweden and Norway, the similarities between the two groups being both striking and instructive. It can hardly be expected that any ethnographical or political connexion can be traced between peoples so remote from one another which could influence their architectural forms; but it is curious, if this is so, to observe how people come independently to adopt the same forms and similar modes of decoration when using the same materials for like purposes, and under similar climatic influences. Although it may, consequently, be impossible to trace any influence that the people of the Himalayas could have exerted on the peoples of the north-west of Europe, it is by no means clear that in these wooden structures we may not find the germ of much that is now perplexing us with regard to the earlier forms of Hindu stone architecture. Like Buddhist architecture, there can hardly be a doubt that much of it was derived from wooden originals, and it is difficult to see any locality where wooden styles were likely to be earlier adopted and longer practised than in those valleys where the Deodar pine is abundant, and forms so excellent and so lasting a building material.

* * * * *

An exploration of these valleys, would, no doubt, bring to light many curious monuments, which would not only be interesting in themselves, but might throw considerable light on many now obscure points of our inquiries. One monument, for instance, has recently been discovered by Major Godwin Austen near the foot of the Naga hills in Assam, which is unlike any other known to exist anywhere else.[338] The temple--if temple it may be called--consists of a long corridor, about 250 ft. in length and 21 ft. wide, the roof of which was supported by pillars richly carved, spaced 15 ft. to 21 ft. apart; but its most remarkable features are two rows--one of sixteen, the other of seventeen monoliths--standing in front of this. The tallest is 15 ft., the smallest 8 ft. 5 in., the general range being from 12 to 13 ft. in height, and 18 ft. to 20 ft. in circumference. No two are exactly alike, though all have a general similarity of design to those represented in the preceding woodcut (No. 175), which may be considered as typical of the style. Another similar monolith was found a small distance off, measuring 16 ft. 8 in. in height, and 23 ft. in circumference.

The natives were quite unable to give any account of these curious monuments, nor is it easy to guess why they were placed where they are. So far as I know, no similar monument exists anywhere, for the pillars seem perfectly useless, though attached to two rows of stones that may have borne a roof; otherwise they look like those rows of rude stone monuments which we are familiar with in this country and in Brittany, but which a more artistic people may have adorned with rude carvings, instead of leaving them quite plain, as our forefathers did. As for their carving, the only things the least like them, so far as I know, in India, are the pillars in the temple at Moodbidri (Woodcut No. 152), and in other places in Canara, but there the pillars are actual supports of roofs; these are round-headed, and evidently never were intended for any utilitarian purpose.

Judging from the gateway and other remains of the town of Dimapur, in which these pillars are found, they cannot be of any great age. The gateway is of the Gaur type, with a pointed arch, probably of the 16th or 17th century; and, if Major Austen’s observation is correct, that the sandstone of which they are composed is of a friable and perishable nature, they cannot be of any remote antiquity.

It would be very interesting if a few more similar monuments could be found, and Assam is one of the most promising fields in India for such discoveries. When Hiouen Thsang visited it, in the 7th century, it was known as the kingdom of Kamrup, one of the three principal states of Northern India, and continued populous and important till the Pathan sovereigns of Delhi attempted its conquest in the 15th century. Owing to the physical difficulties of the country, they never were able to succeed in this attempt; but they blockaded the country for many years, and, cut off from the rest of the world, the savage hill tribes on either hand, aided by famine, so depopulated the country that the jungle overpowered the feeble remnant that survived, and one of the richest valleys in the world is now one of the most sparsely inhabited. A good and liberal government might, in a few years, go far to remedy this state of affairs, and, if so blessed, the jungle might again be cleared and rendered fit for human population. When this is done there can be no doubt but that the remains of many ancient cities will be found. Already Captain Dalton has given an account of the ruins of Gohati, which was almost certainly the ancient capital of the province. “Its former importance,” the Commissioner says, “is well attested by the immense extent of its fortifications, and the profusion of carved stones which every excavation of the modern town brings to light. The remains of stone gateways and old stone bridges are found both within and without the old city walls.”[339] Captain Hannay gives a view of one of these bridges. Like all the rest, it is constructed without arches, on the horizontal principle,[340] but it may be as old as the time of the Chinese Pilgrims. Besides these, other ruins have been found and described, in more or less detail, in the pages of the ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.’ When more fully known they will certainly be of considerable historic and ethnographic value, though they hardly can compare with the vast monuments of such provinces as Orissa or Gujerat, and other parts of India Proper.

THIBET.

It would be extremely interesting if, before leaving this part of the world, it were possible to compile anything like a satisfactory account of the Buddhist style in Thibet, for it is there that Buddhism exists in its greatest purity at the present moment, and there only is it entirely and essentially a part of the system of the people. We would gladly, therefore, compare the existing state of things in Thibet with our accounts of India in the days of the supremacy of the same religion. The jealousy of the Chinese, however, who are now supreme over that nation of priests, prevents free access to the country, and those who have penetrated beyond its forbidden barriers have either done so in the disguise of mendicants, and, consequently, dared neither to draw nor examine minutely what they saw, or else had little taste for portraying what was unintelligible, and, consequently, of very little interest to them.[341]

So far as can be made out from such narratives as we have, there does not seem to be in Thibet a single relic-shrine remarkable either for sanctity or size, nor does relic-worship seem to be expressed either in their architecture or their religious forms. But as no country in the world possesses a larger body of priests in proportion to its population, and as all these are vowed to celibacy and live together, their monasteries are more extensive than any we know of elsewhere--some containing 2000 or 3000 lamas, some, if we may trust M. Huc, as many as 15,000.[342] The monasteries do not seem to be built with any regularity, or to be grouped into combinations of any architectural pretension, but to consist of long streets of cells, mostly surrounding small courtyards, three or four on each side, and sometimes two or even three storeys high; generally, perhaps always, with a small shrine or altar in the centre. The monastery of Bouddha La, outside the city of Lassa, where the Delai Lama resides, seems to be of more magnificence than all the rest--the centre being occupied by a building four storeys high, crowned by a dome (making the fifth) covered entirely with sheets of gold (rather, perhaps, merely gilt), and surrounded by a peristyle of columns, which are gilt also. Around this central palace are grouped a number of smaller ones, where the inferior members of this great ecclesiastical order reside; but of all this it is difficult to form a distinct idea without some better drawings than the native ones, which are at present alone available.

The Delai Lama, who resides in this palace, is believed by the Thibetans to be the living incarnation of the Deity, and, in consequence, is the principal, if not the only, object of worship in Lassa. There are, however, four or five subordinate incarnations in different parts of Thibet and Mongolia, who, though inferior to this one, are still objects of worship in the places where they reside, and by particular sects of Buddhists.

It is this worship of a living rather than of a dead deity that seems to be the principal cause of the difference of the architectural forms of India and Thibet. In the countries we have hitherto been describing no actual incarnation of the Deity is believed to have taken place since the death of Sakya Muni, though the spirit of God has descended on many saints and holy men; in India, therefore, they have been content to worship images of the departed deity, or relics which recall His presence. In Thibet, where their deity is still present among them, continually transmigrating, but never dying, of course such a form of worship would be absurd; no relic of a still living god can exist, nor is the semblance or the memory of any past manifestation thought worth preserving. A priori, therefore, we should scarcely look here for the same class of sacred edifices as we find in India or Ceylon.

Owing to the jealousy with which the country is guarded against the intrusion of Europeans, we may probably have to wait some time before Thibet itself, or even the valleys dependent upon it in the Himalayas, are so accessible to European travellers as to enable them to supply the data requisite for the purpose. In the meanwhile, however, the view (Woodcut No. 176) of the doorway of the temple at Tassiding is curious as showing a perseverance in the employment of sloping jambs, which we do not meet with in the plains. It will be recollected that this feature is nearly universal in the Behar and early western caves (Woodcuts Nos. 43, 45, and 50), but there we lose it. It may have continued to be commonly employed during the Middle Ages, though the examples have perished; but it is curious to find it cropping up here again after a lapse of 2000 years.[343]

Another view in the porch of the temple at Pemiongchi is also interesting, as showing the form of roof which we are familiar with in the rock examples, and also as illustrating the extent to which the bracket capital of India may be carried under the influence of wooden architecture (Woodcut No. 177). It hardly seems doubtful that the idea was originally derived from wooden construction, but was equally appropriate to masonic forms, and is used in masonry so judiciously by Indian architects that we lose sight of its origin in most instances altogether.

Interesting as these minor styles undoubtedly are from their variety, and valuable though they may be for the hints they afford us in understanding the history of the other styles, they never can be so important as the greater architectural groups that are found on the plains of India itself. A monograph of the styles of Kashmir or Nepal, or of the intermediate valleys, would be an invaluable addition to our knowledge; but hardly more is required in a general history than that their places should be indicated, and their general characteristics so defined as to render them recognisable. Even these minor styles, however, will become more intelligible when studied in connexion with the Dravidian and northern styles, which are those it is next proposed to define and describe.

TEMPLES AT KANGRA.

Though a little out of their place in the series, there are two small temples in one of the Himalayan valleys which it may be expedient to describe here before leaving this part of the subject, as their peculiarities will assist us in understanding much that has just been said, or that will be presently advanced. Besides this, they do not exactly fit into any other series, but they can hardly be passed over, as they possess what is so rare in Indian temples--a well-ascertained date.

The temples are situated in the village of Kiragrama, not far from Kote Kangra, and, as an inscription on them records, were built by two brothers, Baijnath and Siddhnath, in the year 804 A.D.[344] Neither of them are large. The larger has a porch 20 ft. square inside by 28 ft. (not 48 ft.) over all externally, and the whole length of the temple, from front to rear, is 50 ft. The smaller one is only 33 ft. over all, including the sanctuary. In 1786, the large temple underwent a thorough repair at the hands of a Raja Sinsarchand, which has obliterated many of its features; but it is easy to see at a glance what was done in the beginning of the 9th century, and what 1000 years afterwards. The small temple, though ruinous, is more interesting, because it has escaped the hand of the spoiler. As will be seen from the woodcut (No. 178), it has all the features of a very old temple--great simplicity of outline, no repetitions of itself, and the whole surface of the upper part covered with that peculiar horseshoe diaper which was so fashionable in those early days. It looks here as if it must be copied from some brick or terra-cotta construction; otherwise its repetition over a whole surface seems unaccountable. The amalaka stringcourses are subdued and in good taste, and the crowning ornament well proportioned.[345]

There is little doubt that the sikra of the larger temple was similarly adorned, but all its details are so completely obliterated by the coating of plaster it has received that it has lost its interest. The pillars, however, of its porch retain their forms up to their capitals, at least. The architraves, as may be seen from the woodcut, belong to the repair in 1786. The shafts of the pillars are plain cylinders, of very classical proportions, and the bases also show that they are only slightly removed from classical design. The square plinth, the two toruses, the cavetto, or hollow moulding between, are all classical, but partially hidden by Hindu ornamentation, of great elegance, but unlike anything found afterwards. The capitals are, however, the most interesting parts, though their details are considerably obliterated by whitewash. They belong to what may be styled the Hindu-Corinthian order, though the principles on which they are designed is diametrically opposed to those of the classical order of the same name. The object of both--as is well-known--is to convert a circular shaft into a square architrave-bearing capital in a graceful and pleasing manner. We all know the manner in which the Ionic and Corinthian capitals effect this; pleasingly, it is true, but not without effort and some little clumsiness, which it required all the skill and taste of classical architects to conquer. To effect this object, the Hindus placed a vase on the top of their column, the bowl of which was about the same diameter as that of the pillar on which it was placed, or rather larger; but such an arrangement was weak, because the neck and base of the vase were necessarily smaller than the shaft of the pillar, and both were still circular. To remedy these defects, they designed a very beautiful class of foliaged ornament, which appears to grow out of the vase, on each of its four faces, and, falling downwards, strengthens the hollows of the neck and leg of the vase, so as to give them all the strength they require, and at the same time to convert the circular form of the shaft into the required square for the abacus of the capital. The Hindus, of course, never had sufficient ability or constructive skill to enable them to produce so perfect a form as the Corinthian or Ionic capitals of the Greeks or Romans; but it is probable that if this form were taken up at the present day, a capital as beautiful as either of these might even now be produced. It is, indeed, almost the only suggestion that Indian architecture seems to offer for European use.

It is by no means clear when this form of capital was first introduced. It first appears, but timidly it must be confessed, in such late Buddhist caves as were excavated after the beginning of the 5th century:--as, for instance, in the Yadnya Sri cave at Nassick (Woodcut No. 81); in the courtyard of the Viswakarma, at Ellora (Woodcut No. 63); and in some of the later caves at Ajunta--the twenty-fourth for instance. It is found at Erun (Woodcut No. 179), among some fragments that I believe to be of the age of the Guptas, about A.D. 400, and it is currently employed in the middle group of Hindu caves at Ellora, such as the Ashes of Ravana, and other caves of that age, say about A.D. 600. It afterwards became frequent, almost universal, with the Jains, down to the time of the Mahomedan conquest. The preceding representation of one (Woodcut No. 180), from a half column of a temple in Orissa, shows it in a skeleton form, and therefore more suited to explain its construction than a fuller capital would do. On its introduction, the bell-shaped or Persepolitan capital seems to have gone out of fashion, and does not again appear in Indian art.

To return from this digression: there can be no doubt that the temple of Baijnath is dedicated to Siva, not only from the presence of the bulls in front of it, in pavilions of the same architecture as the porch, but also because Ganesa appears among its integral sculptures; yet, strange to say, the back niche, is occupied by a statue of Mahavira, the last Jaina Tirthankar, with a perfectly legible inscription, dated in A.D. 1240.[346] It looks as if the age of toleration had not passed even them.

I. INTRODUCTORY

The limits within which the Dravidian style of architecture prevailed in India are not difficult to define or understand. Practically they are those of the Madras Presidency, or, to speak more correctly, they are identical with the spread of the people speaking Tamil, or any of the cognate tongues. Dr. Caldwell, in his ‘Grammar,’ estimates these at forty-five or forty-six millions,[347] but he includes among them a number of tribes, such as the Tudas and Gonds, who, it is true, speak dialects closely allied to the Tamil tongues, but who may have learnt them from the superior races, in the same manner that all the nations of the south-west of Europe learnt to speak Latin from the Romans; or as the Cornish men have adopted English, and the Irish and northern Scots are substituting that tongue for their native Gaelic dialects. Unless we know their history, language is only a poor test of race, and in this instance architecture does not come to our aid. It may do so hereafter, but in so far as we at present know, these tribes are in too rude a state to have any architecture of their own in a sufficiently advanced state for our purposes. Putting them aside, therefore, for the present, we still have, according to the last census, some thirty millions of people speaking Tamil, Telugu, Canarese, and Malayalam, whom we have no reason for doubting are practically of the same race, and who, in so far as they are Hindus--not Jains, but followers of Siva and Vishnu--practise one style of architecture, and that known as the Dravidian. On the east coast the boundaries of the style extend as far north as the mouth of the Kistnah, and it penetrates sporadically and irregularly into the Nizam’s territories, but we cannot yet say to what extent, nor within what limits.

On the west coast its natural boundary northwards is the Kistnah, but it did at one time (A.D. 700?) reach as far as Ellora, in latitude 20°; but it seems to have been a spasmodic effort, and it took no permanent root there, while the reflex wave brought the northern styles into the Mysore or other southern countries, where their presence was as little to be expected as that of the Dravidian so far north.

* * * * *

Although considerable progress has lately been made in the right direction, no satisfactory solution has yet been arrived at of the problem of the origin of the Dravidians. The usual theory is that, coming from the westward, they crossed the Lower Indus, passed through Scinde and Gujerat, and, keeping to the right, sought the localities in which we now find them; or rather, that they were pushed into that corner, first by the Aryans, who almost certainly crossed the Upper Indus, and passed through the Punjab into the valley of the Ganges, and afterwards by the Rajputs, who followed nearly in their footsteps.

In favour of this view is the fact first pointed out by Dr. Caldwell,[348] that the Brahuis in Belochistan speak a Dravidian tongue, and may consequently be considered as a fragment of the race dropped there in transitu. But against this view it may be urged that between the Brahuis and the northern Tamils we have a tract of civilized country extending over 1000 miles in which we have no evidence of the passage of the Dravidians, and where it is nearly certain, if it were a national migration, we should find their traces.

So far as history is concerned, in such glimmerings of tradition as we possess, they certainly do not favour this view of matters. Not only to they fail to afford us any trace of such a migration or conquest, but at the earliest time at which we find any mention of them the most civilized and important of their communities occupied the extreme southern point of the peninsula.[349] North of them all was forest, but between the Christian Era and the Mahomedan invasion we find the jungle gradually disappearing, and the southern races pushing northwards, till, in the 14th century, they were checked and driven back by the Moslems. But for their interference it looks as if, at that time, the Dravidians might eventually have driven the Aryans through the Himalayas back to their original seats, as the Maharattas, who are half Dravidians, nearly did at a subsequent period.

If any clear or direct relationship could be discovered between the Tamil and the Median or Accadian languages of Turanian origin, which the decipherment of arrow-headed inscriptions is revealing to us, it might help a good deal in explaining the original introduction of the Dravidians into India, and the numerous Assyrianisms that exist in the mythology and architecture of southern India. Till, however, more progress is made in that direction, it seems it would be more expedient for the present to assume that the Tamil-speaking races are practically aboriginal, and that the evidences of connexion between them and Babylonia are due to continued and close commercial intercourse between the Persian Gulf and the Malabar coast. That such did exist from very remote ages we may feel certain, and its extent seems such as to justify and explain any similarities that are now found existing in southern India.

* * * * *

Be all this as it may, as far back as their traditions reach, we find the Dravida Desa, or southern part of India, divided into three kingdoms or states, the Pandyas, the Cholas, and the Cheras, forming a little triarchy of powers, neither interfered with by the other nations of the earth, nor interfering with those beyond their limits. During the greater part of their existence all their relations of war and peace have been among themselves, and they have grown up a separate people, as unlike the rest of the world as can well be conceived.

Of the three, the most southern was called the Pandyan kingdom; it was the earliest civilized, and seems to have attained sufficient importance about the time of the Christian Era to have attracted the special attention of the Greek and Roman geographers. How much earlier it became a state, or had a regular succession of rulers, we know not,[350] but it seems certainly to have attained to some consistency as early as five or six centuries before the Christian Era, and maintained itself within its original boundaries till in the middle of the last century, when it was swallowed up in our all-devouring aggression.

During this long period the Pandyas had several epochs of great brilliancy and power, followed by long intervening periods of depression and obscurity. The 1st century, and afterwards the 5th or 6th, seem to have been those in which they especially distinguished themselves. If buildings of either of these epochs still exist, which is by no means improbable, they are utterly unknown to us as yet, nor have we any knowledge of buildings of the intervening periods down to the reign of Tirumulla Nayak, A.D. 1624. This prince adorned the capital city of Mádura with many splendid edifices, some of which have been drawn by Daniell and others. What more ancient remains there may be will not be known till the place has been carefully and scientifically explored.

The Chola kingdom extended northwards from the valley of the Cauvery and Coleroon rivers, whose banks seem always to have been its principal seat, nearly to Madras, all along the eastern coast, called after them Cholomandalam or Coromandel. The date of the origin of their kingdom is not known, but their political relations with Kashmir can be traced as early as the 6th century, and probably earlier.[351] Their epoch of greatest glory, however, was between the 10th and 12th centuries, when they seem to have conquered not only their neighbours the Pandyas and Cheras, but even to have surpassed the bounds of the triarchy, and carried their arms into Ceylon, and to have maintained an equal struggle with the Chalukyas in the north. After this period they had no great revival like that of the Pandyas under Tirumulla Nayak, but sank step by step under the Mahomedans, Mahrattas, and English, to their present state of utter political annihilation.

The Cheras occupied the country northward of the kingdom of Pandya, and westward of Chola, including a considerable part of what is now known as Mysore. Their rise according to their own annals took place nearly at the time of the Christian Era, but this most probably is an exaggeration; but there are inscriptions which prove that they were powerful in the 4th and 5th centuries. From this time they seem gradually to have extended their conquest northwards. Their sixteenth king boasts of having conquered Andhra and Kalinga,[352] and their twentieth king, Kongani Raya III., boasts of having conquered Chola, Pandya, Dravida, Andhra, Kalinga, Varada, and Maharastra desas as far as the Nerbudda river.[353] According to the dates in the Kongadesa Rajakal, this must have taken place in the 7th century, but from what we know of history, it could not have taken place till after the overthrow of the Chalukyan dynasty, and consequently hardly before 750. That a southern conquest did take place about that time seems almost certain from the eclipse of the Chalukyas between 750 and 1000,[354] and from the excavation of the Kylas and other temples of Dravidian architecture at Ellora about that time, and there seems no race but the Cheras who could have effected this.

Vira Chola (A.D. 927-977) seems first to have checked their victorious career, and Ari Vara Deva, another Chola king (1004), to have completed their destruction. He also boasts of having carried his victorious standard to the Nerbudda, and to have been a benefactor to Chillambaram, the then famed temple of his race.

This was the last great effort of the early triarchy; after this the rise of the Bellalas in Mysore, and the revival of the Chalukyas in central India, seem to have checked them to such an extent, that they never regained a perfect independence, though at times wealthy and powerful and capable of embarking in the most splendid architectural undertakings.[355]

Although, politically, these three states always remained distinct, and generally antagonistic, the people belonged to the same race. Their architecture is different from any other found in India, but united in itself, and has gone through a process of gradual change from the earliest times at which we become acquainted with it, until we lose sight of it altogether in the last century. This change is invariably for the worse, the earlier specimens being in all instances the most perfect, and the degree of degradation forming, as mentioned above, a tolerably exact chronometric scale, by which we may measure the age of the buildings.

Buddhism, as before hinted, does not seem to have ever gained a footing of much importance among any of the Dravidian races of India, and as early as the 7th century the few votaries of Buddha that existed in the south of India were finally expelled.[356] So completely was it extirpated that I do not know of one single Buddhist monument south of the Kistnah, except the tope at Amravati described above, and am inclined very much to doubt if any really important ones ever existed.

The Jaina religion, on the contrary, continued to nourish at Conjeveram and in the Mysore, and seems to have succeeded Buddhism in these places, and to have attracted to itself whatever tendency there may have been towards the doctrines of Buddhism on the part of the southern people. Though influential from their intelligence, the Jains never formed more than a small numerical fraction of the people among whom they were located.

The Hindu religion, which thus became supreme, is now commonly designated the Brahmanical, in order to distinguish it from the earlier Vedic religion, which, however, never seems to have been known in the south. The two sects into which it is divided consist of the worshippers of Siva and of Vishnu, and are now quite distinct and almost antagonistic; but both are now so overloaded with absurd fables and monstrous superstitions, that it is very difficult to ascertain what they really are or ever were. Nor are we yet in a position to speak confidently of their origin.

Recent discoveries in Assyria seem, however, to point to that country as the origin of much that we find underlying the local colouring of the Vaishnava faith. Garuda, the eagle-headed Vahana, and companion of Vishnu, seems identical with the figure now so familiar to us in Assyrian sculpture, probably representing Ormazd. The fish-god of the Assyrians, Dagon, prefigures the “Fish-Avatar,” or incarnation of Vishnu. The man-lion is not more familiar to us in Assyria than in India, and tradition generally points to the West for the other figures scarcely so easily recognised--more especially Bali, whose name alone is an index to his origin; and Maha Assura, who, by a singular inversion, is a man with a bull’s head,[357] instead of a bull with a man’s head, as he is always figured in his native land. It is worthy of remark that the ninth Avatar of Vishnu is always Buddha himself, thus pointing to a connexion between these two extremes of Indian faith; and we are told by inscriptions of the 14th century that there was then no appreciable difference between the Jains and Vaishnavas.[358] Indeed, as pointed out in the introduction, it seems impossible to avoid considering these three faiths as three stages of one superstition of a native race--Buddhism being the oldest and purest; Jainism a faith of similar origin, but overlaid with local superstitions; and Vishnuism a third form, suited to the capacity of the natives of India in modern times, and to compete with the fashionable worship of Siva.

Both these religions have borrowed an immense amount of nomenclature from the more abstract religions of the Aryan races, and both profess to venerate the Vedas and other scriptures in the Sanscrit language. Indeed it is all but impossible that the intellectual superiority of that race should not make itself felt on the inferior tribes, but it is most important always to bear in mind that the Sanscrit-speaking Aryan was a stranger in India. It cannot indeed be too often repeated that all that is intellectually great in that country--all, indeed, which is written--belongs to them; but all that is built--all, indeed, which is artistic--belongs to other races, who were either aboriginal or immigrated into India at earlier or subsequent periods, and from other sources than those which supplied the Aryan stock.

* * * * *

There does not seem to be any essential difference either in plan or form between the Saiva and Vaishnava temples in the south of India. It is only by observing the images or emblems worshipped, or by reading the stories represented in the numerous sculptures with which a temple is adorned, that we find out the god to whom it is dedicated. Whoever he may be, the temples consist almost invariably of the four following parts, arranged in various manners, as afterwards to be explained, but differing in themselves only according to the age in which they were executed:--

1. The principal part, the actual temple itself, is called the Vimana. It is always square in plan, and surmounted by a pyramidal roof of one or more storeys; it contains the cell in which the image of the god or his emblem is placed.

2. The porches or Mantapas, which always cover and precede the door leading to the cell.

3. Gate pyramids, Gopuras, which are the principal features in the quadrangular enclosures which always surround the Vimanas.

4. Pillared halls or Choultries, used for various purposes, and which are the invariable accompaniments of these temples.

Besides these, a temple always contains tanks or wells for water--to be used either for sacred purposes or the convenience of the priests,--- dwellings for all the various grades of the priesthood attached to it, and numerous other buildings designed for state or convenience.

II. DRAVIDIAN ROCK-CUT TEMPLES

CONTENTS.

Mahavellipore--Kylas, Ellora.

Although it may not be possible to point out the origin of the Dravidian style, and trace its early history with the same precision as we can that of Buddhist architecture, there is nothing so mysterious about it, as there is regarding the styles of northern India, nor does it burst on us full blown at once as is the case with the architecture of the Chalukyas. Hitherto, the great difficulty in the case has been, that all the temples of southern India have been found to be of so modern a date. The great building age there was the 16th and 17th centuries of our era. Some structural buildings, it is true, could be traced back to the 12th or 13th with certainty, but beyond that all was to a great extent conjecture; and if it were not for rock-cut examples, we could hardly go back much further with anything like certainty. Recent investigations, however, combined with improved knowledge and greater familiarity with the subject, have now altered this state of affairs to a great extent. It seems hardly doubtful now that the Kylas at Ellora, and the great temples at Purudkul (Pattadkul), are anterior to the 10th century.[359] It may, in fact, be that they date from the 8th or 9th, and if I am not very much mistaken the “raths,” as they are called, at Mahavellipore are as early, if not indeed earlier, than the 5th or 6th, and are in reality the oldest examples of their class known, and the prototypes of the style.

One circumstance which has prevented the age of the Mahavellipore raths being before detected is, that being all cut in granite and in single blocks, they show no sign of wearing or decay, which is so frequently a test of age in structural buildings, and being all in the same material produces a family likeness among them, which makes it at first sight difficult to discriminate between what is old and what new. More than this, they all possess the curious peculiarity of being unfinished, whether standing free, as the raths, or cut in the rock, as caves, or on its face, as the great bas-relief; they are all left with one-third or one-fourth merely blocked out, and in some instances with the intention merely indicated. It looks as if the workmen had been suddenly called off while the whole was in progress, and native traditions, which always are framed to account for what is otherwise most unintelligible, have seized on this peculiarity, and make it the prominent feature in their myths. Add to this that it is only now we are acquiring that knowledge of the subject and familiarity with its details, which will enable us to check the vagaries of Indian speculation. From all these causes it is not difficult to understand how easily mistakes might be made in treating of such mysterious objects.

If we do not know all we would wish about the antiquities of Mahavellipore, it is not because attempts have not been made to supply the information. Situated on an open sea-beach, within one night’s easy dâk from Madras, it has been more visited and oftener described than any other place in India. The first volume of the ‘Asiatic Researches’ (1788) contained an exhaustive paper on them by W. Chambers. This was followed in the fifth (1798) by another by Mr. Goldingham. In the second volume of the ‘Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society’ there appeared what was then considered a most successful attempt to decipher the inscriptions there, by Dr. Guy Babington, accompanied by views of most of the sculptures. The ‘Madras Journal,’ in 1844, contained a guide to the place by Lieutenant Braddock, with notes by the Rev. W. Taylor and Sir Walter Elliot; and almost every journal of every traveller in these parts contains some hint regarding them, or some attempt to describe and explain their peculiarities or beauties. Most of these were collected in a volume in 1869 by a Lieutenant Carr, and published at the expense of the Madras Government, but unfortunately the editor selected had no general knowledge of the subject, nor had he apparently any local familiarity with the place. His work in consequence adds little to our previous stores.

In addition to all this, Colonel Mackenzie undertook to illustrate the place, and employed his staff to make detailed drawings of all the sculptures and architectural details, and a volume containing thirty-seven drawings of the place is in his collection in the India Office, and Daniell has also published some faithful representations of the place. Quite recently it has been surveyed by the revenue surveyors, and photographed by Dr. Hunter, Captain Lyon, and others, so that the materials seem ample; but the fact is, they have been collected at such distant times, and by individuals differing so essentially in capability or instruction, that it is almost impossible, except on the spot, to co-ordinate the whole. Any accomplished architect or archæologist could do it easily in a month, and tell us the whole story. Meanwhile, however, the main features seem tolerably distinct, and ascertained within limits sufficient for our present purposes.

The oldest and most interesting group of monuments at Mahavellipore, are the so-called five raths or monolithic temples standing on the sea-shore--one of these, that with the apsidal termination in the centre of the annexed woodcut (No. 181), stands a little detached from the rest. The other four stand in a line north and south, and look as if they had been carved out of a single stone or rock, which originally, if that were so, must have been between 85 ft. and 40 ft. high at its southern end, sinking to half that height at its northern extremity, and its width diminishing in a like proportion.

The first on the north is a mere Pansala or cell 11 ft. square externally, and 16 ft. high. It is the only one too that seems finished or nearly so, but it has no throne or image internally from which we might guess its destination.

The next is a small copy of the last to the southward, and measures 11 ft. by 16 ft. in plan, and 20 ft. in height. The third, seen partially in the above woodcut, is very remarkable: it is an oblong building with a curvilinear shaped roof with a straight ridge. Its dimensions are 42 ft. long, 25 ft. wide, and 25 ft. high. Externally, it seems to have been completely carved, but internally only partially excavated, the works being apparently stopped by an accident. It is cracked completely through, so that daylight can be seen through it, and several masses of the rock have fallen to the ground--this has been ascribed to an earthquake and other causes. My impression is, the explanation is not far to seek, but arose from unskilfulness on the part of workmen employed in a first attempt. Having completed the exterior, they set to work to excavate the interior so as to make it resemble a structural building of the same class, leaving only such pillars and supports as were sufficient to support a wooden roof of the ordinary construction. In this instance it was a mass of solid granite which, had the excavation been completed, would certainly have crushed the lower storey to powder. As it was, the builders seem to have taken the hint of the crack and stopped the further progress of the works.

The last, however, is the most interesting of the series. A view of it has already been given (Woodcut No. 66), and it is shown on the right hand of the last woodcut. Its dimensions are 27 ft. by 28 ft. in plan, 34 ft. in height. Its upper part is entirely finished with its sculptures, the lower merely blocked out. It may be, that frightened by the crack in the last-named rath, or from some other cause, they desisted, and it still remains in an unfinished state.

The materials for fixing the age of this rath are, first, the palæographical form of the characters used in the numerous inscriptions with which it is covered.[360] Comparing these with Prinsep’s alphabets, allowing for difference of locality, they seem certainly to be anterior to the 7th century.[361] The language, too, is Sanscrit, while all the Chola inscriptions of the 10th and subsequent centuries are in Tamil, and in very much more modern characters.[362] Another proof of antiquity is the character of the sculpture. We have on this rath most of the Hindu Pantheon, such as Brahma and Vishnu; Siva too appears in most of his characters, but all in forms more subdued than are to be found elsewhere. The one extravagance is that the gods generally have four arms--never more--to distinguish them from mortals; but none of these combinations or extravagances we find in the caves here, or at Ellora or Elephanta. It is the soberest and most reasonable version of the Hindu Pantheon yet discovered, and consequently one of the most interesting, as well, probably, as the earliest.

None of the inscriptions on the raths have dates, but from the mention of the Pallavas in connexion with this place, I see no reason for doubting the inference drawn by Sir Walter Elliot from their inscriptions--“that the excavations could not well have been made later than the 6th century.”[363] Add to all this, that these raths are certainly very like Buddhist buildings, as we learn to know them from the early caves, and it seems hardly to admit of doubt that we have here petrifactions of the last forms of Buddhist architecture,[364] and of the first forms of that of the Dravidians.

The want of interiors in these raths makes it sometimes difficult to make this so clear as it might be. We cannot, for instance, tell whether the apsidal rath in the centre of woodcut No. 181 was meant to reproduce a chaitya hall, or a vihara like that of woodcut No. 48. From its being in several storeys I would infer the latter, but the whole is so conventionalised by transplantation to the south, and by the different uses to which they are applied for the purposes of a different religion, that we must not stretch analogies too far.[365]

There is one other rath, at some distance from the others, called Arjuna’s rath, represented in the above woodcut (No. 182), which, strange to say, is finished, or nearly so, and gives a fair idea of the form these oblong temples took before we have any structural buildings of the class. This temple, though entering in the side, was never intended to be pierced through, but always to contain a cell. The large oblong rath, on the contrary, was intended to be open all round, and whether, consequently, we should consider it as a choultrie or a gopura is not quite clear. One thing, at all events, seems certain--and it is what interests us most here--that the square raths are copies of Buddhist viharas, and are the originals from which all the vimanas in southern India were copied, and continued to be copied nearly unchanged to a very late period. Woodcut No. 183, for instance, represents one from Mádura, erected in the 18th century. It is changed, it is true, and the cells and some of the earlier features are hardly recognisable; but the wonder rather is that twelve centuries should not have more completely obliterated all traces of the original. There is nothing, however, in it which cannot be easily recognised in intermediate examples, and their gradual transformation detected by any one familiar with the subject. On the other hand, the oblong raths were halls or porticoes with the Buddhists, and became the gopuras or gateways which are frequently--indeed generally--more important parts of Dravidian temples than the vimanas themselves. They, too, like the vimanas, retain their original features very little changed to the present day, as may be seen from the annexed example from a modern Tamil temple on the opposite shore of the Gulf of Manaar (Woodcut No. 184). To all this, however, we shall have frequent opportunities of referring in the sequel, and it will become much plainer as we proceed.

The other antiquities at Mahavellipore, though very interesting in themselves, are not nearly so important for our history as the raths just described. The caves are generally small, and fail architecturally, from the feebleness and tenuity of their supports. The southern cave diggers had evidently not been grounded in the art, like their northern compeers, by the Buddhists. The long experience of the latter in the art taught them that ponderous masses were not only necessary to support their roofs, but for architectural effect; and neither they nor the Hindus who succeeded them in the north ever hesitated to use pillars of two or three diameters in height, or to crowd them together to any required extent. In the south, on the contrary, the cave diggers tried to copy literally the structural pillars used to support wooden roofs. Hence, I believe, the accident to the long rath, and hence certainly the poor and modern look of all the southern caves, which has hitherto proved such a stumbling-block to all who have tried to guess their age. Their sculpture is better, and some of their best designs rank with those of Ellora and Elephanta, with which they were, in all probability, contemporary. Now, however, that we know that the sculptures in cave No. 3 at Badami were executed in the 6th century[366] (A.D. 579), we are enabled to approximate the date of those in the Mahavellipore caves with very tolerable certainty. The Badami sculptures are so similar in style with the best examples there that they cannot be far distant in date, and if placed in the following century it will not probably be far from the truth.

The great bas-relief on the rock, 90 ft. by 40 ft., is perhaps the most remarkable thing of its class in India. Now that it is known to be wholly devoted to Serpent worship,[367] it acquires an interest it had not before, and opens a new chapter in Indian mythology.[368] There seems nothing to enable us to fix its age with absolute certainty; it can hardly, however, be doubted that it is anterior to the 10th century, and may be a couple of centuries earlier.

There is one other antiquity in a place called Saluvan Kuppan, two miles north of Mahavellipore, which has not yet been drawn or described, but deserves notice as a lineal descendant of the tiger cave at Cuttack (Woodcut No. 73). Here not one but a dozen of tiger heads welcome the anchorite to his abode. Here, too, they are conventionalised as we always find them in Chalukyan art; and this example serves, like every other, to show how the Hindu imagination in art runs wild when once freed from the trammels of sober imitation of natural things, which we find to be its characteristic in the early stages of Buddhist art.

KYLAS, ELLORA.

From the raths at Mahavellipore to the Kylas at Ellora the transition is easy, but the step considerable. At the first-named place we have manifest copies of structures intended originally for other purposes, and used at Mahavellipore in a fragmentary and disjointed manner. At Ellora, on the contrary, the whole is welded together, and we have a perfect Dravidian temple, as complete in all its parts as at any future period, and so far advanced that we might have some difficulty in tracing the parts back to their originals without the fortunate possession of the examples on the Madras shore.

Independently, however, of its historical or ethnographical value, the Kylas is in itself one of the most singular and interesting monuments of architectural art in India. Its beauty and singularity always excited the astonishment of travellers, and in consequence it is better known than almost any other structure in that country, from the numerous views and sketches of it that have been published. Unlike the Buddhist excavations we have hitherto been describing, it is not a mere interior chamber cut in the rock, but is a model of a complete temple, such as might have been erected on the plain. In other words, the rock has been cut away, externally as well as internally. The older caves are of a much more natural and rational design than this temple, because, in cutting away the rock around it to provide an exterior, the whole has necessarily been placed in a pit. In the cognate temples at Mahavellipore (Woodcut No. 181) this difficulty has been escaped by the fact that the boulders of granite out of which they are hewn were found lying free on the shore; but at Ellora, no insulated rock being available, a pit was dug around the temple in the sloping side of the hill, about 100 ft. deep at its inmost side, and half that height at the entrance or gopura, the floor of the pit being 150 ft. wide and 270 ft. in length. In the centre of this rectangular court stands the temple, as shown in the preceding plan (Woodcut No. 186), consisting of a vimana, between 80 ft. and 90 ft. in height, preceded by a large square porch, supported by sixteen columns (owing probably to the immense weight to be borne); before this stands a detached porch, reached by a bridge; and in front of all stands the gateway, which is in like manner connected with the last porch by a bridge, the whole being cut out of the native rock. Besides these there are two pillars or deepdans (literally lamp-posts) left standing on each side of the detached porch, and two elephants about the size of life. All round the court there is a peristylar cloister with cells, and some halls not shown in the plan, which give to the whole a complexity, and at the same time a completeness, which never fail to strike the beholder with astonishment and awe.

As will be seen from the view (Woodcut No. 187) the outline of the vimana is at first sight very similar to that of the raths at Mahavellipore, but on closer inspection we find everything so modified at Ellora as to make up a perfect and well understood design. The vimana with its cells, and the porch in front of it with its side cells, make a complete Hindu temple such as are found in hundreds in southern India, and instead of the simulated cells that surround the hall in the Madras example, they again become realities, but used for widely different purposes. Instead of being the simulated residences of priests, the five or rather seven cells that surround the central object here are each devoted to a separate divinity of the Hindu Pantheon, and group most pleasingly with the central vimana. It is, however, so far as is now known, the last reminiscence of this Buddhist arrangement in Hindu architecture; after the year 1000 even these cells disappear or become independent erections, wholly separated from the temple itself.

Though considerably damaged by Moslem violence, the lower part of the gopura shows a considerable advance on anything found at Mahavellipore, and a close approach to what these objects afterwards became, in so far, at least, as the perpendicular parts are concerned; instead, however, of the tall pyramids which were so universal afterwards, the gopura in the Kylas exhibits only what may be called the germ of such an arrangement. It is only the upper member of a gopura placed in the flat roof of the gateway, and so small as not to be visible except from above. In more modern times from five to ten storeys would have been interposed to connect these two parts. Nothing of the kind however exists here.[369]

On either side of the porch are the two square pillars called deepdans, or lamp-posts, before alluded to, the ornament at the top of which possibly represents a flame, though it is difficult to ascertain what it really is, while the temptation to consider them as representatives of the lion pillars of the Buddhists (Woodcut No. 6) is very great (Woodcut No. 188).

In the south of India, however, among the Jains, as mentioned above (p. 276), such pillars are very common, standing either singly or in pairs in front of the gopuras, and always apparently intended to carry lamps for festivals. They generally consist of a single block of granite, square at base, changing to an octagon, and again to a figure of sixteen sides, with a capital of very elegant shape. Some, however, are circular, and, indeed, their variety is infinite. They range from 30 ft. to 40 ft. and even 50 ft. in height, and, whatever their dimensions, are among the most elegant specimens of art in southern India.

Unfortunately, there is no inscription or other date from which the age of the Kylas can be ascertained with precision. It is safe, however, to assert that it was erected by the southern Dravidians, either the Cheras or the Cholas who held sway here during the eclipse of the Chalukyas, or between A.D. 750 and 950; and Mr. Burgess’s recent researches in Dharwar enable us to assert with tolerable confidence that its age must be nearer the first than the second of these dates. The great temple at Purudkul--his Pattadkal--is covered with inscriptions, none of which unfortunately are dated, but from their import and the form of their characters, both Bhau Daji[370] and himself ascribe to the 8th or 9th century,[371] and I see no reason for doubting the correctness of the date assigned by Mr. Burgess to this temple, which, according to him was erected during the 8th century. In plan it is almost exactly a duplicate of the Kylas, as may be gathered from the annexed woodcut (No. 189), but there is some little difficulty in instituting such a comparison of their architecture as would enable us to feel sure of their relative dates[372]--in the first place, because the one is structural the other rock-cut, but also because we hardly know what allowance to make for distance of locality. On the whole, however, I am inclined to believe the southern temple is the elder of the two, but certainly not distant in date. If, consequently, it were necessary to fix on a date which should correctly represent our present knowledge of the age of the Kylas, I would put down A.D. 800, with considerable confidence that it was not many years from the truth either way, allowing, of course, some thirty to fifty years for the execution of so important a monument.

Considerable misconception exists on the subject of cutting temples in the rock. Almost every one who sees these temples is struck with the apparently prodigious amount of labour bestowed on their excavation, and there is no doubt that their monolithic character is the principal source of the awe and wonder with which they have been regarded, and that, had the Kylas been an edifice of masonry situated on the plain, it would scarcely have attracted the attention of European travellers. In reality, however, it is considerably easier and less expensive to excavate a temple than to build one. Take, for instance, the Kylas, the most wonderful of all this class. To excavate the area on which it stands would require the removal of about 100,000 cubic yards of rock, but, as the base of the temple is solid and the superstructure massive, it occupies in round numbers about one-half of the excavated area, so that the question is simply this--whether it is easier to chip away 50,000 yards of rock, and shoot it to spoil (to borrow a railway term) down a hillside, or to quarry 50,000 cubic yards of stone, remove it, probably a mile at least to the place where the temple is to be built, and then to raise and set it. The excavating process would probably cost about one-tenth of the other. The sculpture and ornament would be the same in both instances, more especially in India, where buildings are always set up in block, and the carving executed in situ. Nevertheless the impression produced on all spectators by these monolithic masses, their unalterable character, and appearance of eternal durability, point to the process as one meriting more attention than it has hitherto received in modern times; and if any rock were found as uniform and as easily worked as the Indian amygdaloidal traps, we might hand down to posterity some more durable monument than many we are now erecting at far greater cost.

Before leaving this branch of the subject there is one other rock-cut example which deserves to be quoted, not either for its size or antiquity, but from the elegance of its details. It is situated at a place called Kûmûlûlû,[373] thirty-five miles south-west from Shivelliputtun, and consequently twice that distance north from Cape Comorin. Like the examples at Mahavellipore, this one never was finished, probably because the person who commenced it did not live to complete it, and it was nobody’s business to finish what was of no use, and intended only to glorify him who made it. It is not cut out of a separate boulder, but out of a ridge, as I fancy those at Mahavellipore to have been, and if successful, any number of others of any dimensions might have followed. The other side of the hill had been occupied by the Jains, and numerous images of their Tirthankars are carved upon it, with inscriptions that could easily be read if any one cared to do so. It was evidently to mark the triumph of Siva over Mahavira that this little shrine was undertaken, probably in the 10th or 11th century, and if it had been completed it would have been one of the most perfect gems of the style. For some reason unexplained it was only blocked out, and the upper part only carved, when it was abandoned, and is now entirely forsaken. From its details, it certainly is more modern than the Kylas--how much we cannot yet say with certainty.